Shadowface

Chapter 9

CHAPTER

NINE

SUMMER

I walked the path through the woods toward the forest near Dani’s and my home, yet he never showed himself. It was stupid to think he would, that he would chase through the forest and claim me.

Or kill me…since that was what he always said he’d do.

And that’s what Shadowface does.

He kills people.

He kills girls…

So why did he fuck me that night instead of killing me? That decision point I saw in his eyes through his mask, his hatred pouring out of him before something shifted and he became my lover instead.

Dani andMisty are both locked away in their rooms when I arrive home. I’m cold, tired, and utterly dead inside. The chill from earlier has settled deep into my bones, and I can’t seem to get rid of it.

I hover outside Misty’s door, ready to apologize, but I hear her on the phone, so I let it be. Instead, I head into the bathroom, discard my clothes, and run the shower as hot as it can go. Once finished, I wrap myself in a towel, step out into the hall, and dart up to my small attic bedroom.

I don’t bother shutting my blinds as I bend over and try to find something warm to put on. The cool air pebbles my nipples as I wring out my hair, realizing my window is open, though I distinctly remember shutting it.

A cool wind hits me as I stride to my dresser and pull out the lace bra and panties I bought three weeks ago that matches both pictures SF sent out. I pick a comfortable sweater dress that hovers just over my knees and settle into my bed, grabbing my computer and laying my head back on the soft headboard behind me.

I start clicking away on another assignment, but it’s not long before I hear a buzzing from my nightstand. I unconsciously reach for it, a small smile escaping my lips at the sight of his name.

I run my hand through my hair and take my time, not reading it right away. After a few minutes, my curiosity gets the best of me. I swipe my thumb on the message that’s waiting for me.

SF : You can do better than him.

I lean my head back on my headboard with my knees up, letting my dress hang loose over my thighs, and start clicking my response.

Summer: You won’t even tell me who you are. At least Grant formally introduced himself. What’s wrong with him? He’s athletic, attractive, smart, and most importantly, real. You’re just annoying.

SF: Are you trying to make me jealous, pretty girl?

My heart jolts at that pet name. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

There’s a change in his tone from before. Small things that suggest his moods swing dramatically.

Summer: Maybe.

SF: Well, it’s working. And that’s not very nice.

I shift and tilt my head at the screen.

Summer: Are you going to tell me who you are?

SF: Where is the fun in that?

I pause and rest my hand on my bare thigh. As usual, a hint of warmth begins to build inside me. Only he can arouse me so intensely. In fact, only he can arouse me at all. My thighs part and my gaze shoots to the window, at the open blinds and the inky darkness outside.

Is he watching me right now?

Summer: So you were watching in class. I thought I told you to stop messaging me.

A pause… I also stop to consider Lincoln wasn’t in class today. Not that it means anything.

SF: We’ve never stopped watching you, Summer. We’ve been watching you for a long time.

My pulse ticks a little faster, and I stare at the word on the screen.

We…

My memories of his visits are few and far between. His soft hands caressing me and the honeyed whispers in my sleep. There was never a we in the equation…it was only ever him.

It’s possible, I guess, if there’s more than one person in the secret society, and if they are behind this. It’s too intimate, too sensual for a group to be involved.

Whatever this is, it’s bigger than the Order of the Shadows. This is about him , not about them. And the only connection point is that burlap mask.

I press my lips together, my fingers drawing circles on my thigh, instantly regretting what I’m about to ask him.

Summer: Are you watching me right now?

He doesn’t answer. Two long minutes go by and nothing, and I think I scared him off. Until?—

Incoming video call

Shit.

I throw my phone onto my bed like it’s on fire, my heart racing as I fix my gaze on it. He’s actually calling me. No, he’s video calling me. I guess I wanted to know who he is, and this is my opportunity to find out. I snatch the phone and answer the call, making sure the camera is facing toward the bed. I remain silent, yet his breathing is audible on the other end.

“What do you want?” I finally say in a voice that’s weaker than it sounded in my head.

His voice is robotic and distorted, as if filtered through a machine. It reminds me of a horror movie.

“To watch you,” he says. “Do you want me to watch you, Summer?”

Those stupid butterflies… Why do I like the thought of him watching me so much?

“This isn’t normal,” I respond. I’m clearly not normal. That missing girl still hasn’t been located, and whoever is on the other end of this line is directly responsible. He’s indicated as much.

He snickers. “Define normal. Are you normal? Or would you prefer I were Grant right now, because he’s pretty fucking basic, isn’t he? Admit it, I am way more exciting.”

I can’t deny that.

“Let me see you,” he says softly. “I miss your pretty face and those soft legs.”

The ones I wrapped around him so tightly two years ago.

I guess there is no harm in showing him my face since he’s already seen it. He clearly already knows what I look like, so I turn the phone around, resting it on my thigh with the camera angling up at me. My cheeks burn, and he, of course, has his camera off.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, and my skin tingles. “And look how worked up you already are. Your cheeks only get pink when you get flustered. Turn the camera around. Let me see your legs now, baby.”

