None Shall Sleep (None Shall Sleep, #1)

by Ellie Marney

Not with Huxton. Huxton was a mess. Cooper buckles that shit down.

“There can’t be many teenage serial killers, though.”

Maybe at this time, but NOW? There's too many to count

The “saving lives” line was heavy-handed. He still thinks that’s how he’ll win her.

Her expression doesn’t change, but he sees it again: that flare of animal panic in her face. But it is sometimes his job to do hateful, necessary things.

You really want to send these kids back into the nightmare?”

Emma knows this is only partially true. Her sister developed insomnia when Emma went missing. Even two and a half years after her return, Robbie’s sleep problems have lingered. The toll hasn’t just been on Emma. For a while there, it was like the whole family needed therapy.

They probably should have all gone

The number of people who have brushed up against what she’s experienced and are still breathing, still functioning, is almost infinitesimal.

Yesterday she drove six and a half hours to reach Virginia, and she’s still not sure she really wants to be here.

I get it

She’s found that it’s sometimes better to look like a cancer patient than to deal with random strangers sneering at her.

“We can only see information on cold cases,” Bell says.

You were right, his eyes say. Unusual to meet a guy who’ll admit that.

“We need details.

So we want to pick their brains apart.

Half the time they don’t know why they’re doing what they’re doing. But information about preparation, process, aftermath… that’s all stuff we can use.”

She’ll be talking to teenage versions of Huxton, then.

“So he’s not being an asshole on purpose, he’s just under pressure.”

I feel like that's usually the case.

“My dad was a US Marshal. He was murdered by a serial offender.”

The relief of that makes her light-headed, but Emma keeps her eyes on him. She finds the sight of his profile steadying. “You get through it, though.” “That’s right. You get through it.”

I love that they relate without having the exact same experience.

But Emma likes her sharpness—it’s kept her alive.

“Do you need to be angry at me? To let off steam before this happens?”

WHAT A MAN 😍

But there is something about him that resonates in the same way, like a musk that Emma recognizes.

Not too many compliments—McMurtry is a talker, he’ll pick up on obvious flattery. She’ll need to be direct. And let him brag.

Okay profiler…

“You want to split the driving on the way back?” “If I get tired, yeah.” Bell exhales, sets his shoulders. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”

I love them already.

“How can some men hate so hard?” she whispers.

What’s new about these subjects, except that they got caught early?”

He had no power with his aunt, so he exerted power over three proxies. Feeling that kind of power is thrilling, and he got turned on by it.

It’s like the victims get forgotten. Why is it always about the killers?

It's still like this today

“That’s cruel.”

It really is.

“Three different states. Eleven murders, including my dad. Except for my dad, all of them were posed crime scenes—the Artist, they used to call him.”

She also knows that victim-posing is not a common feature of serial homicide—that it’s a sign of a sophisticated fantasy, unusual in such a young offender.

He’s about your age, and he presents very well, but it’s a mask—inside, he’s uglier than anyone you’ve ever met.

a gothic structure full of bedlam ghosts and old horrors.

Scott is scared of Gutmunsson, Emma realizes with a jolt. She looks to Cooper one last time, but he is looking at the floor. Coward, she thinks.

She is reminded of a cobra rising, hood spread.

He is an ice angel. If he ripped out your heart and held it up to the light, the colors would bleed together beautifully.

So he’s not psychic—just observant. It’s still disconcerting, knowing that her personal details are now part of Simon Gutmunsson’s gestalt awareness.

But they have to be inclined to begin with, don’t you think? You can’t just blame it on popular culture.

Interesting thought...

She sees the moment in him when he knows, feels it like a vibration in her spine.

His hair is glossy, his face is good, the skin over his cheekbones firm and tight. His whole body is nicely toned. Overall, the results of the treatments have been outstanding.

Treatment?

It’s a two-hour drive, and the weather is fantastic: sunny and becoming warm.

God I can't imagine driving for that long

He’s careful to keep the accent steady.

So Hoyt is the killer.

He wants to fix the guttering, clean the place up. He has plans. Big plans.

And if you’re running a drop saw, a nail gun, and so on, you’re far enough away from neighbors that you won’t get complaints about the noise.”

Oh no...

“It’s fine. It’s like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer over and over. After a while you don’t feel it.”

But what is actually unreal is that there’s a person in the world who could do this. And not just do it once, but do it again and again and again—

I didn’t use my models and then throw them out with the trash.

“Let me know when he starts taking their hair.”

She wonders what Simon Gutmunsson is doing right now.

That's dangerous girl.

Hell, I still want the results of the interviews. It’s what I’m paying you for.”

At least they're being paid?

“I just want to survive it,” Emma confesses.

“Will do. You eating right? Looking after yourself? Don’t let them push you around, you hear?”