11. Jael
Sane - Fear of Men
W hen I was eight, I learned I would never see my mother again. She had been brutally stabbed to death. I wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel. I wasn’t even aware of what had happened at first.
All I knew was that my mother and my sister were gone and I was home alone.
It was that way for days.
I had to cook myself dinner and put myself to bed. I had to walk myself to and from school. I tried as best as I could to clean up after myself. My mother’s scolding voice echoed in my ears when I tried sweeping the floors and dragging the garbage bag outside. I knew she would say I’d done it wrong.
I couldn’t do anything right.
At least my sister was a genius. She played Chopin as well as any adult, my mother bragged.
It was why she spent so many hours practicing. It was why our mother dedicated herself to ensuring that my sister was the perfect piano player. She hired a special instructor who oversaw her lessons and taught her advanced techniques.
My mother and sister went to his home sometimes. They would be gone for hours, sometimes even a day.
So when they didn’t return at first, I thought they must still be practicing. They must’ve been with the strict instructor who spoke with a Russian accent.
Then the police showed up at our apartment and told me to gather some of my things. I was going to stay with Grandma Opal for a while.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my entire life was about to change…
Memories fade for the present as I tape the newspaper clippings to the wall and then start brainstorming. It helps to pace around the small space that’s the cabin. The movement gets the gears inside my head spinning.
It even keeps me awake.
I can’t fall asleep if I’m moving around.
The cabin’s cozy enough that it would be so easy. There are two bedrooms with warm duvet covers and a mountain of pillows.
When I finally dragged the shadow man’s body past the threshold, my back had ached and my eyes burned. I had wanted so badly to give into sleep and get some rest. But I couldn’t let myself. Sleep was not an option.
Not when I had taken the man who has been stalking me captive. I needed to be alert every minute of every hour in case he broke free and tried something.
The simple solution would be to kill him. Get revenge and end him.
It was a part of my fantasy, but one that needed to wait until I got answers. The shadow man was going to tell me where the hell my sister was or else he wasn’t going to like what came next…
Sensing a sudden shift of energy in the room, I stop in the middle of my pacing and turn toward him. His eyes meet mine from behind his mask.
He’s awake.
I smirk. “I’m not alone anymore.”
He gives no reaction as triumph surges through me. I slowly step toward him, drinking in every detail about him for the hundredth time since last night. When I chained him up, I considered taking off his mask. Curiosity screamed at me to do it. Rip off his mask and see what my tormentor looks like.
His body was scarred. Though most of it was covered, the parts of him that I could see, like his wrists and his neck, bore hideous, fleshy marks that would never fade, no matter how much time had passed. Is that what his face looked like? Is that why he wore the mask?
“I’m Jael, but you must already know that,” I say. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even move, yet even sitting still, even chained, his presence is anything but diminished. He’s as intimidating as ever, his hulking figure making the metal chains look almost flimsy.
But this is my moment, and I’ll be damned if I let him gain the upper hand.
“You’ve been following me for a long time. Haven’t you?”
He lets his silence speak for him. Behind the slits of his monstrous minotaur mask, his dark green eyes track me, unblinking and aggravatingly calm. That calmness— that composure —makes my stomach churn with anger.
He’s not afraid in the slightest.
I might as well be a gnat circling his head. I’m no real threat and his defiant silence and composure is letting me know.
“You deserve this,” I blurt out, voice sharper than I intend. “You know that, right? After everything you’ve put me through.”
Still nothing.
My fists clench at my sides, and I force a smile. “I think I deserve your name. Tell me who you are.”
He had no wallet on him. No cell phone. Not even any cards or cash, like such things were beneath him. Monsters like him have no use for such things.
The tension between us thickens as more silence answers me. The air is charged with something I can’t define. His stillness, his silence, isn’t submission; it’s exactly the opposite. He’s been sedated, he’s been chained up and taken captive, yet it’s still as if he’s the one in control. The energy radiating from him is unbearable.
His gaze is unblinking, more dissection after he’s spent years watching me. Observing every second of my life.
“I knew you were following me,” I continue, pacing again. “From the motel, for sure—but it started before that. Way, way before that. You were in the hospital with me, right?”
My voice rises as I speak, the haunting memories clawing to the surface.
“At night, when everyone was asleep, you’d show up. In the corner… or in the closet… or by the window… or… or under the bed.” I pause to draw in a breath to calm myself down, but it fails. I’m tumbling down a narrow hole of memories. “I’d scream so loud I’d wake up all the nurses. I begged them to do something. But you were never there. Poof. Gone. Like a bad dream. You made me look like I was insane.”
I whirl back around to face him, but his expression—or what I can make out of it—is unmoved. His eyes remain locked on mine, the mask like staring into the face of a hideous monster.
“Do you have any idea what that was like? What it’s like to have everybody think you’re crazy as hell? To have no one believe you? Answer me!”
Nothing.
Not even a flinch. Not even a blink of his eyes.
My pulse quickens, anger boiling to the surface. How can he be so calm? How can he sit there, shackled and unapologetic after everything he’s done to me?
“You ruined my life. You made me feel like I was losing my mind. Like I was less than human. And now…” I gesture to him, chained to the chair. “Now it’s my turn. Things are going to be different. Things are going to go my way.”
I laugh, a brittle noise that doesn’t sound like myself. I’m manic, unable to slow myself down even if I wanted to. Stepping closer to him, I lean forward and look him in the eye. “You didn’t think I’d figure it out, did you? You didn’t think I’d lure you here. You walked right into it.”
