‘Sorry your life sucks because of me, Vivian, but I promise I’ll be a good boy now.’” Yelling would’ve made him feel better. “I’ll change.” A drop of sweat slid down his brow, the line of his blocky jaw, onto the paper. You’ve spent the last twenty-five years screwing over everyone who has ever cared about you. “You don’t want to die.” Archer stepped around him, hiked a hip onto the edge of the table, and waved his gun. Not for the first time in the last hour, Brody swiveled around in his chair to stare up at Archer, pleading. Next to him stood an open bottle of vodka and an armada of pill bottles, lined up in a neat little row. He lingered on the last page, hand trembling. “Don’t you think so? Whatever happened to ‘goodbye, cruel world’?”īy that point, Brody Hilton had filled four pages from top to bottom in shaky scrawl. “I feel that suicide notes lose their zing when they drag on too long.” Archer emphasized the statement with a tap of his foot. We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell. Manufactured in the United States of America Visit our website at Edited by Liz Pelletier For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.Ĭopyright © 2011 by Kelley York. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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