Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Allison
Isit completely still, staring at the mess around me.
Every single item in my home has been touched, moved, dumped, and destroyed.
It’s like a tornado ran through my living room and ransacked everything.
Black dust sits on surfaces—swirling fingerprints apparent even in the low light of the single lamp I plugged back in and turned on.
If this house didn’t feel like much of a home before, it certainly feels like a nightmare now.
I let out a long sigh and step over several discarded throw pillows as I make my way across the room.
The worst part is that I’m alone. I should have my husband, my partner, the person who promised to be beside me through it all here next to me to help pick up these pieces.
But instead, he’s handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser on his way to the station.
I could have followed behind, met him there, waited for him to be released.
But I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t go.
You’d just be in the way.
Slithering self-doubt whispers across my mind, reminding me that I never have been and never will be truly good enough.
Brody’s family has money, connections, power.
They’ll have him out in no time. The most I can do is clean up our house so it’s tidy when he gets home.
Plus, I have to go into work tomorrow, I can’t request a sub without a laptop and mine was just confiscated as part of an investigation into the disappearance of my coworker.
“Ma’am, we have a warrant to search and seize any property which could be used to help us locate the missing individual,” an officer had informed me when I tried to speak up about needing my work computer.
How will I explain this at work tomorrow? To my principal, my coworkers, my students?
Fuck.
Simmering anxiety turns into full-blown panic.
My chest tightens and my fingers curl up into balls, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. My breathing becomes labored and all I can hear is a ringing as the pressure in my head becomes almost too much.
I feel the shriek that leaves my lips as it rips across my vocal cords, but it’s as if it’s someone else—like I’m not even sure it’s me anymore.
I don’t register picking up the lamp, not really, not until my arm is already in motion.
The pale blue ceramic shatters as it hits the wall.
Tiny shards explode, covering the floor below in a layer of jagged, broken pieces. My mother-in-law loved that lamp.
That felt good to destroy it, really fucking good.
Picking up a small glass dish next, I hurl it at a different wall.
It lands with an explosive thunk before the glass shatters.
Next, a vase of white calla lilies that I don’t recognize.
The water and flowers stream down the wall as the glass vase explodes.
Again, and again, and again, I grab what I can and just let loose.
A feral scream breaks free from my chest as I let go.
I break whatever I can—throwing objects, ripping curtains down, even pulling pages out of the fucking coffee table books.
An image of my childhood flashes through my mind—cowering, crying, scared.
Then a boy with a soft smile and cool blue eyes.
I scream harder. I scream for the little girl I once was who just wanted to be loved and for the woman I am now who just wanted her fucking happily ever after.
Fueled by fury, I destroy everything I can get my hands on until I’m left panting and exhausted, surrounded by chaos.
I spin and stare at the mess I just made, my panic attack receding with every broken and twisted piece of my home that now lies discarded on the ground. I was supposed to be cleaning up so Brody could come home to a clean house.
If he even bothers to come back here.
The whispering self-doubt creeps in again, setting my nerves on edge.
I roll my neck, cracking the joints as I try to ignore the negative little voice in the back of my mind.
I haven’t felt this out of control in a very long time.
Even my mantra, my grounding reminder of how far I’ve come, isn’t going to cover this up.
Shit.
Stepping over the remainder of the mess, I make my way toward the kitchen.
I need water, my throat has been screamed raw.
The kitchen is dark, the only light comes from the moonlight streaming in through the window above the sink.
The wooden floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I pad across the dark, silent space.
Grabbing a glass, I stand at the sink and turn on the tap.
The water pours out into my glass and I bring it to my lips, eagerly sucking it down.
The cold is soothing as it slides down my throat.
I close my eyes and take several deep breaths.
I am not weak. I am in control.
I remind myself of the words over and over again, letting them settle in my soul. I tamp down the rage, the anger, the chaos. Everything will be fine.
Slowly, I peel back my lids, expecting to see the empty expanse of dark trees that fill my yard. Instead, I’m met with two red glowing eyes. The Devil is staring back at me.
For a moment, I’m frozen in disbelief. He can’t be here. Not now.
The lilies I just destroyed weren’t here this morning.
Panic and fear grip my insides as I realize he’s been in my home. And now he’s back. And I’m all alone.
My feet move before my brain can process what’s happening.
I spring across my kitchen, throwing myself against the glass door that leads to the backyard.
He’s there just as swiftly, looking back at me from the other side.
I’ve never realized before how large he is, but as I stand this close, his dark form looms over me through the glass.
His hand goes for the handle, but I’m quicker.
