23. Kennedy
Kennedy
Panic exploded through me like a gunshot as the skull mask stared down at me.
I thrashed instinctively, trying to scream, but a gloved hand clamped over my mouth, cutting me off. My heart went berserk, slamming against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
I turned my head toward the door, my voice muffled and raw against his palm. “Help!” I cried, jerking my head to the side with everything I had. “He’s in here!”
The officer stationed in the living room would hear me. He had to .
The Carver let out a low, rasping laugh through the mask; a sound that slithered straight down my spine and froze my blood.
“Are you hoping the cop out there will save you?” he asked.
His voice was muffled just like last time, heavy and thick behind the bone-white skull, but something about it still rang disturbingly familiar. I knew that voice. I just couldn’t place it. Not through all the layers of distortion.
“He’s not coming,” the Carver went on. “I stuck a needle in his neck three minutes ago.”
My stomach dropped. A hot, helpless sound rose and quickly died in my throat.
“The cops outside can’t help you either,” he added. “If you don’t believe me, go and check.”
My body shook violently beneath him, adrenaline surging like fire in my veins. I wanted to scream, to claw at him, to do something. But all I could do was lie there, paralyzed beneath his weight, listening to the soft rasp of his breath behind the mask.
He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying me. “I’m not lying,” he said. “They’re unconscious. You can check. I’ll let you.”
He shifted his weight off me like it was nothing, rising in one fluid movement that made my stomach churn.
I scrambled upright the second I could breathe freely, heart still hammering in my chest. My limbs felt weak and uncoordinated, but I forced myself to move, stumbling over to the window on shaky legs.
I yanked the curtains open with trembling fingers to look at the street outside. It was washed in silvery moonlight, quiet and still.
My eyes locked onto the unmarked car parked outside my house. The two officers inside were slumped forward in their seats. One had his cheek pressed to the steering wheel. The other’s head lolled against the window, mouth hanging slack.
My stomach twisted violently, and I whirled around to see the masked man now standing calmly in the center of my bedroom.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, his skull mask gleaming in the low light, the sockets staring at me like bottomless pits.
“I know what you’re thinking right now,” he said, voice eerily calm. “That you can still scream for the neighbors to call 911.”
My blood turned to ice. He was right. That exact thought had just popped into my head a split-second ago.
“But I’ve been busy tonight,” he went on, tilting his head again. “Every neighbor within screaming distance got a needle stuck in them too. So don’t waste your breath, sweetheart.”
My stomach lurched again. “You’re a fucking psychopath,” I bit out.
“But I’m your psychopath, aren’t I?” he said. “Isn’t that what you like? What you crave ?”
“No,” I said in a low voice. “Never.”
“Aww, Kennedy.” He tut-tutted and shook his head. “We both know that’s not true. We both know you’re soaking wet for me right now.”
My hands balled into fists at my sides. “I’m not.”
Another laugh. Low and mocking. “Such a little liar.”
I tried not to let my fear show on my face, but I knew he saw it anyway. Knew he was savoring it. Then, without ceremony, he slid one gloved hand into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.
A syringe.
“No,” I whispered, heart slamming against my ribs. “No… please…”
“Time to go,” he said, taking a step forward.
I spun on my heel and bolted toward the bedroom door, but I didn’t even make it two steps. He caught me easily, like he knew every move I was going to make before I did. One strong arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me back, slamming me into his chest with terrifying precision.
I thrashed, kicked, elbowed, but it was no use.
He was too strong. The glint of silver flashed in the corner of my eye, and then I felt a sharp jab in the side of my neck.
I gasped as heat bloomed beneath my skin, spreading outward in a dizzying wave.
My knees buckled, and the room tilted violently.
He caught me before I collapsed, holding me upright with an eerie sort of gentleness. My head lolled against his shoulder, the edges of my vision already beginning to blur and darken.
“You know what?” he murmured near my ear, his voice low and full of amusement. “You actually could’ve screamed. I didn’t go anywhere near your neighbors tonight. I only said I did to stop us both from wasting our time. Because either way, I was always going to take you out of here.”
My tongue felt thick in my mouth. “I… I hate you…” I whispered.
He let out a slow exhale, like he was savoring the words. “I know,” he said gruffly. “And I absolutely fucking love the way you hate me, sweetheart.”
His breath lingered near my ear, warm and humid beneath the suffocating scent of leather and antiseptic. My legs buckled again, and this time, I couldn’t stop it. My whole body sagged against him, and the room tilted harder.
My vision swam, the walls stretching and bending like shadows at the bottom of a lake. I tried to lift my arms, to fight back one last time, but even that small effort was too much. My muscles simply refused to obey.
“That’s it,” he murmured, like he was comforting me.
The last thing I saw was the edge of his skull mask as he leaned in closer, the glint of his teeth just visible behind it as he whispered, “Sleep tight, Kennedy.”
Then everything went black.