My Fake Death Was The Punchline To His Cruel Joke Chapter 10
The state design association’s website featured my photo, along with the studio’s address and contact information.
“Are you sure you want to be this public?” he asked. “He could find you.”
I raised my glass, studying the woman in the photo. She felt both strange and familiar.
When I first came to Denver, I woke up screaming from nightmares.
The smell of disinfectant made me panic. I was terrified of calls from unknown numbers. The sound of the doorbell made my heart stop.
But not anymore.
I had my own work, my own income, a home with my name on the deed.
Even if Bennett found me now, there was nothing left for him to take.
“He’s the one who’s still trapped,” I said. “Not me.”
Leo was quiet for a moment, then clinked his glass against mine.
“Okay. But if he shows up, I’m calling the cops.”
I smiled.
The afternoon after the award was announced, the studio’s receptionist buzzed my office.
“Ms. Ortiz, there’s a Mr. Shaw here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”
My hand froze on the mouse.
Then I saved my work, stood up, and walked out to the reception area.
Bennett was standing just outside the glass doors of the studio.
He was a ghost of the man I’d known.
The expensive suit he wore hung loosely on his skeletal frame. His cheeks were hollowed out, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of months of sleepless nights.