Telling Tales

Chapter Nine

“Peggy.”

One brow cocked up over his hazel eyes as he said, “You know that’s the fifth time you’ve said her name.” They lay in her bed, her hand pressed against his heart, his cupped over hers.

“I can hardly believe it. She’s so…well, Peggy. She fades into the background. Okay artist, but nothing spectacular. That’s just her…she just-blends.”

“I guess she was tired of blending,” he murmured. She shivered as he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Why?” Darci asked, staring out the window.

“She wanted to be famous. And she never stood out. In any way. This was her way of making sure she stood out from the rest,” Kellan said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

“Umm…maybe she should have dyed her hair purple or something. This was kind of extreme.”

Kellan turned his head and brushed his lips across her forehead. “That’s the sanity in you speaking. Her and sanity had a breakup a while ago.”

In the silence of the cell, Peggy’s hand raced over her sketchbook. A giggle escaped her as she added the finishing touches to the sketch, Kellan and Darci, wrapped around each other, his back arched as he drove inside her, Darci’s eyes wide, her mouth open in a silent scream.

And a knife, long and wicked, pierced his flesh, entered through his mid-back, exiting through his belly and impaling Darci. Though the sketch was in pencil, she could see the gleam of sweat on their bodies, the bright emerald of Darci’s eyes, the copper and red strands of Kellan’s hair.

And the bright red of the blood that puddled under them.

“I’ll be remembered…” Peggy whispered, a smile lighting her face.

“I’ll be remembered…”