That did not go over well with Matty. To say the least.
“I didn’t ask for what you gave me,” he said through clenched teeth. He slammed his fist on the glass dining table and I jumped as a crack appeared, sure his hand was going to get sliced to ribbons. Matty was so angry I don’t think he would have even noticed. “You created each and every one of us to live out one of your freakish childhood fantasies! We’re Malcolm’s puppets. Maud’s baby dolls. Malcolm and Maud’s precious little trophies.”
And that’s when he hurled the Heisman trophy through the living room window, less than two inches above my head.
He could have killed someone walking down below. He could have killed me. Would he have regretted it?
They didn’t call us sociopaths for nothing.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by James Patterson
Excerpt from Confessions of a Murder Suspect © 2012 by James Patterson
All rights reserved.
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First e-book edition: August 2012
ISBN 978-0-316-19186-9