Killer Me

By Candace Osmond

Not all gifts are welcomed...
...and not all families are normal.
Alice Teller is about to fall down the rabbit hole where her estranged father waits in the shadows, hoping she'll follow in his footsteps...
...as a serial killer.

From #1 International and USA TODAY Bestselling Author Candace Osmond comes a gripping, psychological thriller to take you on a dark ride as Alice Teller struggles with her feelings towards her twisted father. Love him or kill him?

Abandoned and left to the corrupt foster system by her insane mother Hattie Teller, Alice grows up jaded and alone. But when her estranged father steps out of the shadows and into her life, Alice sees an opportunity to reconnect. Too bad he's Vancouver's most notorious serial killer, and Alice is the bait set to lure him into the authorities.

Fans of Dexter, Gillian Flynn, and Orphan Black are going to die over this thrilling twist on an old tale, one that will have readers wide awake into the late hours of the night. Dive into this gripping, psychological thriller today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guardian Publishing
• Release date: Jun 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781988159263

Candace Osmond

Number 1 International and USA TODAY Bestselling Author Candace Osmond is an Award-Winning Screenwriter from Fogo Island, NL. Her more popular works include her Internationally Bestselling Series, Dark Tides. A Time Travel Fantasy Romance set in 1707 Newfoundland. She now resides on the rocky East Coast of Canada with her husband, two kids, and bulldog.

Book preview

Chapter One

Alice

Hey, Teller, you sure you got that?

Alice looked up at Benny through her straggly black hair and rolled her eyes, frustrated at his constant teasing. Chewing loudly on a piece of nicotine gum, she bent her knees and lifted the heavy box from its place on the shelf and tossed it onto the trolley.

You didn’t seem to care if I could handle it when you were up front, flirting with Carla just a few minutes ago, she called back, delighting at the blush on Benny’s face.

He was such a weirdo, probably her least favorite co-worker, mostly because he talked too damn much. Then again, she despised just about everyone she worked with at the depot.

Alice started to wheel the heavy cart out, straightening her dingy orange apron, but Benny moved closer; a conspiratorial look on his face. She sighed and waited for whatever information he thought was going to blow her socks off.

Did you hear? They found another body this morning. Same MO. Throat slit from ear to ear. The Vancouver Villain struck again. He waggled his thick eyebrows and tried to look sinister.

Give it a rest, Benny. First of all, you sound like you’re quoting a damn news anchor. And the media hasn’t labeled this guy as a serial killer yet. They certainly haven’t given him an asinine name like the Vancouver Villain. Alice continued chomping on her gum as she pushed through the swinging doors and headed toward the appliance section with Benny hot on her heels.

Not yet, but they will. They always do. Admit it, you’re scared.

Stopping and leaning against the cart, Alice turned and stared at Benny with an impatient glare. The only thing I’m scared of is losing my job because I beat the shit out of you for following me around like a half-brained dog. Now, get to work before I break each of your fingers.

He quickly hid the offended expression, then Benny finally made himself scarce and Alice went back to work. God, she needed a cigarette! The damn gum was useless. Rolling out to the aisle, she unloaded the boxed mini-fridge in the hole where it belonged, pushed the cart aside, and high-tailed it to the employee exit in the back while lighting a cigarette as she pushed the door open.

Twenty-five, she thought bitterly.

Her birthday was in two weeks, and she’d be two-and-a-half decades old. What did she have to show for it? A tiny apartment with an old futon that doubled as a frumpy couch and a lumpy bed, a dog that was her only companion, and a job at Home Depot where she made enough money to eat something other than Ramen noodles for dinner.

Well, most nights.

She took a long drag and shook her head. At least she was better off on her own than she had been in the system. Screw foster homes, Alice thought; her jaw clenched as the typical anger arose from her chest.

She fought it off, reminding herself that she didn’t have to answer to adults who didn't give a shit about her anymore. Or that the government wouldn’t get reports on her less than stellar behavior ever again. Today, she was on her own and, while it might not be everyone’s ideal situation, she had a life that contented her. She finished her cigarette and debated lighting another but opted instead to run for a bathroom break.

The thick dark lines around her eyes were slightly smudged and she dug in her pocket for the black eyeliner, hastily correcting it. But the crimson eye shadow and deep purple lipstick were still perfectly in place. A few strands of her shiny black hair had come loose from the pom-pom pigtails on her head, but she didn't really care. Alice never cared enough about her appearance to let stuff like a messy hair-do bother her. As long as she had her eyeliner, she would be okay. It often felt like a mask, one that shielded her from the world.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Stepping back into the vast warehousing area, she took a deep breath to settle herself and went back to quietly stocking the store. Her shift was over in another two hours and then she’d be home with Bogey, her dog.

