Chapter 29 #2
The banging stops, and for ten full seconds, silence reigns.
My heart is beating so hard, I think I might pass out, but I’m not dumb enough to think he left.
I bolt for the living room, expecting to find my phone on the couch where I remember leaving it, but it’s gone.
I hastily toss the cushions to the side, hoping to find it, but it only takes me a second to realize he must have taken it.
No wonder he didn’t rush to follow me—always one step ahead.
I look around for anything else I can use for help, wishing like hell there was a landline phone like my grandparents had, but the rental doesn’t have one.
I look toward the left, seeing the dark corner of the entry just as I hear a loud crash. Instinct forces me to run toward it. “Damn it, I should have just slit your throat while you were sleeping,” he growls.
I’m not going to make it to the door. The thought registers just as he tackles me from behind.
I scream again. This time, it’s cut off abruptly when I hit the tile floor with him on my back.
My mouth gapes in an effort to take in air, but I can’t breathe.
Panic overtakes my limbs, and I jerk and fight, trying to dislodge him, but he just presses his weight down on me harder.
“Oh, Harlyn,” he coos so close to my ear, I feel his hot breath on my neck. A sob whines from my chest as I regain the function to breathe. “Shush.” I feel something hard trace down my exposed cheek. I don’t need to see it to know it’s a knife. “That was a dirty, dirty trick, Harlyn,” he chastises.
I wait for pain to blossom under the knife, but he must be using the blunt edge, because none comes. I wiggle again, and my stomach squeaks against the floor.
“I knew you’d still be a fighter.” His voice is pitched low, making warning sounds go off in my head. Another wave a panic washes over me, and I begin to beg.
“Please, please.” I don’t even know what to promise, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He pulls back enough so I’m able to fully expand my lungs, but he’s still covering my back. “Sorry for what?” I feel the blade stroking my cheek again.
“Everything,” I say too quickly, and he clicks his tongue.
“Not good enough.”
“Sorry I sprayed you.”
“Oh, you should be sorry about that.” He rubs his face against the back of my head roughly, shoving my cheek harder against the floor, and a chemical smell wafts off him.
“Speaking of…” He sits up so he’s straddling my waist, and all of his weight ends up centered on my butt and hips.
Deftly, he jerks up the back of my shirt, grabs the can that’s halfway down my pants, and rips it free, scratching my back in the process.
I bite my lips to stop myself from complaining.
The can skitters to the side several feet away.
“Not falling for that again.” He leans forward, pressing me to the floor and making my ribs scream in pain, but at least the knife near my face is absent. I jerk when his hand grazes the bare skin of my side dangerously close to my breast.
“Please don’t.” I shrink away from his touch, cursing the way I can feel the fabric of his clothes and the heat of his body pressed against mine.
Instead of stopping, he digs his fingers into my side and pinches, making me yelp. “You like that better?” he purrs with excitement. I roll my lips in and squeeze my eyes shut, but it can’t erase him or his touch. I need to keep him talking. Maybe then I can figure out a way to get out of this.
“I’m sorry I was mean to you.”
He pulls in a breath. “What?”
“I remember you. I wasn’t nice,” I admit, knowing I don’t have anything to apologize for. He terrorized me as a child. We had just moved in with my grandparents after Mom died. I was miserable, and it’s like he saw that in me and wanted more.
“You remember me?” He sounds young again, almost unsure.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Eddie,” I croak.
“Don’t call me that!” he snaps, jabbing his fingers into my side and making me wince.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. What should I call you?” I mumble through tears.
“Johnathan,” he answers after a short pause. “I’m not that boy anymore.”
“Sorry, Johnathan.” I try to sound calm, but it isn’t easy considering the position we’re in. “I was really sad. My mom died, and we had to move,” I explain, but the reality is I was a jerk to him because he was weird and mean to me.
“I know. My mom was dead too, but you didn’t care about that, did you?” He mashes his head into mine again, smashing my face harder against the floor.
“I didn’t know.”
“You should have, but no one asked, not even the people who knew her. She was just gone one day. No body fucking cared what Edward did to her.” He’s getting agitated, not making any sense.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask about your mom.”
“You should be glad I didn’t let Edward get a hold of you. He would have split you in two. Disgusting son of a bitch,” he grits out while rubbing his hands over my sides in a way that leaves no question that what he’s thinking and saying don’t come close to matching up.
“Thank you,” I whimper. That makes him pause. “I’m lucky you were there.”
“Yeah, you were, but you were an ungrateful bitch.”
I nod, unable to speak but wanting to agree if it makes him happy. “Your sister remembered me too. Not right away, but she was much quicker than you.”
“Is that why…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Is that why I killed her?” he supplies conversationally. “No. I would have gutted her either way, but it did make things more interesting. She noticed me, you know. When everyone else looked past me, she noticed. Maybe I should have killed you first and saved her for later.”
“She was… She was sweet,” I agree with a sniffle.
“She was only a substitute.” He nuzzles me, and I feel his hips circle near my butt.
I bite my knuckle to keep from telling him to stop.
“It was always you I wanted, but I wasn’t ready yet, so I started watching her, and do you know what happened?
She watched back. She invited me to sit with her, offered me half of her stupid fucking sandwich.
” His words grow clipped. “I knew the moment she made eye contact with me that she would die. Do you know how many girls I’ve killed because they look like you? ”
A whimper leaves me.
