Letting Go (Thatch #1)(49)

“Okay. How was work?” she called out after me.

“Fine,” I mumbled as my steps slowed to a stop, my eyes stayed glued to the envelope in my hands.

My brow furrowed when I didn’t find a return address, and even though my name and parents’ address was completely filled out, there weren’t any stamps or postage markings. A sense of dread slowly unfurled in my stomach and spread throughout my body as I carefully pried up the metal holding the envelope flap down.

I pulled out a stack of papers and tucked the envelope under my arm before flipping the stack over, and the feeling of dread intensified as the open space of the entryway seemed to close in on me.

The top sheet of paper had the typed-out words: Don’t let him make you forget what we have. My head shook back and forth as I fanned through the remaining pages, each one a printed-out picture of Ben and me, with a blank page at the end. Like some f*cked-up type of manuscript—complete with blank page at the end and a dedication at the beginning. All it was missing was the title page.

“What’d you get?”

My head snapped up at the sound of my mom’s voice, and I had to swallow past the tightness in my throat twice before I could ask, “This was in the mail?”

“Yeah, honey, why? Are you okay?”

I shook my head quickly as I handed over the stack to her. “It’s another . . . it’s another message.”

She didn’t even make it past the first two pages before gasping and dropping it all to the floor.

“I n-need to call Jagger. I need to tell him.”

Mom didn’t respond, she just stood there with her hands over her mouth, staring at the mess of papers on the floor, and I couldn’t make my arms move fast enough to call Jagger. What should’ve taken seconds felt like hours, and I didn’t even recognize my own voice as I explained the pictures to him, and when I looked down at the fanned-out papers, my sharp inhalation had Jagger’s voice rising in panic.

“It wasn’t blank. The last page—it wasn’t blank.” On shaking knees, I bent down to the floor and moved aside a picture to reveal the rest of the small picture on what had been the last page. “Oh God,” I mumbled.

“What, Grey, what does it say?” Jagger asked over the roar of his car.

“It says: ‘Three more days, and Grey LaRue will finally be mine.’ It was his last status on Facebook, Jag, they printed it out.”

“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon, and we’re calling the cops immediately this time, Grey. This bullshit has gone on too long.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said shakily.

“Breathe, baby. I’m coming for you.”

AFTER THE POLICE had come and talked to us for who knew how long, had taken fingerprints off the mailbox and the envelope and printed off pictures with them, I was exhausted. Emotionally and mentally drained. It took everything in me just to lie down on the couch and close my eyes as my parents and Jagger talked quietly around me. At some point I remember briefly waking up when Graham came over, but when I woke again, it was completely dark outside, and no one was in the living room with me.

“Jag?” I called out, and slid off the couch when I didn’t get a response. Stretching the tension out of my muscles, I walked through the house until I found my parents. “Where’s Jagger?”

My mom looked at my dad, as if she needed his help, and he sighed heavily. “He’ll be back. He said he had to go take care of something, he left about ten minutes ago.”

“Then why do you both look so . . . I don’t know, but why do I have a feeling there’s something going on that you’re not telling me?”

“We got the call about an hour ago. They were able to look at the fingerprints immediately today. The only fingerprints on everything from the envelope and mailbox were matches to the prints you, Jagger, and your mother gave today, Grey. Nothing else, just like with the vows.”

I took a step back. “What are you saying?” My voice rose as denial and anger tore through my body. “Jagger didn’t do this! Is that why he left? Because you all think—”

“No! No, Grey, no one thinks that,” Mom said. “He left because he thinks he knows who’s doing it.”

“What?” I asked, my voice now barely a whisper. “W-who? Did he say?”

“No, we were sitting here trying to figure out something . . . anything that would make someone want to do this, and suddenly he just froze. His head snapped up and he froze. It was like he wasn’t even here anymore. Then he just started whispering, ‘No, no, she wouldn’t.’ We asked what was happening, and he just took off saying he would be back.” Mom shrugged sadly, like she didn’t know what else to say.

“She?” I stumbled over to the table and sat down roughly as I tried to think of any girl who would do something like this. My first thought was LeAnn, but I pushed it aside when I remembered how she’d been acting the last couple weeks. I stared down at the wood of the table as I tried to think of anyone else.

Grabbing the house phone sitting in the middle of the table, I dialed Jagger’s number, but his voice mail eventually picked up. I ended the call without leaving a message, and set the phone down before placing my head on the table. I didn’t know who this person might be, but hopefully Jagger was right. Hopefully this would all be over soon.