For a moment, I savor the words. The power they carry.
But when seconds go by and he’s still calm and unresponsive, I grit my teeth.
“You’re so quiet,” I snap. “Do you think that’s going to help you? How about I remove this mask and force you to show yourself?”
I almost do it. My fingers flex, curling inward then stretching out as I resist the urge. At least for now. Instead, I stalk toward the wall and motion to the collage of newspapers I’ve created. All headlines about the Cleaver. Photos of his victims. Article clippings. Maps. Timelines.
“Explain this!” I shout at him. “You’ve been playing games with me from the start, right? Tormenting me. You must’ve targeted her. And now my sister’s gone. That can’t be a coincidence. Say something!”
His silence is deafening. It’s its own form of torture.
The rage wells up inside me like a storm that’s unstoppable. I rush out of the room, my hands shaking as I throw open a large cabinet and drag out the case I found last night. It weighs at least fifty pounds, but I drag it back into the main room, setting it down on the floor in front of him. It bangs against the wooden floorboards, the sound loud and aggressive.
“You see this?” I ask, kneeling to unlatch it. The lid springs open, revealing the collection inside—Mr. Klum’s hunting knives neatly placed alongside a set of rifles and other tools. I pluck one of the knives out, letting the blade catch the light. “Beautiful,” I whisper, almost transfixed. Then I turn my gaze back onto him, distantly aware how crazed I must look. “Do you know how far I’m willing to go for answers?”
For the first time, I’m able to stir something out of him. His head tilts slightly to the left, his gaze focusing on the sharp blade I’m holding in front of him. He eyes the weapon like he truly believes it’s as beautiful as I’ve stated it is, and when he speaks, his voice is rough like gravel.
“Do what you have to do.”
The words cut through me like the blade I’m holding.
I’m struck speechless, staring at him in a frustration that’s left me frozen. That bubbles under the surface ’til it finally explodes and I jump to my feet. I slam the knife down on the table, piercing straight through the wood. Back to pacing, a laugh that’s wild and breathless tumbles out of me.
“You think this is a joke? You think I’m fucking kidding?!”
I sweep my arm across the table, sending papers, mugs, and pens flying. A lamp crashes to the floor, shattering into pieces. I rush toward the wall and rip away some of the clippings, a scream caught in my throat.
“You don’t get to do this to me!” I shriek.
I spiral.
Some part of me, some far away hidden part of me, knows that I’ve checked out. I’m so crazed in this moment, I need someone to stop me. I need someone to step in before I hurt myself.
Too late.
I grab another mug from the table and smash it against the wall. A shard slices across the palm of my hand and I stumble back at the sharp pain. Blood spills at once, leaking across my palm like a stream.
I watch in morbid fascination as my chest heaves with sobs that I can’t hold back anymore.
The blood drips one droplet at a time, deep red that splashes onto the wooden boards below.
I sink to my knees and fight to breathe. Catch my breath.
The panic I’ve kept away floods me and the room starts to spin. My body feels so heavy, my brain so fuzzy.
I can’t think.
A voice whispers inside my head, soft and familiar, not entirely unlike my own.
Sleep. Go to sleep…
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I… I can’t…”
But it’s a losing battle. The wooziness overtakes me and I drop the rest of the way to the floor.
The last thing I see before my eyes slip closed is the masked man chained to the chair.
Still watching like always.
It feels like a lifetime goes by before I’m jolting awake. My temple throbs and my mouth feels dry like sandpaper. For a second, I’m not sure where I am. I’m lying on the floor, the ceiling above me made up of wooden beams.
Then it hits me.
I gasp, bolting upright. My breath catches as the memories flood in—the cabin, the shadow man, the knife, the episode I’d had, and the way I’d slit my palm open. My gaze darts to where he was chained, panic seizing me up.
I expect to find the chair empty. The chains sprawled out across the floor, signaling his escape.
But I’m wrong.
I scramble to my feet so fast the blood rushes to my head and makes me dizzy all over again.
He’s still here. He’s right where I left him. If I’m not mistaken, he hasn’t budged an inch.
His dark eyes, the same shade as a forest, meet mine. He’s communicating the same message he had earlier.
Patience and calm.
Almost a sense of curiosity, like he’s waiting to see what I do next.
“You’re still here,” I whisper more to myself than him.
He doesn’t respond.
No surprise. I should probably stop expecting it out of him… until I force him.
I take a shaky step closer, studying him the way he’s done me so many times. His posture is unchanged. His massive hands are clenched into fists, though he gives no other signs he’ll react violently. He could likely break or bend the chain, yet he hasn’t even tried.
A man like him might be strong enough. He’s choosing to be here.
I press the base of my palms against my eyes and take the time to settle my nerves. I’ve already let him get to me once—losing control, screaming, smashing things. I can’t afford that kind of fuck up again.
Not right now. Not when I’m on the verge of finding out what happened to my sister.
I have to be strategic. Composed.
When I lower my hands, he’s still watching me.
“Why didn’t you try to leave?” I ask. “You could’ve if you wanted to.”
I take his silence as reassurance my assumption is correct—he won’t try to escape. At least not anytime soon. He might just be sick enough that he’s enjoying this. That he’s looking forward to this time between us.
Which means I have to use every moment I have him captive to my advantage.
But first… I need to clean myself up. Get myself together.
I lean closer and drop my voice to a whisper, my gaze holding his hostage. “Don’t worry, we have a long night ahead of us. We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”