Chapter 4
Prudence
The doorbell rings again. A muffled voice drifts to where we stand.
“Open up! Police!”
“Wow, that was quick,” I whisper, staring up into the dark, brown eyes of the killer.
I realize I don’t know his name, and I’ll probably never learn it if he’s taken right now.
His mouth is slack, quick breaths fanning past his full lips. His tongue darts out to moisten them, and he swallows, staring at me in a way that is either helpless or apologetic, I’m not sure. Our eyes are locked.
“Open the door!”
My gut plummets, filling with a sense of loss. They will take him away, and I’ll be alone.
No.
I can’t be alone tonight. I can’t.
He takes a staggering step back, his eyes flashing in the dark, wide and crazy. He looks around, one hand curled tightly around the handle of his knife, the other burying in his hair, still wet from the shower.
“Trust me,” I say, my voice low and insistent as I plunge straight into insanity. “I’ll save you if you don’t kill me. Deal?”
He shakes his head as if in confusion, and my gut plummets with hopelessness. The police hammer on the door again, and I bite back a whine. Every second counts. We don’t have time.
“Okay, no deal. I’ll do it anyway.”
I expect him to grab me when I shove past, but he makes no move to stop me. I shoot down the stairs, sliding in my fluffy socks. My brain is in overdrive, thousands of dialogue options flicking through.
Good day, kind sir…
Why the fuck are you pounding on my door?!
I swear we’re innocent!
“We’re coming!” I shout, relieved when my voice comes out strong and just a tad alarmed.
I have no idea if this will work. For all I know, the killer will slash at the officers with his knife like an idiot, and I’ll be arrested for aiding him.
I pause in front of the door and force myself to take a deep breath, flicking on the lights.
The future stretches ahead of me, but I only see as far as midnight.
Two paths open. One: I tell them the truth.
They arrest the killer, question me, and leave.
I’m alone, with no one to talk to, no one to call, no one to see.
Everything inside me crumples and shrinks, cold, sticky loneliness filling my chest cavity. No.
Never again.
That leaves the second option. I save him, and he stays here. With me.
When I open the door, my mind is clear, my thoughts razor-sharp.
“Police? What happened?” I ask, taking in the couple of officers on my doorstep.
“Good evening, ma’am.” A stout man in his forties looks me up and down, rudely flashing a torch in my face. “We’re looking for a dangerous suspect. He’s tall, dressed in black, and wearing a motorcycle helmet. He’s armed. Have you seen anyone fitting this description?”
I glance at his partner, a slim woman in her thirties with a perfectly blank expression. Here comes my Oscar-winning performance. All I have to do is pretend this is a game.
Mission: Keep the cops from suspecting you’re hiding the killer.
I shake my head with confusion, taking in a long, calming breath.
Just a game. You’re good at games.
“Sorry, I was asleep. I haven’t seen anyone, but then, I didn’t leave the house all day. My boyfriend came earlier today to spend Christmas with me. We haven’t seen each other in a while, so we’ve been in bed. You know how it is.”
I do my best to smile sheepishly, but neither of the officers smiles back.
“Where’s your boyfriend, ma’am?”
“He’s just coming,” I say, shivers of relief running down my back when I hear the slow, measured steps on the stairs behind me. I turn, widening my eyes and hoping like hell he’ll keep up.
Mission: Communicate to the killer he’s supposed to be your boyfriend without making the cops suspicious.
“There you are, baby. They are looking for a dangerous suspect.”
His face is unreadable. I glance at his hands, almost sagging in relief when I see they are empty. He must have stashed the knife somewhere. Thank God.
I turn back to the officers, my nerves catching up with me. My mouth loosens, and a stream of words falls out.
“You can ask him, but I don’t think he saw anyone.
We were very busy, you know, making up for all the time we were apart, and my baby was wiped out after traveling to see me.
We were both asleep all afternoon. Long distance relationships are the worst, I’m telling you.
But at least we’re together, right, baby? ”
“Right.”
He stands behind me, and I arrest a soft gasp when his clothes brush mine. His arms come up and wrap around my front, pressing me firmly to him. I instruct my muscles to relax. Lean back. Don’t think that he’s probably going to kill you as soon as they leave. Breathe. Easy.
“Good evening,” he says, sounding tense and annoyed. “Thanks for checking in, but we haven’t seen anything suspicious.”
The male officer hands me a card, but my fake boyfriend snatches it before I even lift my hand.
“Call us if you see anything.”
Mission apparently accomplished.
Relief floods my system, and I nod frantically. The only thing that keeps me from bouncing in place like an overstimulated puppy is the solid body pressing to my back. I feel his heat, and it grounds me.
The officers just begin walking down the porch steps when the woman stops and gives me a quick, alert look.
“I couldn’t help but notice your house is the only one without any decorations on the block. Why is that?”
I don’t think, I just speak, and what comes out is the truth.
Mostly. “Oh, I didn’t want to decorate alone.
It was too depressing. My grandfather passed away this year, and it’s my first Christmas without any of my family around.