Benny avoided her for the rest of the shift, and that was totally okay with her. She worked in silence, which was most of the reason she sort of liked the job, only stopping to assist customers with a quick point in the right direction. Just because she soured around Benny didn’t mean that she hated all people. Some people were nice; her mailman was pretty cool. Quick exchanges of pleasantries and he was on his way. Just the way she liked it.

As she left the store, she pulled on her trench coat, shivering as the brisk wind kicked up. She walked four blocks to the subway station, smoking two cigarettes along the way, and climbed aboard. She leaned her head back, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her cheap little MP3 player today. But Alice reached her stop quickly enough and left the crowded and noisy mob on the train behind.

Another five blocks to her apartment complex meant two more cigarettes and, as she threw open the door to her little abode, Bogey greeted her enthusiastically. She smiled as the Great Dane plopped his giant paws up on her shoulders and breathed heavily in her face; his idea of a hug. She rubbed his head and his uncut ears as she told him, Get down, Bogey, or we can’t go for a walk.

Instantly, he was on all fours and bowing his head so she could attach the leash – which he didn’t need but city protocol required – to his collar, and they were off. She lit another cigarette and Bogey strutted right beside her like a proud companion eager to protect his human, only breaking away to sniff around and find spots to do his business. They circled the complex and came back to the apartment where Bogey nosed at the plastic tote containing his food.

After she'd changed from her dirty work clothes into some old sweatpants and an oversized black sweater, Alice filled his bowl and then moved over to the freezer, pulling out a pot pie and shoved it in the microwave. Lighting another cigarette, she grabbed an ashtray and the remote.

She glanced up at her poster of Humphrey Bogart on the wall as she turned on the news, his iconic image making her feel more at home than any supposed family ever had. In his fedora and trench coat, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, he seemed to be protecting Alice and her apartment. It was one of her few comforts in life besides Bogey, of course.

She frowned at the news anchor, lines drawn across her pretty face as if the murdered body of an unidentified, young, dark-haired girl truly concerned her. Police are not releasing information regarding the nature of the murder, but speculators feel their tight-lipped investigation centers around connecting this crime scene to the murder of twenty-three-year-old Tandy Cooper, discovered just last week. Detective Jonathan Murphy made a brief statement to the media this afternoon.

The image cut to video of an older handsome man with dark brown hair and stunning blue eyes behind a podium with several microphones. He appeared agitated and uncomfortable to be there.

There is no evidence as yet that we have a serial killer on the loose. If, in fact, this investigation takes a turn in that direction, the public will be alerted immediately. For now, we have no comment as to whether the two recent murders are related. He walked away with dozens of questions shouted in his direction.

Shaking her head, Alice went to grab her food. Reporters were like rabid dogs. She could only imagine the frothy spittle hanging from their jowls as they barked at the detective, who easily ignored them. She snorted, thinking back to Benny’s ridiculous little nickname. The Vancouver Villain. If this did turn out to be a serial killer, she hoped the media could come up with something more creative than that, and she prayed they weren’t taking suggestions from the public. Benny would be all over that.

Alice reached for her laptop, the only expensive thing she owned, and waited for it to power up while she lit another cigarette. Damn, I should really cut back, she thought to herself. She searched the internet, wondering if there were images of the brutal scene yet, but was strangely disappointed when she found nothing.

She’d seen a few pictures from the last murder – graphic shit like that always somehow leaked - and she wondered absently if maybe it was the same guy. Giving up, Alice slammed the computer closed, fed the last of her pot pie to Bogey, who sat beside her with his head tilted and one paw on the arm of the futon, and turned on the DVD player. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre was the feature of the night, and as soon as Mr. Bogart hit the screen, Bogey looked up from the plate he was licking and gave a quiet oof!

Alice smiled and reached out to pet the top of his head and scratch his giant ears. I don’t know, Bogey. You might be just a little more handsome than your namesake, but you couldn’t pay me to kiss you like that.

Bogey whimpered and nuzzled her ear, leaving dollops of drool on her face. Alice wrinkled her nose and laughed, moving away to wipe her cheek with the sleeve of her black sweater.

Alright, alright. You’re the only man for me.

