He dug for another minute and then stopped, his shoulders slumped as he stared down at the body, almost in a daze. And all of a sudden, I was him. In his shoes, standing where he was. I’d just killed someone, and I was getting rid of the evidence. Raising his black boot, he slowly lowered it to her neck and pressed down, watching her and baring his teeth. Anger. He was angry. And despite everything in my head telling me this was a horror, I couldn’t run. I couldn’t stop watching. He could be a serial killer. A rapist keeping her quiet forever. A predator of innocents. She might not even be
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