Girl Next Door
Contents
Copyright
Important message from the Author to Kindle Unlimited readers
Prologue
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Part II
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Part III
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Part IV
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Books by the Author
What Hurts the Most (7th Street Crew Book 1)
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Order your copy today!
Copyright Willow Rose 2018
Published by BUOY MEDIA LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cover design by Juan Villar Padron,
https://juanjjpadron.wixsite.com/juanpadron
Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/
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Important message from the Author to Kindle Unlimited readers
Before you begin…Are you reading this book in Page Flip mode? If you do, I won't be paid. The way things are right now in Kindle Unlimited, Amazon pays the author per pages read, so every time you flip a page, I will get a small amount of money. But not if the Page Flip mode is turned on.
So could I ask you to please turn it off, or just don’t use it while reading my books? Then I can continue to write the books that you love so much.
Thank you for your support.
Willow
Hell is empty
All the devils are here.
- William Shakespeare, The Tempest
We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere.
- Ted Bundy
Prologue
February 1974
“It was a perfect day. The air was crisp, the wind chilly as it blew from the north where they had a snowstorm. It didn't mean it got cold in Cocoa Beach; it just meant the air felt fresher and lighter than usual. It also meant I got to wear my jeans to school and the new hoodie that my mother had bought for me at the mall a couple of weeks ago. Everything up till this point was perfect. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my mother the great news. It never occurred to me that this would be the darkest day of my life.
“I remember how I clutched the envelope between my hands, feeling giddy with joy, thinking about the future.
“Full scholarship. A full ride.
“The words still clung in my head, as they had since they had fallen from my student counselor's mouth earlier in the day. I had barely been able to breathe inside his office as he showed me the letter containing the key to my future.
“My hard work had finally paid off.
“It had been a few tough years since we moved to Florida from Ohio two years ago. I wasn't used to hard times. I had always been a straight A-student. I had always been outgoing and easily made friends. But since the move, I had found myself a little off balance; it had been harder than I expected. My grades had slid slightly during my first year here, and no one seemed to want to be my friend. But over the past few months, things had been shaping up. I had made a few good friends, and my grades were back to where they used to be. It was just like my father had always told me: All good things come to those who wait. And then he would add: and work hard. You have to work hard to get anything in this life.
“Life hadn't been easy for my parents. Both came from poor backgrounds. But my father had worked his way up in the world. He had worked hard all his life to provide for my two younger siblings and me. Still, I had always known that they would never be able to afford for me to go to college. It was simply not doable.
“Until this very day. Until the counselor had called me out in the hallway and asked me to come into his office. A future leader, he called me when handing me the letter. As I walked home from school, I remember I still had that tickling sensation in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it.
“Mom is going to be so proud. No one has ever gone to college in our family before me.
“I hugged the letter and couldn't stop smiling when a girl from my street rode up behind me on her bike.
“‘Hi, Steve.’”
“I turned briefly but continued to walk. The girl walked up next to me, pushing her bike.
“‘Hi, Juanita,’ I said.
“‘What you got there?’ she asked and looked at the envelope containing my letter.
“‘Just a letter for my parents,’ I said.
“I didn't want to tell anyone yet, especially not Juanita, whose parents would never be able to afford college for her either. I didn't want to rub it in her face. She lived across the street from us with her five siblings, and we both knew that once we graduated this summe
r, she was going to help out at her dad's restaurant and she would probably end up doing that until she married and had children. It was expected of her. Even though she was a genius at math. There was no way her dad would ever let her pursue anything else.
“‘So, what did you get on your biology paper?’ she asked, probably just trying to make conversation. I knew she liked me, but I had no time for girlfriends. Especially not now. I can't afford the distraction.
“‘Let me guess. An A…as usual?’ she said.
“I answered with a smile while still hugging the envelope. Juanita chuckled, and we stopped as we reached the entrance to my driveway.
“Juanita smiled too and was about to say something when she paused.
“‘Say…isn't that your dog?’
February 1974
“I stared at the dog in the neighbor's yard. It was lifting its leg against their daughter's bike and relieving itself.
“‘Dylan!’ I yelled.
“The Doberman lifted his head and looked in my direction but didn't come to me even though I called. Who had let him out? I wondered. We never let Dylan out of the house alone. Not since he bit the Freidman's eight-year-old son from down the street. That was the third time the dog had bitten someone and, after that, my dad had told us not to let the dog out on its own again.
“‘He must have escaped somehow,’ I mumbled.
“I put my backpack down and put the envelope inside of it, to make sure nothing happened to it. Then I walked toward the dog in the neighbor's yard, hoping and praying they weren't home yet.
“Juanita put down her bike, and we approached the dog together. Dylan started growling as he saw us come closer.
“‘Dylan,’ I said, harshly. I needed to show it who was boss, my dad always said. ‘Come here!’
“But the dog didn't budge. It walked across the grass and then squatted and relieved itself again, this time in a more solid manner.
“‘Eeeww,’ Juanita said, while I sighed, annoyed. I knew that I would have to pick it up before the neighbors came home. The neighbors hated our dog and always complained that it barked at night.
“‘Come here, Dylan; you're coming home with me now,’ I said and walked closer to the dog. I grabbed it by its collar and pulled it off the Hansons’ lawn. Juanita came up to me, and Dylan let out a low growl when he saw her. I pulled the collar again to make it stop, but that just made the dog snap at her and Juanita pulled back with a light gasp.
