Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
SUMMER
I take a few minutes to come to my senses. The rave is still raging around me as I sit curled up against the wall, close my eyes and get lost in the music. I can’t say how much time goes by as I sit huddled in that dark corner. No one notices my tattered clothes because I blend into the wall. He tattered them like he tattered my soul.
I can’t stop shaking. Whatever amount Grant gave me, it was too much for my little body to handle, but at least it helped dull the pain of my branding. At least, for now, the pain is dulled from where he seared and sliced me.
The drugs’ effects linger, and I’m left in this dark corner, where time seems meaningless, and I stare at the dark wall, unable to move or process what just happened. The drugs finally ease, and my body is left reeling from that polarizing experience.
I am, without a doubt, the target of a killer; every shadow seems to hold a threat, every sound heightens my anxiety.
‘Be careful, Summer. If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll wake him up.’
Is that what happened? I woke him up?
I keep my hand pressed on the X he carved and branded into me. Fuck, it’s deep, and will scar, probably forever. He’s tainted me with his darkness. He forced himself so deeply inside my soul, his hellfire is burning inside me.
I guess I wanted proof he existed.
I peel myself off the dank floor, trying to arrange my clothes and avoid looking like a monster. I tuck my breast into my shirt and stumble through the warehouse back to where I left Dani and the others.
I have no clue what time it is; the party is still going strong, although the crowd seems thinner than before. It must be well past two in the morning.
Dani and Misty are waiting for me, crossing their arms with their masks dangling in their hands. Dani looks more than unimpressed as she stands with her arms folded, tapping the toe of her stiletto.
She glares when she sees me, but her eyes soften when she sees the state I’m in. “Summer, where the fuck were you? I’ve been freaking out for an hour.”
My high quickly evaporates, replaced by utter dejection. I cross my arms in a pathetic attempt to hide the gigantic hole in the center of my shirt. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I was dancing and got lost in it.”
A pathetic lie, one I’m sure she can see right through.
Her eyes finally graze up and down my body, lingering on my general ruffled appearance and the rip in my shirt. She pinches her forehead as she hands me my purse. “Why do you look like you made out with a meat grinder?”
A flush of heat hits my face and her eyes widen.
“Summer Landry, you did not.”
I cringe, wishing I could melt away. “No, I didn’t. I was just dancing with someone. It just got a bit out of control.”
She juts her hand on her hip. “With whom, exactly? Because it wasn’t Grant. He was looking for you for a while before he gave up and moved on. I think I saw him making out with someone. And now we can’t find him.”
“I’m not sure who it was.”
Her eyes gleam. “I danced with someone, too. I think it was Xander, but I’m not entirely sure.”
I blink at her. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I cock a brow. “How do you know if he was wearing a mask?”
She grins. “His build was the same, and I recognized his sexy tattoos. This girl kept watching us as we were dancing, and it looked like that Bianca chick.” A blush hints at her face, and she bites her lip. “He kept asking me to do things .”
“What kind of things?” I’m happy for the digression of the conversation, and I’m genuinely curious what kind of interaction she had with Xander. Also, if Xander was there, Lincoln would be one of the faces hidden among the crowd.
She takes my hand. “I’ll tell you, if you confess why your clothes are ripped, you naughty girl.”
The color drains from my face and she frowns. “Summer, are you okay? You look…pale. Did something happen?”
Besides being marked by a satanic overlord who gave me the best orgasm I’ve had in years…no, nothing.
I wrap my hands around my shoulders, goosebumps pebbling my skin. “Grant drugged me,” I admit. “I’m not used to taking drugs. Can we go? I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Dani looks apologetic, but her pupils tell me she was on the same ride I was.
Misty walks up and frowns. “I want to go, too. I found Grant. He can drive us.”
I don’t miss the judgmental stare from Misty as she takes in my appearance. I wonder if she can smell the sex on me, or perhaps the stench of my burning flesh.
I follow the girls out to the vehicle, and the boys are already there. I pile in the back and sit in-between Grant and Dani. Luckily, Grant’s friend is sober enough to drive us.
Grant stares at me and fortunately, he can’t see my tattered clothes in the dark car. His hand finds my knee, and he leans into me. “Hey, where did you disappear to?”
His hands are foreign and clumsy, and after what I went through, I don’t want anything to do with him.
I face him and give a meek smile. “Sorry about that. It was hard to find anyone with the masks.”
He pulls his arm around me and shifts closer before I can stop him. “Come here. You look freezing.”
My bones bleed into ice.
It’s like my nameless monster is inside me. Like he knows Grant is touching me and is biding his time before he snakes in through the shadows and butchers him.
It has been just a few hours since we came here, and it’s as if I have been summoned to a higher calling. Experiencing emotions I shouldn’t be having. Something’s awakened inside me—something dark and sinister that I suspect has always been lurking in my core. It’s settled in my bones, my blood, and heart.
His hand innocently grabs my leg, and I imagine my nameless monster breaking each of those fingers as they tickle dangerously close to the X marked on my skin.
I carefully remove Grant’s hand from my thigh. I’m so tired and lean my head on Dani’s shoulder instead.
