25. Kennedy
Kennedy
I awoke to the taste of metal on my tongue and the pounding ache of fear in my chest.
The air around me was cold and damp. It smelled like old wood, with something sour underneath, like barely-contained rot. My cheek was pressed against hard concrete, and as I blinked through the fog in my head, I realized I was lying on a thin mattress.
I sat up too fast. The room pitched sideways, my stomach lurching in response. When the spinning settled, I took in my surroundings.
Stone walls. No windows. Just a low ceiling crisscrossed with old pipes and a single bare bulb overhead, humming softly. A metal gate had been bolted across one end of the space; thick bars, black and solid.
I wearily turned my head to take stock of the cell’s interior. Beside the mattress, there was a large bucket, another smaller bucket with a roll of toilet paper beside it, and a jug of water. Nothing else.
I pressed myself into the corner of the mattress, trying to slow my breathing. Panic was a wild thing behind my ribs, clawing at me with invisible hands as I tried to recall exactly how I got to this awful, dank place.
The last thing I remembered was my room. My bed. Sleep dragging me under like black water. Then…
Oh, no.
The memories were flooding back now. The Carver had broken into my house last night and drugged the police officers tasked with my care. Then he’d jammed a needle into my neck and taken me.
The recollection of that sharp sting sent a fresh wave of terror crashing through me as I wondered what horrors lay in store for me next, and I gripped the edge of the mattress, trying my best not to sob or scream.
No one would hear me except him , and the last thing I wanted was to bring him running.
Just as that occurred to me, I heard something.
Footsteps pacing above me, as if he’d somehow sensed that I’d finally awoken. Or more likely, he’d seen it. Because when it came to him, I was never truly alone. He was always watching. Always close.
I looked up at the dim bulb overhead, figuring a lens was hidden somewhere in the socket. Nothing was visible, but I could feel it anyway; that prickling awareness of a predator’s gaze sliding over my skin.
A moment later, the footsteps above me paused. Then there was a series of creaks as floorboards shifted, followed by a door creaking open somewhere above me. I flinched at the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps descending a staircase, the sound growing closer by the second.
He was coming.
The light overhead flickered once, then steadied again, casting his shadow down the wall as he stepped into view behind the bars.
He moved with the calm precision of someone who knew he had all the power. Gloved hands. Combat boots. All black clothing. His masked head tilted slightly, studying me the way an apex predator might study something small and trembling.
I forced myself to speak, my voice hoarse. “Who are you?”
He let out a low chuckle. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?”
I stared at him in stunned silence.
“No?” he said, tilting his head the other way now. “Well, then. After all the games you’ve played with me, Kennedy… I think it’s time I played one with you.”
My pulse jackhammered in my throat. “What are you talking about?”
He crouched beside the bars, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “I’m going to take you out into the woods so we can play a little game of chase.”
He was describing a children’s game, but the way the words dripped off his tongue made it sound like anything but innocent fun.
“I’m going to give you a head start, because you’re smaller and slower than me, and I’m not a total monster,” he went on.
He paused for a moment, drawing out a black pistol from a thigh holster.
The sight of it made my blood run cold. “I’ll fire at your feet to remind you to keep running.
And when I finally catch up to you…” He was grinning behind the mask now.
I could hear it in his voice. “I’ll make you run again. Run until you figure it out.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “Please… don’t do this.”
He ignored my plea. “As I was saying, the game doesn’t end when I catch you, Kennedy,” he said, voice soft but venom-laced. “It ends when you scream my name.”
“That’s not fair,” I choked out. “I don’t know who you are.”
“You will soon.” He rose slowly, his silhouette blotting out the light. “I told you, I’m not a completely heartless monster. I’ll give you a hint.”
I held my breath as he leaned in close again. “Your little friend Freya was asking about me sometime in the last few weeks,” he said. “I know because I’ve listened in on every single one of your conversations.”
My mind instantly started spinning, but I couldn’t land on a name.
He straightened again, stepping toward the padlock on the bars. “You’ve already been close to the truth. So nail-bitingly close it’s funny,” he said as he reached into a pocket with his free hand to retrieve a set of keys. “Let’s see if you’re smart enough to catch it before I catch you.”
