You Shouldn't Have Come Here(80)

I smiled. “Avery Adams.”

He pecked at the keys, typing my name. “As long as there’s no damage, you’ll get your deposit back,” he said matter of factly. A piece of paper shot out from a printer. He slid it across the counter and asked me to sign at the bottom.

I nodded and signed. “Perfect. Have a nice day.” Turning on my heel, I pulled my luggage behind me. As I exited, I held the door for a middle-aged man with a weak chin. He smiled and thanked me.

“Of course.”

The Uber app notified me that my driver, Joseph, was approaching. Calvin’s truck was somewhere in Nebraska. I swapped it out for my rental car. The Mazda I had driven to the ranch was purchased privately for five hundred in cash from a shady guy who couldn’t say more than a few words. The VIN had been scraped off, so I knew it was stolen. Even better.

My driver pulled up in a Prius and swiftly got out of the vehicle to help me load my bags into the trunk.

“Want that in the back?” He gestured to my messenger bag.

“No, that stays with me.” It had my prized possession in it, a token of my travels, the knife I had snagged from Calvin’s collection.

He closed the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. “Lincoln mall?”

“Yes.”

We arrived twenty-five minutes later. Once there, I walked to a parking ramp and got into my Audi A5, setting the navigation to Chicago, Illinois. I would be home in just under eight hours, right in time for dinner.

Everything had gone according to plan—mostly. This wasn’t my first rodeo. This was what I needed to do. It kept my life in balance. It kept me in equilibrium. Have you ever had an itch in the middle of your back, just out of reach? I have, and I’ve learned how to scratch it. From a young age, I knew I was different. I wasn’t like the other kids. Nothing bad ever happened to me. My parents didn’t abuse or abandon me. I was never sexually assaulted. I was just different. My brain was wired like the handy work of an electrician in the middle of an apprenticeship—not right by normal standards, but it still worked, just a bit different.

Some people kill because they enjoy it. And I know that’s frustrating to hear. There is no why. There’s no rhyme or reason. I just enjoy it. Call it a hobby if you will. You like to read. I like to watch the life drain from a person. To see the light behind their eyes flicker out. To watch their face go lax. To watch the future they had envisioned for themselves disappear. Like a magic trick. Poof, it’s all gone. Call me a magician, why don’t you? Serial killer has a nice ring to it. But I actually prefer just Avery. You can call me Avery.



I pulled into the driveway of my two-story house just outside of Chicago in the suburbs. It was white with red shutters and big bay windows—a normal home where mostly normal people lived. Before exiting the vehicle, I opened up the Airbnb application on my phone and deleted my Grace Evans account. Calvin’s body surely must have been discovered by now. Typically, it took a few days because of my isolation process, separating my target from their friends and loved ones. But the missing woman kind of screwed that up. Charlotte was easy to push away because she was obsessed with Calvin, and her presence threatened the “blooming” relationship between us. Joe was even easier. I just acted as though he had said or done something wrong at the bar, going as far as slapping him to solidify how inappropriate he was. I had no idea how screwed up their sibling relationship was though. Honestly, I probably didn’t need to do anything at all. It would have gone off the rails regardless. Betty wasn’t even an obstacle. She was off her meds, and no one took her seriously. And Albert—well, Calvin took care of him in a way. I considered killing Bri or leaving her tied up, but that wasn’t a part of my process. Just the host. No one else. Calvin being a psychopath himself was a nice surprise. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him. He was like me—well, not exactly. I’m not that sick, and I was born this way. Calvin was molded into it. The whole nature versus nurture argument. I saw it in him, but he didn’t see it in me. Survival of the fittest, as they say.

I unlocked the front door of my home and entered the lit-up house. Directly in front of me was a large carpeted staircase jutting up to the second floor. The formal dining room sat off to the right and the living room to the left.

Daniel lifted his head from a book and smiled like he was seeing me for the first time. He always looked at me that way.

“Right on time,” he said, closing his book. He embraced me with a hug and a passionate kiss. His five-o’clock shadow scraped at my skin, but I didn’t mind it.

“I missed you,” Daniel said in between kisses.

“I missed you too.”

His large hands ran down my back. “How was your retreat?” He pulled away, looking into my brown eyes.

“It was great.”

“Did you Eat, Pray, Love?” he teased.

“Yeah, something like that.”

He squinted, leaning a little closer. “What happened to your eye?” His finger grazed over my bruised skin.

I turned from him and set my purse on the buffet table. “Took a branch to the face on a hike.”

He made a humph sound. “Where was this retreat again?”

“Outside of Seattle.”

“I barely got to speak to you. Only a couple of text messages. I was worried.” He raised his brows.