Baby… He never called me baby.

I grind my teeth. “I don’t think so, asshole, and I’m not fucking flustered. This is really messed up, and you don’t get to call me pet names.”

“Turn your phone around, Summer,” he says in that chilling robotic voice. “I want to see what you’re wearing. Trust me, you don’t want to piss me off.”

My mouth gapes as my stomach starts to roil and twirl, and the room spins around me.

“Now, pretty girl, before I cut that sagging tongue out. It’s not like you’re naked. I don’t think it’s a big ask.”

I snap my lips together and he laughs again, that robotic sound sending chills up my spine. As soon as my fingers twirl the camera, my dizziness subsides.

The words of a legend, and this is how he speaks to me.

Thank god I’m not naked.

I flip the camera around and lift it up, showing off my toned legs under my dress, which has now ridden further up my thighs. He’s quiet, terrifyingly quiet, and my heart races, unsure of what he’s doing beyond the camera’s lens.

His breath deepens. “Lift your skirt a little more.”

Enough. Enough games. Enough teasing.

“Listen… Who the fuck do you think you are? You disappear for years and expect me to do whatever you ask. I am not showing you anything else until you tell me who you are.”

I click off the camera. He no longer gets to see me. I should hang up, block him, and at the very least, report it to the school. I have more than enough incriminating evidence now to get him thrown in jail for years.

But I don’t. I can’t bring myself to do it just yet. The anticipation of what he is going to do next stirs something between my legs. I grab my scalp and pull my hair, trying to resist the immense pleasure building inside me.

I swallow, breathe, and wait for him to say something as my body vibrates.

“You have a stick up your ass, don’t you, baby?”

“What?” I breathe, releasing the tension on my scalp and my hands drift to my stomach.

“You’ve always been so stuck up, Summer.”

He knows every naked truth about me, and I know nothing about him.

“So what if I am?” I snipe, finally finding my voice with this creep. “I’m worth much more than being someone’s entertainment on call. You’re going to have to do better than this. You’re going to have to earn me.”

He takes off the app or whatever he’s using to distort his voice. His voice comes out deep and dark, and so familiar, it takes my breath away.

“I’m going to take that stick out of your ass and make you fuck yourself with it. And once you’re begging for my cock because your pussy has splinters, I’m going to fuck that filthy mouth of yours.”

My heart beats and heat sears straight to my pussy.

I sit upright and scramble my legs up, slamming my hand over my mouth. My stomach coils in on itself. No one, and I mean no one , has ever spoken to me like that. The phone falls to the floor with a thud . I want to flee, but I have nowhere to go. This is the safest place for me.

Somehow, the darkness outside intensifies—as if his evil spirit is out there, watching me. I stare at the phone, then close my eyes. I dry heave, my body freezes, vision blurs. Finally, my body reacts how it should. Frightened like a kitty cat.

That voice… I know that voice so intimately. Every dream I’d hear him, feel him, experience him. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t some guy with a weird crush trying to ask me out.

He touched my most vulnerable places, talking to me in my sleep, making me experience things. And at an age where I was just innocent and confused. He made me fantasize about things no girl should ever fantasize about. He’s been stalking me for a long time, saying things to me that are so utterly vile, so messed up…

And it led to me falling in love with him.

A dark laugh echoes from the phone. A twisted, cruel, and utterly sexy voice. “I wish I could see your face right now. How rosy those pretty cheeks must be. Don’t worry, pretty girl, we’re just getting started. Before I’m done, you will be the one begging to take your clothes off for me.”

It takes a moment to compose myself, to find the voice I so confidently had only moments before.

I choke out a stuttered breath. “So, what are you, then? Are you Shadowface?”

A pause.

“It’s physically impossible for me to be Shadowface, if that’s what you’re thinking. He would be in his forties, depending on which one you are referring to. Do I sound like I’m that old? I’m not your father’s age, Summer.”

My head spins, my throat dries up as the words form like ash in my mouth at the mention of my father.

The insinuation is not lost on me.

A memory floods my brain, the one that’s been in the periphery since I got here.

A face. A boy a few years older than me, sitting across from me as we eat our usual Sunday roast. My heart stutters and a sickening feeling falls over me.

I can’t remember how old I was—the memory is fleeting. He was older, that much I remember, but the years blur.

My father said he wanted this boy to experience a happy family dinner because he lost his own family. He was so insignificant, I never gave him another thought.

I’m positive it wasn’t Lincoln, even though he had similarities to Lincoln. Lincoln didn’t come into my father’s life until after. And that boy was timid; he didn’t act like Lincoln does now. My father often volunteered with troubled kids, helping them recover from trauma. There could have been more than one orphan he was working with.