Chapter Two

A Cup of Tea

Alice rubbed her hands together, deciding the cold front warranted a cup of java when she stopped at the coffee shop she always passed between the subway station and Home Depot. Her stiff and cold fingers pulled the change from her pocket, counted it out, and anxiously awaited the warm brew; standing by the window and watching the traffic go by.

Where the hell did all these people have to be in such a hurry? Didn’t they know they could just leave five minutes earlier and be on time? That's the one thing Alice didn't understand about city folk. Always rushing, never living.

The bookstore across the street caught her eye, a new Ruth Ware gracing their window display. She loved her Thriller novels, almost as much as she loved Bogart. So, with her cup of coffee in hand, she crossed the street to read the blurb in the window display. She scowled; it didn’t sound like typical Ware, but she’d probably read it anyway, especially since she really didn’t have much else to do besides work and taking her giant dog to the park.

Alice never really had friends to speak of, not any close ones, anyway. Growing up in the foster system will do that to you. What's the point of making friends if you won't be around long enough to see one birthday? Her foster parents always sent her back within a few months; an invisible defective tag hanging around her neck.

She's too weird.

She's disobedient.

She stole ten bucks from my purse.

She keeps stealing eyeliner from Walmart.

The list went on, and the excuses were always stupid. Shaking her head to block out the crappy memories, Alice was about to turn away and get to work, a cigarette in hand, when she saw a reflection in the glass. The hair on the back of her neck tingled as she noted the man staring right back at her in the reflection, and she whirled, seeing him a few feet away. He wore a beige trench coat over dark clothes and he’d slipped on some oversized sunglasses to hide his eyes and part of his face. As she watched, he walked in the opposite direction and her shoulders relaxed.

Maybe it had been her imagination and he’d only been reading about the new novel just like she was. But Alice couldn’t shake the discomfort or the impression that she’d looked straight into the eyes of the devil.

Great, Alice, now you’re just as freakin' paranoid as Benny, she mumbled to herself. Without thinking, her hands reached up to tighten her jacket around the neck as she crossed the street and headed to the big orange store.

Alice had dismissed her paranoia years ago, back when she’d exited the system. At eighteen, orphans were no longer welcome in children’s homes and the government took no more responsibility for them. She’d promptly been handed a heavy bag with some sheets and clothes, two hundred dollars, and a swift kick in the ass out the door. She’d welcomed the freedom, especially after having been shipped from foster home to foster home and dreading each new place with greater horror.

If it wasn’t physical abuse, it was neglect that she found from the people who called themselves parents just so they could collect a paycheck for watching after her. And when she acted out; smoking at twelve, stealing change and eyeliner, and breaking car windows at fourteen, they’d shoved her back at the caseworker claiming that she was impossible to handle.

The last three years were more tolerable. Alice resigned herself to staying in the group home as she counted down the days and tutored younger kids there to help pass the time. Considering what she’d seen happen to so many others in her position, she could have fared a lot worse. Alice didn’t do drugs, and she wasn’t a raging alcoholic or anything. She was just an average antisocial chain smoker. Maybe a little Goth, as some had called her.

Thanks, Mommy Dearest, she thought to herself with an overload of sarcasm as she stuffed the manila colored cardstock into the time punch machine. She wasn’t one to blame other people for her problems but, honestly, without her dear mother’s deep depression and sense of hopelessness - and her stellar desire to end it all - Alice would probably be in a far different situation.

Whether better or worse, it didn’t matter. She would never know.

Alice knew her father was out there somewhere; some high school jock who’d promised the world to Hattie Teller to get her to drop her panties. If Alice's mother was to be believed, they’d even dated for a few months. She’d gotten knocked up, of course, and nine months later the two of them had been the proud parents of little Alice Teller.

Alice still didn’t know why her father disappeared, or why her mother, who had been all set and ready to marry the guy, had left him when Alice was just a baby. She didn’t remember much from the four years she was with her mother and, because there were no pictures or anything, she had no memory of her father whatsoever. Dear Old Daddy was a ghost and, for all she knew, he was the reason Social Services had taken the poor little dark-haired girl into custody after Hattie's suicide. Surely she had some grandparents around or something, hadn't she? Maybe the bastard was dead, just like Hattie, just like Alice's faith in humanity.

Sighing, Alice went to find her manager as she wondered why her mother had suddenly popped into her head. She was very careful not to dwell on her shitty past. Maybe the creepy guy had just made her feel insecure and she had a burning desire to blame someone for being alone. Who knew?

