Page 107 of Unhinged Kallie

“I’m not icky,” Carter said from across the table.

“Yes, you are.” I stuck out my tongue.

“No, I’m not.”

Getting up from the table, I ran for the stairs. “Yes, you are. Icky, icky, icky,” I yelled, and Carter chased after me.

“What are you smiling about,” Carter asked, and I jerked as he yanked me out of the memory.

“Just something from when we were kids.” Carter looked behind us at my dad and shrugged.

“Understandable with that song.”

“They really were special, weren’t they? They were so in love.”

Carter set his notebook and pen down and shocked me as he pulled me into his arms and kissed the side of my neck.

“Just like we are,” he whispered into my ear, making me want to kick my dad out of the room.

“Mmm, I’d like to drag you upstairs, but we have work to do before you head back to college.” Letting go of his body was a chore, but I uncurled my fingers from his T-shirt, which emphasized every dip and curve. He was a walking sex icon. I could imagine the line that would form trying to get into his pants when he made it to the big leagues.

“I’m not sure by the look on your face if you’re thinking about sex or killing someone,” Carter teased as he stepped back.

“Why can’t it be both?” I loved that he blushed a bright red and turned back to the pinboard.

All of Darryl Burton’s information was on display. My dad was nothing if not efficient. Everything was there, from baby photos to who his parents, brothers, cousins, and all extended family were, right to pictures of Sara-Lee. I’d never seen my dad so creative with a kill. I would’ve thought Abel was involved, but I knew my dad wouldn’t let him in on the fun. Sara-Lee was hung from meat hooks we used for the pigs. The extremely sharp metal was embedded in her armpits. Dad had tied her hair back, forcing her to look at the ceiling while the other rope was attached to her feet. He’d gone so far as to insert a line into her arm, slowly draining her blood. The line had been looped up to the ceiling, so the blood dripped onto her face. He was far more creative than I was, but he inspired me to try harder.

There were so many pictures, notes, and pinned comments that I almost missed the printed text messages. I stepped closer and read the text.

C: You stole my Sunshine, so I stole yours.

D: Whoever this is, you’re a dead man!

My blood ran ice cold. There was no way my dad was communicating with this piece of shit. Was he?

C: Come and get me if you dare.

D: What’s the address?

C: Do your homework, Darryl Burton, born January 18th in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, to Bob and Susan. Such a shame your old man was a drinker, and your mom worked so hard to support him. Is that why you raped your sister first? Was it passion or convenience?

D: Whatever fucker, I’m not falling for your shit. Any of that information is available in the records.

My heart rate increased with every word I read, each one another cut to my soul. I bit my lip hard to keep the volcanic emotions from erupting.

C: This is true. Old MacDonald had a farm. Ee i ee i o. And on his farm, he had some cows. Ee i ee i oh. With a moo-moo here, and a moo-moo there, here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo. Old MacDonald had a farm. Ee i ee i o.

D: What the fuck? Are you crazy?

C: Your sweet old Grand Mammie taught me that song just before she died.

D: You’re lying.

C: Am I? Have you checked on her recently? I bet you haven’t, with that pesky FBI warrant hanging over your head.

D: Fuck you, asshole, you’re a dead man!

C: Oh no, Darryl, you have that all wrong. You are the dead man. But before I come for you, I will destroy everything and everyone you care about. No one takes my Sunshine and lives.