Chapter 8
Emerson
My body aches like hell, but in the best way possible. I’ve never been into the kind of sex I had last night. No man has ever taken me the way he did. And I don’t know how I feel about that. Should I be ashamed, I let some man fuck me until I cried? Probably, except I’m not. I thought sex was something I needed, but what he gives me? That’s what I crave. At least now I know what it feels like.
I pull my key from my bra and unlock the front door to head inside. I close it behind me before calling out for Brandon. He left me a message that said he was coming by after work.
“Brandon? You here?” I call out, tossing my keys onto the table by the door. I walk through the room when I see him sitting on the couch. He looks like he’s asleep so I smile and walk over, sitting down next to him.
“Brandon? Hey,” I say, shoving at his arm, but he doesn’t move.
“Brandon?” What the hell? I reach for him, shaking him slightly when it hits me. Quickly, I reach up and touch his neck only to find it’s cold and no pulse.
“Oh my God!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I shove off the couch and run for the door, not knowing what the hell to do. What do I do? I’m out the door and screaming frantically when one of the neighbors rushes toward me to see what’s happening. I manage to tell him Brandon is dead on the couch, and he pulls out his phone to call the police.
My body is trembling. He’s … dead. He’s gone. He’s … he’s never coming back. What happened to him? Who did that to him? Tears pour down my cheeks as I sob uncontrollably. The neighbor, Mitch, wraps his arm around me and holds me to his side until I slowly crumble to the ground. I can vaguely hear him talking on the phone through the sound of my cries.
I don’t know how long I sit here like this. I don’t know how long it takes for the police to show up, but when they do, we’re all confused.
“Ma’am? You said your ex-boyfriend was inside, correct?”
“Yes. Brandon. Brandon Sulton.”
“On the couch?”
“Yes. He wasn’t breathing. Oh my God. He wasn’t breathing!” I cry harder now. The officer looks from me to Mitch, but he just shrugs.
“Ma’am, we checked your whole house. There’s no one in there,” he tells me.
“Wh-what? How can that be? He was there! He was on the couch!”
“There’s no one on the couch and no sign of him here,” he tells me. Confusion slams into me. That’s not possible. He was there.
“He’s in there! I saw him! I touched him, for fucks sake!” I yell louder.
“Why don’t you come with me and show me where he was,” he nods toward the door. I glance over at Mitch before looking back and nodding at the officer. I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see him like that. He was grey, and his skin was cold, so cold.
I follow the officer inside anyway, even while I’m a trembling mess. He ushers me in front of him, and I lead him to the living room and point, except … he’s not there.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” I ask, hiccupping a sob.
“You tell us. You called it in,” he replies.
“He was there! I sat down next to him. I have the text messages saying he was going to be here,” I tell him.
“Can we see those messages?” he asks. I nod my head, walk to the table, grab my phone, pull up Brandon’s name, and pass it to him.
He scrolls for a minute before looking at me as if I’m crazy once more.
“Ma’am, the last message from him says he doesn’t want to see you anymore.”
“What? No.” That’s not right. I grab the phone back and scroll through the messages. “Where are they? They were here!”
“I’m not sure what you’re going through right now, ma’am, but would you like me to call for transport to the hospital for you?” For me? What the hell does he think is wrong with me? It’s Brandon they need to be worried about!
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You seem to be hallucinating.”
“I’m not fucking hallucinating! Don’t you think this is all strange? I’ve called you out here multiple times for the weird things happening here.”
“I’m well aware of the number of calls, which is why I’m offering you help,” he returns calmly. He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m crazy. I run my free hand through my hair as I look around the room, not knowing what to do. He was here. He was right there on the couch.
“I just … he was … I don’t know,” I say more to myself than to him.
“Ma’am, if you refuse the transport, there’s really nothing else we can do here.”
“I’m not crazy! I’m not going to the hospital,” I tell him once more. He nods his head and motions to the other cop who’s across the room and I stand confused when they all leave.