Walter Bolton sat at a desk in the back room, signing off on invoices to be paid, his bald head reflecting the yellowish light of the desk lamp that shone on the scattered documents.

Hey, Walt, what’s the plan for today? she asked, popping a piece of the dreadful nicotine gum in her mouth.

One of these days, she was going to cut back but, for now, a pack a day was a necessity and the gum held off the cravings long enough for Alice to get to her work breaks.

He looked up at her, the back of his neck rolling up like a stuffed sausage, and squinted his already pinched eyes. Hey, Alice, we’ve got a shipment coming in about an hour. I want you to take inventory of that. We’ll have to unload and stock when it’s done. We’ve also got a few orders we need to pull and get over to delivery so they can get out on the truck tomorrow.

It was somewhere to start. Slapping him on the shoulder as she walked away, she called back to him, If you wore your glasses like you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t have those headaches.

He forever complained of shooting pains in his head, but he thought glasses made him look old. Alice snickered, thinking to herself that it was like Colonel Sanders shaving his beard because it made him look like a senior citizen. Walt had to be in his late fifties already, and the poor guy definitely hadn’t aged very gracefully.

Taking a quick trip to the bathroom, Alice stared at her pale reflection, wondering if she’d look that old in thirty years. Thirteen days, she thought as she headed back to the dock to wait for the truck. Maybe, over the next thirteen days, something would happen to change the direction – or lack thereof – of her life. She sat on the edge of the dock door, her legs dangling, and spit out the already rock hard gum in favor of a delicious cigarette. Walt was a good guy, and he liked Alice, who had only called in sick twice in her four years of working here. That’s why he sent her to wait for deliveries so often; he didn’t mind her sitting back here and smoking.

Hell, she got more done in an hour on most days than Benny finished in an entire eight-hour shift.

Of course, she couldn’t even get peace back there; Benny found her and instantly started rambling, never able to keep his annoying mouth shut.

Did you hear? The news people think this new killer is actually a guy that’s re-emerged after over twenty years. There was a rash of murders with a similar feel to them way back when and the guy never got caught.

Alice narrowed her gaze at him, despite her complete hatred of the guy, Benny was on to something; his words sent shivers down her spine as she remembered the creepy man from outside the bookstore. But she fought it off.

Benny, have the police even made a statement about any of this? Because from what I saw on the news, they don’t really think anything is connected to anything else. You can stop being a drama queen any time now.

But his eyes glowed with his excitement, and even Alice didn’t have the heart to take that away from him. Come on, Alice, aren’t you a little interested? The Throat Thrasher is on the loose, and he could be anywhere, he could be anyone. Benny attempted his best evil stare but failed to hold back a smirk. He could be me.

She laughed out loud. You're kidding me, right? The Throat Thrasher? That’s worse than the Vancouver Villain. You really need to work on your naming conventions. She stood, tossing away her cigarette butt as she saw the truck pulling in and shooed him away. Get back to work. I’ve got things to do here and you’re in my way.

By the time she left work, she’d forgotten about the strange man in the street. Another cold front had blown through and bit at her cheeks as she ducked her head against the wind and hurried to the subway. She stopped at the bookstore again, this time running inside and grabbing the new release on a whim. She’d probably read the whole thing tomorrow; it was her sacred day off.

Underground, Alice waited for the train and climbed aboard, relieved to be in a warmer place for just a little bit. She looked out the window as the train pulled away and her heart stopped. She stared back at the man in the trench coat, the one from the bookstore. This time he stared back at her through his sunglasses but they weren't as dark now that he was out of the sun and she could see his eyes peering back at her like two black holes sucking her in.

The man never broke his gaze, never blinked, as Alice just stared back like a mouse who'd come face to face with a cat. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt sheer terror scorch through her like that, as if it froze her from the inside out.

This morning she could blame it on paranoia, but a second appearance? This guy had to be stalking her or something. Either that or her psyche had finally broken through and it was all in her imagination. No one else seemed to notice the intense stare-down as they tiredly went about their lives; reading the paper, playing on their phones, taking a nap.

With one eye on the man, Alice jumped up as her stop quickly approached. The doors opened and she ducked through without a look back and then practically ran from the subway station to her apartment.

Shakily, Alice's cold fingers managed to get the door open and then she slammed it shut behind her. Her back pressed up against the wall as she tried to slow her heartbeat and calm her nerves.