He wouldn’t look at me the entire dinner. My mom tried to talk to him, and he’d only give one-word answers, his eyes downcast, pushing food around his plate with his fork. He stole glances at me, though. I only looked him in the eyes once, and I started to feel itchy. Something was off about him.

He spent the night in the guest bedroom, and I never saw him again.

I suddenly feel very dirty… My skin starts to itch all over at the thought of my nameless monster being that boy.

What was his damn name?

Mikael… I think it was Mikael.

I can hear his familiar breathing on the other line, like he’s waiting for me to ask him something. “I’ve been asleep, Summer,” he finally says, and I have no idea what riddles he’s spewing. “That’s where I’ve been.”

Asleep. I was asleep when he whispered to me for the first time, and all the times after. It always started out in a state where I couldn’t move. I was helpless, my body was paralyzed as if caught between sleeping and waking.

He must have crept into my room that night and watched me. Then he found a way into the house during the years after, and as I got older, he got bolder. His whispers became more intense.

My father was barely home; it wouldn’t have been hard.

A heavy anger ripples inside me, but I hate what he’s insinuating about my father even more. “You’re nothing but a pathetic orphan who decided to sneak up to my room and take advantage of me.”

A deafening silence settles as I wait for him to respond.

“Do you know why Shadowface covered the faces of his victims?” He’s so composed, yet his voice is sharp as a razor’s edge.

I refuse to dignify that with a response. Tension grips me as I inhale deeply.

His deep relenting voice continues, “It’s because he cut their tongues out and mutilated their faces. Probably because they talked back to him like you are right now.”

Bile rises in my throat at the visual, but I also can’t control the heat building in my stomach. As if two opposing forces are pulling me apart from the inside.

“And if you don’t watch your mouth, eventually I will cut your tongue out, too. I hope we don’t get to that point though, pretty girl. Your mouth is too precious.”

I kissed him once. The one night we were intimate, I couldn’t stop kissing him. It was the only time he ever touched me. Eventually, I craved his touch more than I needed to breathe.

“Where have you been all these years?” I finally whisper. My voice comes out shaken and broken.

The line goes quiet again, and I can’t bring myself to blink should I miss his response.

“I told you, I’ve been asleep,” he says in a soft voice, and I blow out a shaky breath. His voice is back to normal—not that I have a clue what normal is with him, but at least his tone sounds less nefarious. “I want you to turn the camera back on.”

This time I do what he says, losing all logic as to why I am listening to him.

“You’re really fucking sick and demented,” I say, turning my camera on.

“Yeah?” he says, and I hate how hot he sounds.

“Yeah,” I repeat back to him.

“Come on, Summer, you’re into this, so don’t deny it. You like when I talk dirty to you.” His demeanor shifts erratically between sophisticated and adolescent. My mind and heart have whiplash.

“Only because you whispered it for years.” The death threats, mixed with the soft, honeyed whispers after. My body is vibrating at the thought of it—memories, I realize now. The line goes silent for a heartbeat.

“What now?” I breathe, focusing the camera back on my legs, thinking that’s what he wants from me. My head pounds as I pull up my dress, showing my lace panty line.

Another small sob escapes me. Maybe if I just give him the show he wants, he will leave me alone and find someone else to target. Either way, as soon as this phone call is over, I fully intend to call the cops and report him. That’s the sane thing to do.

His eyes penetrate me through the phone. It’s like he can see into my soul.

“Show me, please,” he demands, almost sounding desperate. “Show me how slick your fingers are when you touch yourself.”

Please.

Such manners for a perverted psycho.

I lengthen my breath and move my hands in between my legs and gasp as I make contact at how sensitive I am. It doesn’t take much to make my entire index finger wet.

“Lick them, baby,” he whispers, and a sinking pit hits my stomach as the realization dawns on me that I currently have no control over my own desires. It’s disheartening to think about how degrading this is. It’s as if he has complete power over my thoughts, manipulating them as he pleases. I stare right into that camera and stick my finger into my mouth, and I can’t deny how good I taste.

“Now what?” I whisper as arousal bubbles up inside me.

Another lengthened pause, and I nibble on my lip, thinking about the next demand he is going to make and if I’ll actually do it.

Silence. I wonder if I’ve lost him.

“Hello?”

A cosmic shift through the phone. He’s done with whatever game he was playing.

“I want you to open your psychology textbook you’re so scared of.”

I squint my brows together as I come back to my senses. “What?” I ask him. I almost don’t recognize the voice…almost.

“Open it and start reading chapter two. Take your time, Summer. I’ll watch and wait, then we can talk about it.”

A heaviness hits my stomach at the sudden change in his voice.

Two orphans. Two. Is it possible there are two behind this? Are they working together?

I frown and wipe away my tears as I grab my textbook.

“Don’t look so confused, Summer. I want to help you—I wasn’t lying about that—and this is my favorite chapter. It’s an introduction to ethics.”