Chapter 27 Abi
ABI
He’s gone when I wake up. But the window’s open, the sea wind making the curtains billow inward. I slide out of bed and go over to look out at the yard below, the grass damp with dew.
How did he do that? Climb down from the window? It’s not like there’s a lattice. The wall is smooth, with nothing to hold on to.
I drag the window shut, confusion twisting around in my belly. The truth is, I slept well last night, knowing Nameless was here, his gloved hand stroking my hair as I fell asleep.
I can still feel the ache of him between my legs, the sense memory of that crashing, overwhelming orgasm—
I wrench away from the window. I don’t even know what I’m feeling at this point: guilt, fear, excitement, all three at once? It’s like a hurricane is raging around inside of me.
The body, I think vaguely. Last night, Nameless shoved the drawer closed without rearranging the body. I need to clean up any evidence.
It should sicken me. It doesn’t.
I get dressed quickly, brush my teeth, and go straight down to the examination room. Everything in the house feels normal. Undisturbed. Even the front foyer, where it all started. Where he kissed me—
Where he killed for me.
The examination room also feels undisturbed, despite what happened here last night. It’s as cold and sterile as it always is, and nothing is obviously out of place. There’s a part of me that wonders if I made it all up. If it was just a feverish sex dream.
One way to know for sure, I think, dragging the drawer open.
And there it is. The proof. The corpse is askew, the ruin of the head practically falling off the drawer. Worse, there’s an imprint on the metal from where my ass was, plus a frozen film of arousal.
There’s no denying what happened. None whatsoever.
And yet, I feel nothing but a vague, buzzy happiness as I clean up the drawer—wiping down the metal with disinfectant and polishing it until it shines, then shifting the body back into place.
The plastic sheeting is still on the floor where Nameless tossed it, and I pick it up and slide it over the corpse, and now it really is like nothing ever happened.
And that’s when I get the ache of sadness in my chest.
I shove the drawer shut with a clang and take a deep breath to steady myself. I have work to do. Bodies that Nameless didn’t provide for me, that he won’t expect me to violate tonight.
But god, I hope he does show up again—
My office phone rings, startling me badly enough that I yelp and slam up against the drawers. “Fuck,” I mutter, making my way over to my office to answer. “What now?”
At least I know it’s not anything Nameless did. He was here. With me.
I pick the phone up right before it switches over to voicemail. “Abi Snow,” I say briskly, trying to keep my eyes away from the map on the wall. The map of Nameless’s kills, the red pins spelling out YOUR DARK.
My darkness certainly came out last night.
“Abi Snow,” says the voice on the other end. It sounds strange and distorted, like there’s something wrong with the line. For a second, I think there’s an echo. But then it says, “I know what you did.”
My entire body goes cold. I swoon a little and stumble sideways, slamming my leg into the desk.
Someone saw.
Someone saw what I did with Nameless.
No, that’s impossible. I’m the only one with access to the examination room. There are no cameras here.
“Did you hear me, you stupid bitch?”
The voice startles me back to the present. “Who is this?” I hiss, bracing myself against the table.
“Someone who knows what a filthy fucking liar you are.” The voice buzzes and crackles. “Someone who knows you deserve to suffer, just like those other two cunts.”
My panic calcifies. This isn’t about Nameless.
Those other two cunts. Is this about Olivia?
“What?” I manage to get out, my head swoony.
“I’m coming for you next. And trust me: you won’t get away this time.”
A click and the line goes dead.
You won’t get away this time.
No. No, this can’t be Olivia’s murderer. Nameless killed him. I know he was dead. I saw the fucking body twice—once in my foyer, then again on my examination slab. And he only killed Olivia, anyway.
So who’s the second victim?
I wish, with a horrible tightness in my chest, that Nameless hadn’t left me alone.
Suddenly, my fax machine in my computer printer kicks on, the whir loud and mechanical in the silence.
I shriek and drop the phone receiver; I’d forgotten that stupid thing was still hooked up.
I’d never bothered to disconnect the number after Uncle Vic died, even though I never use it. I certainly receive faxes.
And yet I can hear the paper getting sucked into the printer, the whir of the ink. Something’s coming through.
I creep forward, my heart racing. It looks like an image: blurred, smeary colors. Dark with spots of light, like fireflies. And then something else. Something brighter than the rest.
A shock of blonde hair.
I fight back nausea as the picture slowly rolls out, revealing itself inch by inch.
A blonde woman, screaming.
Naked.
Tied up.
The image drops into the tray, and I force myself to pick it up, although my hand is shaking so badly that the paper shakes, too.
There’s something written underneath the photograph, a scribble in thick dark ink:
This is what she looked like before I fucked her…
The fax kicks on again, whirring and whining. I scream and stumble backward, fighting the urge to unplug it. I know evidence when I see it.
I look down at the picture again, my vision blurry with tears. The screaming woman. She looks familiar—
A split second later, the realization hits me like a punch.
It’s Heather Staunton.
“No,” I scream, the paper dropping to my feet. The next picture is already half in the tray, but I know what I’m going to see. I know, because I’ve seen it before, when I went to the gazebo in the town square.
And yet I still take slow, shaking steps over to the fax machine. I still look down at the horror sliding into the tray.
It’s Heather Staunton, kneeling in the dark, her head split in half at the jaw.
And the text, scrawled out in the same cruel hand:
…And this is what she looks like now.
You’re next, bitch. You and your little guard dog.