The Monster Within Read Online Free Page A

fishes out a hundred dollar bill and slaps it into the Mexican officer’s hand. He looks at the money and then looks at me before giving me a curt, certain nod that makes me wonder how long they’ve been looking for someone to listen to them. That makes me worry. What the hell have I walked into?
    “Give me an hour,” Owens says as he stuffs his wallet into his back pocket.
    As I turn to walk away, I stop and remember something. It almost escaped me for a second, but now it’s blinding me like a car on a midnight highway with its brights on, refusing to let me go another inch without addressing it. “Can I see the suicide note?” I ask Owens, who gives me with a look that shows that the note had escaped him as well. He looks up at the top of the stairs where a bald officer is leaning on the railing over the dead girl. He vanishes without a word and as I stand there, getting one last look at the bloody roses, I wonder if they’re right. If there was a killer who did this, then that means something really horrifying. “He has to still be here if he didn’t go out the door,” I tell Owens in a soft voice.
    “We’ve searched this place over,” Owens informs me. “Every man you see in here is certain that this was a murder. Either he’s got one hell of a hiding spot, or he found some other way to get out. Right now, we think he fled onto the roof. There’s an emergency maintenance hatch in the closet. It’s locked now, but that doesn’t mean much if the killer planned this.”
    The bald officer returns with the note in a plastic, evidence bag. He hands it to me and I look at it with a speculative eye. This was the note that put the nail in the coffin and designated this as a suicide, or at least it was what put them on this road. I look at it, taking in the look of the note, analyzing the handwriting and the lettering, the wording of it before I actually read it. Satisfied, I take in the note for all it’s worth. ‘ Death is the truest form of art ’, she says from beyond the grave. ‘ There are no decisions that can truly be made except for the one to end one’s life. I know that my parents will not understand, but those who admire my work will witness all that I have done and they will marvel. Goodbye, world, I am sorry I could not give you more than this. Lola ’. I look up at the face of the dead girl and wonder just how much of this note was actually true. Did she really want to kill herself? Assuming that Owens and the others are right, did this girl actually want to kill herself and believe all of this bullshit she allegedly wrote?
    Handing the note back to Owens, I decide that it’s my duty to actually hear out everything he has to say to me. “I’ll see you in an hour,” I tell him before turning and making my way back to the door. There’s something evil in the air here, thick and oily as I breathe. Passing through the doorway, I look at the two punks who work for the coroner’s office. They look at me, asking silently with their glares whether I’m done or if they’re going to have to keep standing around. I look at them, impatient with their coldness. “She’s all yours, kids.”rbed wire are wrapped around her ankles, her legs, her waist, stomach, left armpit, elbow, and wrist. Obviously sh

 
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    “Did you remember the guacamole?” I ask as Owens hands me a brown bag. He’s holding his own. There’s a fleet of other officers that have accompanied him; it makes me feel like this is an undercover operation that they’re trying to keep witnesses distracted and those asking questions out of Owens’s way. How far does this go?
    The woman at the desk smiles at Owens and he chats her up as I open my bag and look inside, letting the warmth of fries waft over my face, the smell of bacon and the burger tantalizing me. This isn’t the kind of crap that they spring for on interrogations or during lunch, Owens’s man actually went out somewhere nice for this. I look at the back of