{"id":251007,"date":"2026-07-13T00:53:56","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T21:53:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/334-am-nick-pirog\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T00:53:56","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T21:53:56","slug":"334-am-nick-pirog","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/334-am-nick-pirog\/","title":{"rendered":"334 Am – Nick Pirog"},"content":{"rendered":"
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She doesn\u2019t remember much of him.\u201d \u201cAnd he was good dad?\u201d \u201cAs far as I know. I was working in Ohio at the time and I didn\u2019t see him all that much during that period. Part of the reason we moved back was to help Marie out with the kids after he died.\u201d \u201cAnd John\u2019s death, nothing suspicious?\u201d \u201cNo, freak accident with a marlin. Pulled it on board, thing harpooned him in the neck, bled out before they could get the boat back to shore.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cornish, an avid fisherman himself, couldn\u2019t help but fight down a smile. Johnson, attempting to cover for the snicker emanating from his partner\u2019s throat, turned his gaze to Megan. \u201cWhen is the last time you saw Jennifer?\u201d Megan\u2019s voice cracked as she told the detectives the last time she saw her cousin was 3:30 p.m.<\/p>\n

on Wednesday, January 10th [1985]. \u201cDoes she have any other good friends? Or a boyfriend?\u201d \u201cNot really. She pretty much just hangs out with me and my boyfriend Derrick. Just last weekend all three of us went to the movies on both Friday and Saturday night.\u201d \u201cReally, what did you guys see?\u201d \u201cOn Friday we saw Dune and on Saturday we saw Beverly Hills Cop.\u201d \u201cHow was that one? Eddie Murphy, right?\u201d \u201cIt was good. Funny,\u201d she said with a forced smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Jennifer, you guys didn\u2019t mind her being a third wheel?\u201d Cornish asked, finally composed. \u201cNo, not at all.\u201d \u201cAnd this Derrick, he\u2019s a good guy, he would never want to hurt her?\u201d \u201cNo, never. It wasn\u2019t him. It was one of the guy\u2019s she was blackmailing.\u201d Both detectives and both her parents\u2019 eyebrows scrunched together in near unison.<\/p>\n

\u201cBlackmailing?\u201d her father asked, beating both detectives to the punch. \u201cWhat do you mean, blackmailing?\u201d Megan took a deep breath and told them. Told them everything. :::: \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you idiots just read the journal?\u201d I ask out loud, though I\u2019m sure at some point they would have. Possibly they had to turn the pages over to evidence to look for fingerprints before they read them over.<\/p>\n

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Copyright \u00a9 2015 Nick Pirog Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.<\/p>\n

Thank you for respecting the author’s work. 1kitap1.com\/en www.nickthriller.com 1kitap1.com\/en :00 I am in the White Room. My mother gazes down at me with green eyes. She pulls back her predominantly gray hair and puts it in a ponytail. She raises her right hand. In it, she holds a mallet. The handle is scarlet, or at least it appears scarlet, a consequence of all the dried blood. It might have been wood underneath, or metal, it\u2019s hard to tell. The chrome head of the mallet, which has been cleaned, polished to perfection, catches the glare of the bright light overhead and shimmers a white gold.<\/p>\n

I flex my arms against the velcro restraints, but they have no give. The mallet slams into my left hand. My knuckles break. I have no idea how many. The mallet slams down a second time. Then a third. She continues until my left hand is a pulpy mess.<\/p>\n

Until every single bone is broken. The pain is indescribable. Unimaginable. A pain you don\u2019t think, don\u2019t want to exist in this world. My mother walks around the table until she is standing on my opposite side. As hard as she\u2019s tried, she is covered in my blood. Bits of spray clinging to her lab coat, sprinkled on her neck and chin. Little freckles of pain and destruction.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will ask you this one last time,\u201d she says, nearly emotionless. \u201cWhere is the flash drive?\u201d I shake my head. I don\u2019t know. How many times can I tell her? The President didn\u2019t give me a flash drive. He didn\u2019t. I promise. She raises the mallet. Brings it crashing down. I wake up gasping. It takes me twenty seconds to realize I\u2019m not in the White Room with my mother.<\/p>\n

That I haven\u2019t been for over two weeks now. I push myself up and glance at the fancy weather clock on the nightstand. 3:01 a.m. July 7th. 69 degrees. I am in the bed I grew up in, in the house where I was raised. My condo is still uninhabitable.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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