“‘I'm sorry,’ I said. ‘This dog is impossible. He doesn’t like strangers.’
“‘It's okay,’ Juanita said and backed up a few steps further. ‘I just wanted to help.’
“‘I know,’ I said. ‘I've got him now. I'll take him home. He's lucky my dad won't be home till later or else he would face a bad beating. He knows he's not allowed outside on his own.’
“Juanita nodded. ‘Okay. Guess I'll see you tomorrow then?’
“I forced a smile. ‘Sure.’
“I watched Juanita grab her bike, then send me a soft smile before taking off toward her own house. As I watched her ride off, I wondered if things had been different if I would be able to like her back. She was ever so cute, and I really liked her eyes.
“In another place in time.
“‘Come on, Dylan. Let's get you back inside the house before anyone complains. How did you escape anyway, huh? Maybe we should rename you the Great Houdini? Would you like th…?’
“I suddenly stopped talking. As I looked at my house, I realized the dog escaping wasn't the only thing odd on this crisp afternoon.
“The garage door was left open, and my mom's car was gone. To most people, that wouldn't be alarming, but to me it most certainly was. My mother was always home to greet my siblings and me when we came home from school.
“Always.
February 1974
“The first thing I noticed when stepping into the kitchen was a half-made peanut butter sandwich sitting on the counter next to an empty lunch box with my younger sister's name on the side.
“Baffled, I let go of Dylan and walked to the counter. The bread had gone hard on the edges, and the peanut butter that was only half spread on one side had dried up and sat in lumps. The knife was on the counter, still smeared in the brown substance that my sister loved so much, but I never took a liking to. It all gets a little blurry from there on, but I remember that I stared at the knife, dumbfounded, not sure what to believe. My heart rate was going up rapidly. My mom had clearly been making lunches for my siblings, but why hadn't she finished? Had something happened?
“‘Mom?’ I called out. I could hear my voice quivering as the sound was returned to me as an echo.
“‘Mom?’ I tried again, slightly shrill and anxiously.
“But there was no answer. Why was there no answer? My mom always answered when I called. You have to understand. She was always there.
“Always.
“‘MO-OM!’
“I felt how my legs went soft and wobbly beneath me as fear set in. Desperately, I walked to the stairs, called my mother's name, then my siblings' one by one, and then my father's, even though I knew there was no way he was home already.
“But the thing was, his car had been in the garage, not my mother's.
“I wondered. Was something wrong with my dad's car? Had he maybe taken her car instead? Could it be as simple as that?
“‘Dad?’ I almost screamed.
“And that was when I saw the blood. There was blood on the floor and up the stairs. I stared at it, my hands beginning to shake, while the dog took off. It sprinted up the stairs like someone had told it to go find a treat up there somewhere.
“I followed. I walked up the steps, my legs heavy and my hands trembling. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard my dog whimpering, half growling. I then rushed into my parents’ bedroom. In there, I first spotted Dylan on the bed; then I saw what the dog had in his mouth. He was pulling at it. The sight made me want to scream.
“It was my mother's arm.
“‘DYLAN!’ I yelled, then rushed to get the dog away from my mother, who was lying on the mattress. The dog let go, then backed up while I walked closer to better see what was wrong with my mother.
“I stared at the face behind the plastic bag, and the first thing I noticed was that it wasn't moving. The bag remained completely still, as were my mother's eyes.
“I turned my head and spotted my father's body on the carpet behind the bed. It was lying there just as still as my mother's, a belt wrapped around his throat, his face bloated and grotesquely swollen. Both of them had been bound with thin cords at the wrists and ankles.
“I wanted to move. I wanted to do something, to pull the darn bag off my mother's head, but I couldn't. I was frozen in place. It was like I was trapped in a nightmare, but no matter how hard I tried to wake up, it didn't happen. I wanted to scream, to yell at my mother to get up, to take the bag off and stop playing games, that it wasn't funny, it was some cruel, cruel joke. I wanted to call to my dad to rise to his feet and stand up straight. But no sound left my lips. No part of my body would obey. Fear had me fixed to the ground. I couldn't move.
“Not until I heard a noise. It was coming from my brother's bedroom next door. I stopped breathing as I realized that someone was in the house.
February 1974
“My pulse was like a heavy drum in my ears, drowning out everything else. I stormed out of the bedroom and slipped as I headed for the stairs. The perpetrator was coming up behind me. I grabbed the railing and rushed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Behind me, I could hear the perpetrator. I could hear the breathing, and I was certain I could even hear laughter.
“Get to the door, Steve, I remember thinking. Just get out into the street and scream for help. Juanita might still be out there, or someone else.
“The perpetrator behind me was closing in. I raced down the stairs, hearing the heavy breathing behind me as the person closed the gap, reached out a hand, and grabbe
d me by the hoodie. I was forcefully jerked backward, and the air was pushed out of my throat. I landed with my back against the steps and heard the sound of something cracking, followed by pain. As I lay there screaming, I opened my eyes and looked into those of the person holding me down. The face was covered with a doll's mask, picturing a woman with rosy red lips, light pink skin, and black painted eyebrows. The mask had deep holes where the eyes peeked out. Big steel grey eyes.
“Like those of a wolf.
“I screamed again as a fist was raised and slammed down on my face, each punch followed by a deep laugh.