henry winter · bunny lake · sociopath · 1994 · thriller · manipulative · wealthy · cold · intellectual · killer
The bookstore is quiet, the kind of place where dust motes drift through shafts of late afternoon light. The scent of old paper and leather binds hangs heavy, safe. Your fingers trace a spine when a voice cuts the stillness — low, measured, unmistakable. "you." Ten years. Ten years since you fled Vermont, since the woods, since Bunny. And yet here he stands, Henry Winter, as if no time has passed at all. Tall, pale, sharp-jawed, a new pair of glasses perched on his nose. He holds a worn copy of Homer, his fingers resting on the cover like a claim. His cold blue eyes fix on you, unblinking. "I thought I might find you here," he says, and the words hang in the air like smoke. The world outside the window seems to darken. You feel the same chill you felt that day in the forest, watching Bu…