The door closes behind them and I glance once more around the room. Am I going crazy? I shake my head. No. He was here. He was dead.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask myself. Did I drink so much that I’m seeing things now? I tug at my hair as I walk over to the couch and sit next to the spot where I saw Brandon sitting. With a shaky hand, I reach over and rest my palm on the seat.
“He was here. I know he was here,” I say to myself. I pull my phone in front of me and dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Br-Brandon? Umm. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know what’s going on. Can you … call me? Can you do that?” This is insane. I hang the phone up, thinking this is insane. How is a dead guy going to call me back? He was dead. I checked. He was cold and pale. He wasn’t breathing.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I stay on the couch, running my hand through my hair, frustrated with everything.
I shove off the couch and walk slowly into my room, checking behind the doors and in the closet to make sure the police didn’t miss something. There’s nothing here. No one here.
With a sigh, I grab some clothes and head into the bathroom, starting the shower. I let it get hot before I strip and climb in. I let the water wash over me as I close my eyes, trying to get the vision of Brandon out of my head. He’s gone. Isn’t he? Is this him messing with me? How though? How could he have done it?
That has to be the reason, right? He did this. He made me think he was dead and took off. That’s the only explanation for what happened tonight. I keep my eyes tightly closed as I let the water rain over me. Why wouldn’t he just say he didn’t want to help me? Why go through all the dramatics?
I open my eyes and grab my shampoo, squirting it into my hand and scrubbing my hair. I start to rinse it out when I hear something. Did I hear something? Or am I really going crazy?
I pull back the shower curtain and stick my head out, but I don’t hear anything now. Shaking my head, I must be losing it. Maybe I should have taken the officer up on his offer to go to the fucking hospital before I end up in a mental institution.
I finish my shower and climb out, grabbing the towel as I go. I dry off and grab my shirt and shorts, tugging them on before brushing my hair out. Then I stand looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t look tired. I don’t look anything out of the ordinary, either. It’s just … me.
With a sigh, I leave the bathroom, shutting the light off on my way out. Feeling a little thirsty I start toward the kitchen when I see a shadow move across the room. My heart jack knifes in my chest. The beating could be heard from across the room as hard as it’s pounding right now.
“Brandon? If that’s you, this shit isn’t funny. You’re a real asshole for doing that,” I call out, but I get no answer. Forcing my legs to move when they don’t want to, I move in the direction of the shadow. I don’t think this is funny at all. If Brandon is doing this, I’m going to kick his ass.
I round the corner to the kitchen with my heart lodged in my throat and nearly jump, but there’s no one there. This is great. I’m really fucking losing it.
I sigh and make my way over to the sink and fill a glass of water, chugging it down like I can’t drink it fast enough. When I’m done I set the cup in the sink and head back to my room. I close the door without looking, and that’s when a hand wraps around my waist as another wraps around my mouth, blocking the scream that rips from my throat. I kick and claw at the hand over my mouth, trying to get free, but it does no good. Whoever this is has a strong hold on me, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
“Shh, no more screaming,” the voice says. It’s not Brandon’s voice. Oh my God. That isn’t Brandon.
Scared. That’s all I can feel right now as the man walks me over to my bed. He shoves me down, bending me at the waist, and all I can think is he’s going to rape me. Instead, he shoves my face into the blankets, nearly cutting off my air supply. I can hear him fumbling around with his free hand and try to get free. His hand comes back immediately, keeping my face in the blanket. I try to suck in air, but it’s harder now. My body is trembling from the sobs, and my face is wet from the tears.
“Please, let me go,” I cry into the blanket, but it does no good. He can’t hear my pleas, or he doesn’t care. Within seconds, I feel a prick and a slow burn as something is injected. Now I really try to fight. I push with my hands, trying to shove off the bed, when he falls completely on top of me. I feel like I’m suffocating as my eyes begin to blur and not from the tears.
As I lie helpless, all I can think is that whoever killed Brandon is going to kill me, too.