Nightmare in Niceville Read Online Free Page B

take a break from the book altogether. It was still dark outside. I squinted into the shadows and saw no figure there. The image still haunted me as I fell in and out of sleep. Tossing and turning, I finally caved in to the darkness of sleep.
    And in my dreams, I thought I heard a man’s voice whisper my name over and over again, “Lily . . .”

3
    A Man
    â€œL ily . . .” I whispered.
    I crouched under a tree and sat down, holding the tree for support so I wouldn’t fling myself toward the house and give myself away. The grass was moist with dew. The full moon was huge this evening, and I felt like howling at that glowing circle in the sky like a lonely wolf.
    Ahh, Niceville. What a pleasant little town that I was about to alter forever. I bet the only interesting thing that happened here were drunken college kids getting arrested for disorderly conduct. It seemed like that type of place, but I would fix that.
    I saw Lily today. She almost saw me, but I quickly ran off while she was fumbling with the keys to her front door. Yes, the door should be locked to keep the wolves away.
    After she went inside, I strolled the streets with a skip in my step from the excitement of being within reach. I meandered downtown and familiarized myself with the quaint little village. I sat on benches and watched people walk—women with strollers and their precious bundles of joy, men walking their peppy dogs, loving couples jogging. I breathed in the fresh air. It felt good to be alive. And free. And so close to the girls, my girls.
    It had been two months since my release from Florida State Prison. I had served sixteen of my twenty-five year sentence. I got off early for good behavior. I’d kept my head down, never talked back, and never fought with anyone. I played the “changed man lookin’ to be free” role, and it had paid off in the end. They handed me what I went in with—a pair of dirty jeans, a ratty, stained t-shirt, a pair of torn-up sneakers, and ninety-three dollars and forty-two cents to my name. The clothing barely fit anymore; I had gained some muscle and lost some fat while in prison. The money had bought me some items off McDonald’s dollar menu, a pair of sneakers at Wal-Mart, some colored contacts, and some hair dye.
    I thought back to my days in prison, though it wasn’t that long ago. But I would never forget that one day . . . the day when all of this had seemed possible.
    I had dropped my food tray on the scratched metal table, then sat down, gritting my teeth. My cellmate slumped next to me. The food had never been very appetizing, but it was the usual greenish-gray-colored soup, or the slimy and gritty “pasta.” The bland food, the dirty white clothes, the dull white walls, and the gray . . . it all made me want to rip my hair out.
    â€œYou know, I’ve always envied your hair color,” I said to my cellmate.
    â€œYou know, you’re kind of a freak. And I mean that in a good and bad way. We’re all crazy in here, right?” he chuckled darkly. My cellmate was always clean-shaven, and he’d made sure to keep his reputation clean. He was on his best behavior since his release date was coming up in three months, just like me. We, well I, was getting out of this living hell, and I had some major things planned.
    â€œIndeed . . . do you remember when I told you about my Mackenzie, Sophie, and my precious Josie?” I had asked.
    â€œYeah,” he grumbled.
    â€œWell, their deaths remind me of your story. Cruel fate took my wife. And then I took my girls—I had killed them—but they remind me of how you tried to kill Lily and Ashley . . . and failed. Don’t you want retribution? I know I would.”
    â€œI don’t know what the hell you mean,” he snapped.
    â€œDon’t you want to finish what you started? I don’t know how you stand it.”
    â€œNo, I’ve gotten over the past. I’m just