He turned the key in the lock with a metallic clunk that echoed through the cell.
The gate creaked open, and he stepped inside. I backed against the far wall, trembling as he slowly crossed the room, emanating that familiar aura of terrifying calm.
“You won’t get away with any of this!” I snapped as he approached, lifting one arm as if I actually had any hope of defending myself against a man like him. “Whoever you are, the police are going to track you down. They’re already onto you, so kidnapping me from my house was really the wrong move!”
“If you say so.” Another step closer. “Oh, wait… I forgot. I left a note behind, purportedly from you. Your handwriting is very easy to emulate, you know.”
I blinked. “What did you say?”
“I said you wanted space because you were sick of the constant surveillance. So you sedated all the cops with hot chocolates that you kindly offered to them, and then you made your escape while they were fast asleep," he said. “I even left cardboard cups with laced hot chocolate remains around all three cops. So they won’t think you were kidnapped. They’ll just think you gave them the slip.”
“Oh, bullshit! No one will ever believe that ridiculous story,” I said with a sneer, head slowly shaking. “They’ll know it’s a setup by you .”
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll realize that eventually,” he said breezily.
“But I’m also sure the police will at least pause to consider your culpability, because you’ve got a long, documented history of mental health issues, and a previous incident where you viciously attacked a man.
You have—or should I say had? —a qualified therapist who will attest to that. ”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you him? Dr. King?”
He tilted his head. “Is that who you want me to be, sweetheart?”
“No!” I shrieked. “I don’t want you to be anyone! I don’t want you to exist at all, you fucking psycho!”
One more step, and he finally reached me.
“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring my outburst.
When I didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed my arm. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to tell me what would happen if I resisted. My legs were trembling so violently that I nearly stumbled as he marched me up the stairs, and my stomach threatened to empty itself at every step.
At the top, I saw a hallway shrouded in decay: cracked walls, dusty sconces, boarded windows. Whatever this place once was, it hadn’t been lived in for years.
We reached the front door, and he threw it open. Cold air slapped me in the face. It was still night, and we were clearly in the middle of nowhere. No streetlights. No passing cars. Just thick, looming trees and endless darkness.
I turned slowly, heart hammering. The house behind us was large, but it looked like something out of a fever dream. Windows blackened with rot. Vines creeping up the siding. Not a single light on.
No one would hear me scream out here. No one would ever find me.
“You’ve got ten seconds before I come for you,” my captor said lightly, like we were starting a schoolyard race.
I stayed frozen in place, paralyzed with fear. But then his hand lifted the pistol.
Bang.
A bullet exploded into the dirt by my bare foot, and I finally turned and fled.
Branches clawed at me as I tore through the woods, stumbling over roots, my breath ragged. I could barely even see where I was going, and my mind was a whirlwind of noise and chaos. Under it all, buried but rising fast, was a voice of reason clawing its way to the surface.
He said it’s someone Freya asked about in the last few weeks. Focus on that.
I caught myself just before I tripped over another root. Then I swerved to the right, vaulting over a fallen log as my mind whirled.
Crack.
A second bullet burst through the silence, this one a mere breath away from my foot.
I screamed and ran faster, branches tearing at my skin as I went. My heart felt like it would rip from my chest with all the terror, and the resulting adrenaline rush lit up my brain like a fuse, snapping everything into rapid, brutal clarity.
Jacob King.
Freya had asked about him more than once over the last few weeks. I could hear her voice clearly now, as if she were standing right in front of me and asking her questions all over again.
Are you still seeing that hot therapist from college? Did something happen between you two? Can you ask him if he’ll be our guest speaker on the podcast?
Could it be him?
No . He was under strict surveillance right now. Monitored every second, unless he’d slipped the police net somehow. But that didn’t seem very likely.
Another shot split the air, and my body jerked left instinctively. My lungs were burning, and my arms were scraped raw from all the brambles, but I didn’t care. I kept going. Kept thinking.
Dec.
Freya had asked about him a few weeks ago. I saw that sexy stepbro of yours today. Is he moving back?