“Seven.” He says the word slowly right near my ear so there’s no way I could avoid it.
“Dark hair, blue eyes,” he accuses, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back.
“Did you think some bleach would make me forget you and what you let him do to me?” he shouts. His body is actually trembling.
“I didn’t let anyone do anything to you,” I plead.
“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know or didn’t hear me crying for my mom.” He punches me in the side, and a hot flash of pain makes me shriek.
“I don’t know. What you. Are talking about,” I say through stilted sobs.
“You let him hurt me so he wouldn’t do it to you,” he spits and begins slamming his forearm down on my back and punching me in a messy barrage of fists.
I squirm and wiggle, trying to get away, but I only end up on my side with him still on top of me. Instinct has me covering my head and face as much as I can while I curl up into a ball in an effort to make myself small, but it doesn’t stop the blows.
Pain explodes in the side of my face and ear, and I learn what it means to see stars. For the next few seconds, I’m deafened by a roaring sound in my head before things start to get fuzzy.
Everything hurts to the point where I can no longer identify individual blows.
My stomach rolls, making me think I’m going to hurl.
Stupidly, the thought of not wanting to puke on myself courses through my head before all my thoughts scatter.
I know I’m on the verge of passing out, and a very big part of me wants to let it happen and pretend I’d only be falling asleep, but even now, I acknowledge that for the lie it is.
Do I really want to give up this easily and let him win?
He’s panting at this point, and his strikes are slowing, becoming less forceful. Every drop of his fist still hurts like hell, but it isn’t the mind-numbing pain it was. I force myself to go limp, hoping he’ll think he either knocked me out or, better yet, killed me.
He recognizes the shift almost immediately, either that or he just pushed himself to exhaustion at the same time, because he collapses on my back. I have to fight every instinct in my body not to tense up. I think the fact that every muscle hurts helps.
As he catches his breath, clarity comes. I want to live, and faking my death isn’t going to be enough. I have to find a way out of this house.
His weight eases off me, and I fight the urge to release a sigh or suck in the greedy breath my lungs long for. He steps on my calf as he rises then kicks me in retaliation when he nearly trips. “Stupid bitch.” He’s still winded, but so am I. Now isn’t the right time.
His boots are heavy on the old wooden floors, eliciting creaks as he begins to slowly pace up and down the hall.
There’s a muted thud or two, followed by him muttering, “Get it together.” He nears again, and I lie motionless, praying he’s just making another pass.
He kicks my legs, and the suddenness of it works in my favor, so my leg slides along the floor with no resistance.
Once he continues on his path, I slit my eyes open just enough to see the very top of his head as he’s walking away. My hands tense on the floor as I prepare to push myself up. If I don’t get up now, I may never have the chance again.
A whimper I can’t stifle leaves my pinched lips the moment I lift my torso off the ground. The pain slows my movements, but I don’t let it stop me from getting my knees under me. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder, but fear and adrenaline keep me moving forward.
“Harlyn!” he roars, making my already trembling legs feel weaker.
Coordination isn’t my friend as I make a bid to reach the door.
I spy an old brass umbrella stand and reach for the wooden hook handle of the umbrella leaning to the side to use as a weapon instead of going for the deadbolt.
I twist to the side, holding the umbrella in my grip to somehow keep him at bay while fumbling for the lock with my other hand.
The glint of a knife draws a scream of terror from me as I make weak poking motions toward him.
I back into the corner, still scrabbling with the door lock, then I hear the latch give way, but he’s too close.
I’m not going to make it outside. I go into a frenzy, yelling and throwing the only weapon I have.
He bats the umbrella away with ease, and it drops uselessly to the floor.
I try to pick up the brass stand, but it’s too damn heavy and ends up just tipping on its side and rolling in a lazy arc.
He pushes the thing behind him with his foot, never slowing his approach.
“I should have killed you when I killed your sister. You’re nothing,” he yells, spit spewing from his snarling mouth.
“Fuck you,” I yell. He moves so fast, I barely see it, let alone try to move out of his way. The weight of his blow lands before the sharp pain registers. We both freeze. My mouth falls open, but the only thing that escapes is an exhale. His eyes dance back and forth between mine in excitement.
He takes a step back and looks down, the hilt of his knife is protruding from above my hip. I wish I couldn’t see it, because it might not hurt as badly if I didn’t, but it’s impossible. I slip down the door, yelling out in pain when my ass hits the floor, and I jar the blade.
Without missing a beat, he reaches for my foot and jerks me down so I’m flat on my back.
Darkness flashes in my eyes, covering my vision, but I’m not lucky enough to pass out.
He lifts my leg, preparing to drag me, and the pain is so bad, I kick out with my other foot to get him to release me.
He’s bent over, so my heel ends up nailing him just under the chin.
His head jerks back, forcing him to drop my leg.
I release another scream but open my eyes in time to see his arms cartwheeling.
There’s a metallic skittering sound as the can of bug spray slams into the wall.
The next second happens in slow motion. His face contorts in shock as he tries to reach behind himself and brace his fall.
If I lived one hundred years, I don’t think I would ever be able to forget the noise that comes next.
It’s soft and wet, but there’s a pop, like when you start to cut into a warm watermelon and it splits at the same time.
His legs begin to thrash and shake as if he’s having a seizure, and the heels of his boots bounce off the ground for ten seconds before he goes utterly still.
I close my eyes. I’m suddenly freezing, and the worry about what might happen next starts to slip away.