Mourning the Minutes (Tellings of The Time #2) Read Online Kris Vanc

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Tellings of The Time Series by Kris Vanc

Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)

Abby Wilder stumbled upon the burial site of a serial killer, and ever since, her already crazy life got flipped upside down. Did she let a killer into her life? Will she get over her heartbreak? Together with the FBI and Chester they keep racing against the clock. But will that be enough? Or will the killing continue? Time keeps ticking away until The Time is behind bars and women in Oregon will be safe again.
Mourning the Minutes continues the story of Abby, Chester, Remy and Beckett. This is book two in the Tellings of The Time trilogy and will take you on a journey through the dark and twisted mind of a serial killer and those trying to catch him. Hopefully.



The Time, ten years old

It twitches. When I poke the end of my stick into the little stray cat, it twitches. The little tabby cat tried to get away and clawed me when I took it. Red blood welled out of the scratches, and for a moment I stared at the droplets that formed. It made me remember a puddle of blood on the floor, and a woman lying in it. The cat that I have put in an old pillow slope is trashing, trying to get out despite how badly it’s wounded. Having to fight for its life makes it live just a little harder, in hopes of keeping among the living.

I took it to the woods behind the house.There’s this secluded place within a few old oak trees where mom and dad can’t see me where I like to experiment with my little animal friends. The forest always makes me feel at ease. It’s like I belong here more than in a stupid classroom with my idiot class mates. And when I experiment with my animals, they completely fade to the background.

I used one of father’s hunting knives to make an incision in the cat's belly. There is something magical about seeing the blood and the guts that are usually neatly inside come spilling out. The sounds the cat made hurt my ears, but I guess I can’t expect it to shut up when it’s being cut up. The intestines took a while before they found their way out. Now, as I poke it with a nice stick I found, it doesn’t screech anymore. The beast went quiet a while back. I think it might be the blood loss. Or shock. It’s a tiny thing anyway, so I suspected it wouldn’t last long anyway.

Now that it’s almost dead, I put it back in the pillow case. The eyes are already looking at me lifeless, while I can still see its chest shallowly moving up and down. Dragging it behind me over the forest floor, the cat’s body gets stuck behind bumps in the road every now and again, making the dragging heavy on my arms. The thrill of seeing the blood is quickly fading and that makes me feel as empty as ever and all my worried thoughts reappear.

All the other kids like to play, but I just don’t see the point. Useless games like make-believe or tag bore me to the point of wanting to set the house on fire, and I’ve been told over and over again that I’m not allowed to do that. The only game I like is hide and seek, because I like the suspense. I like the way it feels in my belly and I like to be covered in darkness where nobody can find me. The other kids stopped playing hide and seek with me though, because they could never find me and they quickly lost interest in it. Milo Vanderbilt told me they never searched for me anyway, so I stopped going to their games.

I throw the pillow case with the cat in a hole I dug in the ground a few days ago. It’s not the first time, but usually I feel a little less empty for a few weeks after getting an animal. This time, the thrill is gone already. Which is a shame. I like the thrill.

I’m sure the cat is still alive, but I start covering it up with dirt anyway. I couldn’t find a way to get the spade from the gardeners shed out again, so I cover the cat with the loose dirt with my hands. The idea that the cat is taking its last breaths down there stirs something in my belly. A half smile forms on my face, and suddenly today feels like a very good day.

My hands are covered in dirt, and if I go back to the house looking like this, one of the maids or the nannies will surely know something is up and start asking questions. I don’t like their questions. They treat me as if I’m a little kid and I’m dumb, which both are inaccurate beliefs.