As soon as I have more energy, I need to tell Dani what’s going on. If I end up dead, at least I will have told someone, and hopefully stop him from doing this to someone else. The thought of such a possibility—of him killing another girl—makes me want to scream.
Something is definitely wrong with me.
I’ve heard about rape fantasies, and perhaps I’ve indulged in those thoughts in the past. But that was merely sexual curiosities since I’m not overly experienced in it.
But this?
I can’t deny it anymore. I was more than turned on at the thought of being his next victim than anything else. Dying at his hands, like it’s a prize to win. Sacrificing myself for something so sacred.
When we finally get home, I spend an entire hour in the shower, scrubbing myself. My sweat, his sweat, his essence all over me. Whatever it is, it lives in my bones, and no amount of water will wash it away.
I crawl into bed and revel in the scent of my body wash, though I still smell him on me. I stare out the window at the morning light as it drifts through the layered trees.
I lift my knees and wince as the X splits, and I examine it and start admiring it. The pain is excruciating now as it blisters and bruises on my pale skin, and I don’t bother to dull it.
He’s marked me… I’m just not sure what that means. I stare at it in fascination, and while it scares the living hell out of me, part of me thinks it’s beautiful.
Will I become one of the countless lost souls of Kinsmen, a darkness that’s plagued this town for centuries? A deep and succulent part of an unknown history. Truths and stories only the trees really know.
I grab my computer and open the private browser, typing in death fetish . I quickly delete it, disgusted with myself for even thinking those words or manifesting these hideous thoughts by typing them. There is no way I want that or even want to get off on it. Yet…there was no other explanation for his effect on me. I don’t want to die, and I’m certainly not suicidal.
I type in various other sex fantasies, mainly BDSM. It’s somewhat reassuring knowing the statistics show approximately six in ten women have these types of thoughts in one way or another, and that experts say they are common.
But this isn’t a rape fantasy, this is something else entirely. Following years of inner numbness, I’ve never felt more alive than I did the moment he held that blade to my throat.
I sleep the rest of the day, and don’t emerge from my room until five PM. Dani and Misty are both in their rooms, so I grab a left-over piece of pizza and head back upstairs.
Instead of reading like I should, I decide to see if I can find anything on the Order. Of course, all that comes up in the search engine is Shadowface and the media circus he created.
That is not what I’m looking for right now. So I try to dig in deeper into my search but can’t find much about them.
This leads me to more dead-ends, so I give up and type in Lincoln’s name instead, and hundreds of search results pop up. There are literally hundreds of Lincoln Kennedys in the US, which isn’t helpful, so I type in Kinsmen.
That search yields me his school profile and a superficial IG. He couldn’t have a more basic name if he planned it like that. And who knows, maybe that’s exactly what he did.
My mind keeps going back to that boy, and the familiarity I have when I see Lincoln. That boy was an orphan; he was most certainly an orphan. My father insinuated as much because he didn’t have a family. Lincoln was also an orphan.
I take another route in my thinking, deciding to search the missing people presumed to be the Shadowface victims. I do a quick search of obituaries from 2002, or anything related to the victims of the time. I scan a few links and nothing sticks out.
I keep scanning until I stumble upon an obituary that catches my attention. More specifically, a name that catches my attention. And the name is not Lincoln.
Kim Peters, a beloved mother and friend, passed away unexpectedly on October 31, at twenty-two years of age. Born on March 3, 1980, she left behind her cherished three-year-old son, Mikael Peters. Mikael was the joy in Kim’s life, and she was dedicated to her studies at Kinsmen University, where she attended on a scholarship to help build a better life for her and her son.
Mikael Peters.
I swallow hard as that name circles my mind. I type in Kim Peters and Kinsmen University to see what else pops up. I scan the university site and finally come upon a photo of my father and my stomach sinks. I stare at it for a few seconds, making sure of it. It’s a younger version of him with more hair, and he’s in a group photo. He is at some sort of campus event, and the photo is captioned: Kinsmen University, 2002.
A woman is smiling up at my father, who has his arm around her. She was stunning…long blonde wavy hair, low cut jeans, and a belly shirt. The name at the bottom catches my eye next to my father’s. Kim Peters, the same woman that died unexpectedly. No taunting photo, just a life that got cut short. No explanation.
My hand flies to my mouth as I stare at the photo of a woman who died during that era, smiling adoringly up at my father.
The world spinning around me, I close my eyes. It’s so overwhelming, I might pass out. My stomach tightens, twists and twirls. Years after this woman died, my father brought her orphan son into our house. And he never spoke of her.
I hate thinking it…I hate that there is a connection, as small as it might be, that my father could technically be Shadowface. SF insinuated it as well.
Did my father kill his mother? That would explain his obsession with me. One thing I am certain about, that makes my stomach turn: my father is connected to both ‘orphans.’
I flip my light off at midnight and close my eyes. My inner thigh is still throbbing, his scent lingering, his translucent eyes still embedded in my vision.
I roll to my side, then to the other, and stare outside—desperation clawing at me.
Whatever his plan is, it’s working.
I can’t get him out of my head.