But now that my boyfriend is here, we’ll decorate.
I usually love Christmas, it’s just that this year is a lot. ”
The woman gives me a compassionate smile.
“I’m sorry for your loss. Merry Christmas, and please, stay safe. Call us if you see anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small.”
I nod eagerly. The officers leave, and I stare at their retreating backs until my killer tugs me back inside and closes the door. I shiver, finally feeling the cold. The reality of what I did crashes into me like a ton of ice.
I lied to the police to hide a murderer.
And why did I do that? Because I felt lonely and didn’t want him to leave. The truth is devastatingly cringeworthy. I push the thought away.
“We should turn on the heating,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “And put up some decorations in case they come back. There are some boxes in the attic, I’ll bring them down. We don’t have a tree, but at least we could…”
“Stop.”
I exhale in a rush and purse my lips. A warm, big hand cups my cheek, tilting my face up. I consider closing my eyes just to avoid his gaze, but that’s childish. I made my bed. I should face the consequences of my choices.
He looks serious as he studies me, and I study him back, seeing him clearly in the light for the first time.
He isn’t what I imagine when I think of a homicidal maniac.
He’s in his late twenties, his skin light brown, eyes big and fanned by long, curly lashes.
His dark hair is short but soft and shiny.
He is handsome, more handsome than any man I’ve ever physically touched.
My stomach squirms with unease. A strange sort of urgency buzzes right under my skin.
I have to push him away before he does, because of course, he is way out of my league.
He shouldn’t touch me at all. I’m a shut-in weirdo, the odd girl who barely speaks to anyone in real life, the dropout who left college to care for her grandfather, who then died on her not even a year later.
I’m a loser, destined to be all alone in the world.
Handsome, muscular men never pay me any attention. It’s unnerving that he does, because I’m sure all my flaws are right on the surface. He’s bound to reject me. Maybe laugh. That’s what hot men do in the rare moments when they notice me.
I brace to end this moment of taut intimacy when he does something strange. He pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me. I am swallowed by male heat and the scent of roses, and my senses go haywire with confusion.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but my throat is so tight, the words come out quiet and strained against his chest.
“Thank you, fluffy socks.”
I freeze, my insides filling with soft, sticky warmth. His voice is so low and masculine, and it just hits me again. A man is here, with me, on Christmas. My lashes stroke the fabric of his sweatshirt as I blink in confusion. We’re awfully close.
A part of me wants to burrow closer into the safe enclosure of his arms, and another part panics. I don’t know what to do, and I’m bound to make an idiot of myself. I’m frozen, all of my attention focused on memorizing each detail of him before he inevitably lets me go.
But he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.
“What’s your name?”
“Um. It’s Prudence. My grandpa named me.
My mom took off as soon as she could walk after giving birth.
She was dying for a fix, because my grandparents held her under lock and key throughout the pregnancy so she wouldn’t take drugs.
After his daughter turned out so bad, my grandpa vowed he would do a better job with me.
Hence the name, but I think it didn’t work very well.
I mean, look at me. Helping a killer isn’t very prudent. ”
He makes a low sound of surprise and pulls away. I bite my tongue. I wish I’d held my mouth shut, because my panicky confession obviously disgusted him.
“Sorry, too much information,” I say with a cringe. “Forget everything I said. My name’s Prudence.”
He looks at me for a long while, his eyes serious and assessing. I fidget, feeling trapped by that penetrating gaze. I can’t look away.
“You have a very pretty name, Prudence.” His mouth tips in a small smile. “Even if it doesn’t describe you well. I’m Rowley.”
I nod, my lips pursed. I’m afraid I’ll blab out another stream of personal mess, so I don’t say anything.
“So, your grandpa raised you? I’m sorry he passed away.”
I wave my hand, trying to look flippant, even as my teeth chatter from the cold. This conversation needs to end.
“Ah, you know. He was old and sick. He also missed my grandma. She’d passed away two years before him. So, uh. The heating. And decorations.”
I try to pass him in the narrow hallway, but he catches my upper arm, forcing me to stop.
“Thank you, Prudence.” His voice is solemn, eyes dark with something heavy and unspoken. “I won’t forget it. You just earned my loyalty for life.”
My throat threatens to close up. God, what’s happening? I can’t make friends with murderers. And I can’t get all teary because one just offered me his undying loyalty.
No one has ever said anything like that to me.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to actually talk to a killer.” My voice is light, just the faintest break betraying my turmoil. But I need to shift his attention away from myself. “So you can repay me by answering some questions if that’s all right.”
I head over to the old thermostat and turn up the heat. Rowley follows me, and I am acutely aware of his presence. A shiver runs down my back when I remember how it felt when he hugged me. It was like being lost, then found.
“I’ll answer what I can,” he says, and I grin, turning around.
“Awesome! Hey, do you want eggnog? I made some but didn’t drink any in the end. My grandpa’s recipe. It’s the best.”
And that’s how I end up inviting a killer to have a glass of eggnog with me on Christmas Eve.