Let Me Keep You

Chapter 1

The sickening crunch of the man’s head hitting the wall made a shiver run down Lionel’s spine.

He groaned, neck tipping back into his pillow as he tightened his hand around his cock, staving off his orgasm for an extra moment.

He pulled his eyes back open once he was sure it wouldn’t sneak back up on him, and fixed his gaze on the screen again.

His favorite scene was coming up, and it was worth waiting for.

The men had died too quickly—they always went out in the most boring ways.

Lionel didn’t know why the women were the only ones who ever got extravagant deaths in slasher films. Men always died in such simple ways—a struggle, a weapon, and then red would paint the movie set.

Which was why Lionel couldn’t just let himself cum at such a mediocre part of the movie.

His hand finally started moving again, his mouth falling open for just a moment with a gasp, as the killer followed one of the remaining women into the house everyone had told her never to go near.

It was such a cliche, and everyone who had ever seen a horror film knew exactly what was coming, yet Lionel couldn’t drag his gaze away.

Lionel bit down hard on his lip, a startled moan choking out from his chest, as the killer’s knife came down over and over again until blood soaked him and the woman’s shirt. Lionel squeezed his eyes shut as his hand sped up until he was coming over his fist just a moment later.

His chest heaved as he came down from his high, his stomach tense as he reached over to grab a tissue off his nightstand.

He winced as he pressed the spacebar, bringing the movie to a pause.

He shoved the laptop off his thighs, always feeling a little bit more ashamed after he just came than when he was in the throes of it.

Sometimes he wondered what he would be like if he could just watch porn like a normal guy; he probably wouldn’t have to constantly settle for one-night stands that could barely get him off, that was for sure.

Lionel sat up and tossed the tissue into the trash before getting to his feet.

He pressed the button on the side of his laptop to eject the DVD and carefully placed it back in its box.

Once it was slid back onto his bookshelf, he took the few steps to cross the cramped studio and fetch a glass from the kitchen.

A glance at the clock made his eyebrow lift—the glowing numbers read 6:47 a.m. Mornings like this were rare.

Usually, tenants would flood his phone with complaints before heading to work for the day.

But ever since he’d woken at four, his phone had been silent, devoid of the constant demands for his attention.

As he set the glass down on the counter, a sudden chill curled his toes.

He paused, glancing up at the ceiling, then swept his gaze across the windows and edges of the apartment.

He’d felt drafts for months now—they hadn’t been there when he first moved in, but now, every so often, a cold breath of air would wind around him, lingering just long enough to raise goosebumps before vanishing again.

He was just about to grab a step stool and check the tops of his windows for the fourth time that week when he was startled at the sharp knocking on the wood of his door.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he realized he was going to have to actually answer that.

He pulled on his jeans that had been kicked off by the side of the bed and grabbed his sweatshirt on the way over to the door.

“Oh, Lionel, sweetie, I’m sorry for bothering you,” Ms. Huxley immediately began apologizing.

Lionel deflated slightly from the irritation that had gathered in his chest. Ms. Huxley was a sweet, older lady who had made him an entire box of cookies for the holidays.

“I can’t find Gary anywhere,” she said, wringing her hands together and looking past him into his apartment as though the cat would magically appear there.

“I think he might be in the wall again.”

“Again?” Lionel asked, turning to look around his apartment, wondering where the hell he had even put his toolbox.

“You know how he is,” Ms. Huxley said, smiling sheepishly.

Lionel sighed and nodded, “I sure do.” He waved a hand vaguely and told her, “I’ll be over in just a few minutes. I’ve gotta find my saw.”

“Of course, Lionel, don’t worry,” Ms. Huxley said with a smile.

“And I’m sorry again, I didn’t mean to wake you up.

” The residents here were of two species: those who apologized over and over every time they had to call him and those who hmphed and muttered that it was his job when they woke him up at the witching hour.

Which, he supposed, was his job—that was the deal he had made with his aunt.

Free housing for being on call to assist residents with anything they may need, 24/7.

Considering the prices of rent nowadays, it was a pretty damn good offer a few years out of college.

“It’s fine, I’ve been up for a while,” Lionel said, nodding at her as she waved at him for their brief ‘goodbye’ and made her way back down the hallway.

Lionel walked over to his laptop, slammed it shut, and grabbed his phone before going on the hunt for his toolbox. He had a few of them, considering there were so many tools he didn’t need to lug around every day, and it took him several tries to find the one he was looking for.

He barely got a step outside of his front door before he heard his name. “Lionel?”

He gritted his teeth for a moment before turning around with a smile.

“Good morning, Gina,” he said to the woman approaching him.

She looked even angrier than usual, her eyebrows pinched so tight the permanent crease in her forehead seemed deeper than ever.