I slam down the lock. The knob turns back and forth as he attempts to get in but the lock doesn’t give.
He angrily pulls on the door, trying to get it to budge as I take a step back.
I can’t see his face, only the glowing red mask, but I can feel his anger radiating off of him.
It’s clear what he’s here for—me.
My bones shake with terror as I watch him stop and take a step back.
He reaches into his pocket, slowly pulling something out.
The sharp steel of a blade glints in the moonlight.
What’s he going to do? Will he break the window?
Will he kill me? I should run, hide, call the cops; but instead, I sit, glued to the spot as I watch him remove his left glove.
He brings the sharp tip to his palm, drawing it along the skin.
What the hell? I swear all breath leaves my lungs as he brings his bloody palm up to the glass.
I stare in horror as he swabs the scarlet substance up, around, and down; then up, around, and down again.
A heart. He’s drawn a heart in blood on my window.
A single tear slips from the corner of my eye as I stare at his bloody marks. He cocks his head slightly, assessing me. Then he runs.
Shit. The front door.
I spin on my heel and take off across the kitchen.
My heart pounds in my chest. No, no, no.
I didn’t lock the door. He can walk right in, take me, slice me up, and make me bleed.
I need to get to the door first. My feet fly across the floor.
I step over pillows and pages flung wildly during my meltdown.
Only a few more feet. I can do it. I’m going to make it.
And then I misstep. I don’t even see the glass. It slices through the bottom of my foot with ease, sliding into the flesh and searing my nerves. A shriek leaves my lips as blinding sharp pain rips through my foot and up my leg. Fuck. It hurts so badly.
Footsteps thunder outside. He’s coming. I need to get the door.
With tears and snot running down my face, I hobble toward the door.
Each step is agony but I force myself forward.
Once I’m close enough, I fling myself against the wood.
With every ounce of strength I have left, I flip the deadbolt.
I sink to my ass, falling back onto the floor, right as a pounding begins on the door.
He continues banging his fists, grunting and growling like an angry animal.
A choked sob leaves my lips and I cover my mouth with my hands to muffle the sound.
“Allison,” the Devil behind the door taunts. “Open up and let me in.”
My breathing is ragged and rough, but I keep my hands over my mouth to muffle the noise, praying he can’t hear me through the thick wooden door.
“You’re mine, Allison.” His tone is tauntingly sweet. “Always have been, and always will be. And the sooner you stop playing pretend, the sooner things can be how they’re meant to be.”
His words prick at something in my mind, as if I’ve heard them before in a dream. But I stay silent. I don’t even dare to reach down and peel the jagged glass from the flesh of my foot.
“I’m leaving now, Sleeping Beauty,” he calls through the door. “But I’ll be back as soon as you fall asleep.”
I hear his footsteps receding, but I don’t dare move or make a sound.
I sit for an agonizingly long time—waiting, listening, sobbing.
Once I’m certain he’s gone, I release my hands and let the sob I’ve been holding in fall from my lips.
Spit and tears and snot stream down my face.
Reaching down, I gingerly pinch the sharp shard sticking out of my foot.
The pain is immediate. I can’t do this slowly.
Taking a steadying breath, I grab the glass and pull.
The agony is instant—sharp pain pulsing through my foot.
Warm blood seeps from the wound as I remove the glass and toss it across the room.
Fresh tears steal my cheeks. I need help.
Crawling to my bag which I left next to the coat closet, I fish around until I feel my phone. I stare for a moment at the illuminated home screen. I could—should—call the cops. Yet, as I bring my phone up to my ear, it’s not dispatch I need to hear.
It only takes two rings for them to pick up. “Hey, Ali, it’s a bit late for a booty call, don’t you think?”
Gabriel’s calm and deep voice immediately soothes me. He sounds awake enough and I’m grateful that I didn’t wake him.
“Gabriel,” I choke out, my voice raw from screaming and crying.
“Ali…” His tone shifts drastically. He sounds alarmed. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
“Gabriel,” I repeat. “Please, I need you.”
“Okay,” he says and it sounds like he’s moving around now. “I’m grabbing my keys. Tell me where you are.”
“Home,” I whimper. “I’m at home. Please—” My plea dies on my lips as a sob racks through me.
“Ali, listen to me.” His tone is firm and authoritative. It grounds me enough to allow me to hear him. “Stay put. Do not open the door for anyone but me.”
I nod. He can’t see me, though. “I understand. Please hurry.”
“I’m five minutes away, baby. You’re okay. Stay strong for me. I got you.”
I hear keys and a door closing through the phone. My body shakes as the adrenaline begins to wear off.
“Gabriel, please hurry. I’m scared.”