Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I need air. I need space to think.
The moment I step outside the building, I gulp down the cool air, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
Ralph doesn’t care what he’s doing to Jason. What he’s doing to me.
And he made it a point to tell me that not everything’s about me.
Oh my God.
Did he tell Jason that he specifically didn’t deserve me?
Or did he say something else?
Was he talking about someone else entirely?
I walk quickly to my car and drive home. I park and then walk the few feet to Jason’s door, pound on it.
“Jason!” I call out.
There’s no response, and my heart thumps wildly against my ribcage.
“Jason, please!”
I try the doorknob, expecting it to be locked as usual when Jason isn’t around. To my surprise, it turns easily under my grip, the door swinging open to reveal the darkened interior of Jason’s townhome.
“Jason?” I call again, stepping inside.
I flick on the light switch by the door. He’s not in the living room, nor the kitchen. I make my way toward his bedroom, trying not to think about what I might find.
The bedroom door is slightly ajar. I push it open gently and peer inside. The room is neat, the bed made. Of course. He slept with me last night.
I turn around and walk back to the living room, my thoughts racing. Where could he be? I pull out my phone and call him. It goes straight to voicemail, his message grating on my nerves.
“Hey, it’s Jason. Can’t get to my phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
I end the call and try again, with the same result.
“Don’t panic,” I tell myself aloud. “He’s probably just busy.”
Doing what, though? He has no job.
I sit down on his couch, the worn leather cool against my skin. I stare at the photo of Lindsay and Julia, captured in time.
I jerk when the door opens and Jason appears.
“Jason, thank God!”
“Angie?” He widens his eyes. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“Your door was unlocked.”
“Jesus.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I had to meet Blake at the police station and answer more questions. I was in a hurry, and I must have… Damn. That’s not like me at all.”
“Everything looks fine,” I say. “But Jason, I have to talk to you. About Ralph.”
“Did you see him today?” he demands.
“I… Well, yeah, I went to see him, and—”
He lunges toward me and grips my shoulders hard. “Don’t you ever go back there again, Angie, do you hear me?”
“I…”
“I’m serious. Don’t you ever go near Ralph again. Not ever.”
“Jason, why are you being so…”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in, and sighs it out. He opens his eyes, looking at me more gently now. “I have to talk to you about Ralph.”
“Oh? I have to talk to you about Ralph too. I think he has narcissistic personality disorder.” I hold up my hand. “And before you tell me you don’t want to hear about psychiatry, let me—”
He places his fingers over my lips. “I believe you, Angie. I understand mental illness. I just don’t believe talk therapy is the way. At least it wasn’t for me. And for the record, I agree with you. Ralph has a personality disorder. In fact, his entire personality itself—or at least his identity—is completely fabricated. He’s not who he says he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ralph isn’t Ralph. His real name is Ronny Burgundy.” He swallows. “And I think he killed my wife.”
Chapter Forty
Jason
Angie gasps. “What?”
“It’s a long story. And I’ve told it twice already today.”
“To whom?”
“Once to Blake, and then again to a detective.”
“You’re going to have to tell it again, then, because I don’t want secrets between us.”
“I know. You’re right.”
For the third time, I pour out the story of where I went last night and why. What I found out as a result. And then the questioning with Blake and the detective. How my one shot at corroborating my story was found dead this morning.
Angie listens. I can tell she’s trying not to interrupt, which I appreciate. When I’m finally finished, she just stares at me.
“Jason,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… This is beyond…”
“I know,” I say. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
A tense silence falls over us, Angie’s eyes wide and filled with fear. I reach out, intending to comfort her, but she flinches away.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmurs to herself. “Ralph isn’t Ralph. He’s…”
“A murderer,” I finish for her, the words tasting sour in my mouth.
“And he wanted me to believe that about you,” she says.
Rage boils through me. “What?”
“I didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. But he said you had killed before.”
I think back to the first time I failed a patient on the operating table—a mistake that cost a young man his life.