She lived right next door, and he never missed the judgmental looks she shot at him whenever they crossed paths or when she called him to fix something.

“Lionel, call your aunt right now,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “The front door of the building won’t open. I’m going to miss my morning yoga class.”

Lionel stared at her blankly for a moment before smiling again, “Yes, I’ll definitely give her a call.” Like she could possibly do anything from an entire ocean away.

“You know, I pay a lot of money for this place,” she continued as Lionel turned and locked his door. “I think it is absolutely ridiculous for things to be locked like that. What if there was an emergency? What if there was a fire? The front door being locked is a safety hazard!”

“Was the doorman not there?” Lionel asked as he tried to inch around her. “Maybe you should call him.”

“He wasn’t,” she gasped, eyes widening. “Where is he? Your aunt should really know that he’s been slacking off—he was also late the other week!”

Lionel nodded, “I’ll tell her everything when I talk to her.”

“You better!” Gina called after him, but she didn’t stay put.

“I swear to God, if this door still doesn’t open by the time I need to leave for work, I’m calling the cops, or the fire department, or someone,” she rattled off, her voice sharp and nasal.

“And don’t think I’m gonna be the only one complaining either.

This whole building’s falling apart: first, my heat goes out in the middle of last winter, now the front door, and you!

What, you just stroll around like everything’s fine? Isn’t it your job to fix this place?”

Lionel didn’t answer. He walked faster, jaw clenched, shoulders hunching forward like he could physically escape her voice. She kept pace anyway, not noticing—or not caring—how close they were getting to Ms. Huxley’s apartment.

“I mean, what if there was a fire? What if someone has a medical emergency? Are we all just supposed to die in here? You think your little flashlight and your stupid keyring make you management—”

Lionel stopped abruptly, and Gina almost ran into him. Without a word, he reached out, turned the knob to Ms. Huxley’s door, and stepped inside. As Gina opened her mouth to launch into another tirade, her muffled “Hey!” was cut off by the latch clicking shut.

“Oh, hello, Lionel,” Ms. Huxley said, turning around in surprise at how hard the door had slammed. “I’m making breakfast right now. Would you like some toast and coffee?” Ms. Huxley asked as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Coffee would be great, thank you,” he hummed. “Where did you hear Gary?”

“Right here,” she said, pointing to one corner of the kitchen. “I haven’t heard it since I came back, though.”

That little asshole, Lionel thought to himself as he laughed and said, “he’s always getting into trouble.

I’ll open up the wall in a few spots if we need to.

” Her walls were already filled with spots where he had pried them open and then hastily spackled them shut.

He had her on his list to repaint her entire apartment that summer, but she didn’t seem to mind—she knew her cat was a bit of a nuisance.

Lionel just wished he could find whatever hole the little tabby had found that he kept getting into the damn walls through.

“Sweetie, is your phone working?” Ms. Huxley asked.

Lionel paused, considering the question, and glanced over at her as she continued, “I tried to just call you, but it wouldn't go through. I’m wondering if it’s my provider again, or if your phone is broken.

That’s why I had to come disturb you in person. ”

Lionel pulled his phone out of his pocket, realizing it had been quite a while since he checked it, considering he hadn’t gotten any calls that morning. He frowned when he noticed that he had no bars, and his wifi was out. “Weird,” he hummed, “maybe the cell phone tower is out.”

“Oh, there was that storm last night, I suppose,” she hummed, more talking to herself than him. “It wasn’t that bad, though, just some rain, but I guess something went wrong.”

Lionel responded with ‘oh’s and ‘hmm’s as he needed to and stooped down by the corner she had shown him.

He pulled out his toolbox, rummaging through until he found his jab saw.

The poor thing was falling apart from how much he’d used it since Ms. Huxley moved in six months ago.

He sighed under his breath as he jammed it into the drywall and started cutting.

His brain was in a completely other realm of existence, focusing on the smell of coffee, when the square of drywall finally came loose under his hand. Without looking, he pried it free.

Then he froze.

On the other side of the wall, pressed almost flush against the insulation, was the image of a woman—or what looked like one.

Her face stared directly at him, a grotesque grin stretching impossibly wide from ear to ear, revealing gums that curled deep around her teeth as though trying to swallow them.

Her lips were split and raw, pulled so tightly they seemed on the verge of tearing further.

The smile never touched her eyes. Those were vast and depthless, pure slick black like wet stones, gleaming in the dim light.

For a heartbeat, Lionel’s mind refused to process it. He simply blinked at her, caught somewhere between confusion and the urge to run.

Then Ms. Huxley’s coffee mug hit the floor behind him, exploding into ceramic shards. The sound seemed to break the spell, and a strangled, ear-splitting wail followed, slicing right through Lionel’s skull.