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Monster

MONSTER

Jesse Kretch squeezed the steering wheel of his truck with a white-knuckled grip. Bile stung the back of his throat. He’d thrown up so many times today and he wanted to throw up now, but his stomach was empty and another round of dry heaves would do nothing more than leave him wrung out and aching.

And the voices.

They called to him.

Taunting and jeering. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his tongue to keep from screaming because the voices never stopped anymore. They kept at him day and night, laughing, prodding . . .

They never stopped.

Ever. That’s why he had to end this, now.

Jesse grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Pain rippled across his scalp and cut through the voices, giving him some clarity. He’d discovered—quite by accident, when he’d punched the bathroom mirror in rage the other day—that pain cleared his head, so as he twisted and pulled handfuls of hair, the voices faded. But they’d be back. They ALWAYS came back.

Which meant Jesse didn’t have time to
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