Her Final Confession

Chapter Forty-Two

JANUARY 1995

Seattle, Washington

The room smelled of sweat and stale cigarettes. Paint chipped away from the yellowed walls. A single light bulb hung from a kinked wire in the center of the ceiling. A stained mattress covered half of the hardwood floor. Exhausted though she was, Gretchen couldn’t bring herself to lie on it. She didn’t even want to think about what it smelled like up close. The only other option was a scuffed wooden chair. A smattering of dried, rust-colored spots fell across the wooden slats in its back. She tried not to think about what—or who—had left them there. As she settled into it, she couldn’t help but notice that the arms were worn right where her wrists rested. With a shudder, she placed her hands in her lap.

There was no way to tell how long she was there. No clocks adorned the ugly walls. The single window had been boarded up. No daylight seeped through. By the time Linc came for her, she had fallen asleep, her chin resting on her chest. He shook her shoulder to wake her, and she blinked up at him, eyes bleary.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down into her face.

Up close, he smelled like the outdoors, like he had brought a crisp breeze with him. Under that was the faint smell of motor oil and something earthy that Gretchen had never quite put her finger on. His jeans were torn and muddy. His Devil’s Blade knife hung from his left hip. A bandana capped his scraggly blond hair. She didn’t need to see the top of his head to know what was on the bandana: a white skull with bloody eyes over two crossed knives. Blade colors: black and red. His worn leather jacket made him seem much bigger than he really was.

“I’m awake,” Gretchen said.

Linc stepped back, giving her some space. “You ready?”

She nodded even though every fiber of her being screamed against what she knew was to come. Linc must have seen it in her face. His eyes narrowed. “You sure about this?”

“Yes,” she said weakly. Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. She hated herself for crying, but she had learned in the last few months that she had very little control over her own body.

“You have choices,” Linc said.

A strangled laugh bubbled up from her throat. “No good ones,” she said.

“I could make things easier on you.”

She shook her head. “I’ve made my decision.”

He sighed and pulled his knife from its sheath. Gretchen’s body shook, making one of the chair’s uneven legs tap a ragged beat against the floor.

Linc said, “You gonna cry the whole time?”

Biting her bottom lip, she did her best to suck back the emotion crashing over her, to stem the tide of tears overwhelming her. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself. She lifted her chin and met Linc’s eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”