Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #9
Hudson is alive! Thank God—that’s the only thought running through my mind all day. We have another meeting tonight at his apartment, and I’m contemplating telling him how I feel. I know, I know—I should be keeping things professional. But I can’t help it. And after all my worrying, it’s clear my feelings for him have slipped far past platonic.
God, I’m an idiot. How would that even work? How could I ever trust him around Brett?
On second thought, I may be keeping my feelings to myself tonight…
I wake to a gentle pressure on my thighs. Assuming it’s Venom getting comfortable, I reach my arms out, loosing a massive yawn with my eyes squeezed shut tight. I’m exhausted. I could sleep for another three weeks ? —
“Well, that’s fucking adorable.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screech, sitting straight up and nearly knocking the breakfast tray all over the bed. I would have if a pair of gloved hands hadn't grabbed it just before it toppled over.
I look straight at the masked face—a face I’ve spent countless hours staring at in a grainy image. And now he’s here. In my bedroom.
“I see that look on your face. I don't want to hear any of this ‘ how did you get in my apartment ?’ bullshit. The proper response when someone makes you breakfast is ‘thank you.’”
I’m dreaming, right? This has to be some fucked-up, prescription-induced hallucination.
“W-Why are you here?” I ask, cursing the way my voice trembles ever so slightly. In my defense, I didn’t expect to wake up with a serial killer at the foot of my bed.
With my heart hammering, I inch my way toward my nightstand drawer—where my loaded weapon waits for me.
The masked killer sighs as if my question irritates him. “No one has any manners anymore. ”
“I’d say breaking into someone’s house is pretty bad fucking manners,” I quip, forgetting my survival instincts for a moment.
A strange, mechanical laugh answers me. “You’re mean. I like it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s easy when a psychotic killer is sitting at the foot of your bed.” Almost there. Just a little farther…
“My, my. You might need another lesson or two in profiling if that’s what you think I am.”
Fucking. Asshole. Without thinking, I lunge for my weapon, flicking off the safety at the same time I take my aim, centering the barrel at the level of his forehead.
“I suggest you shut the fuck up before I put one between your eyes, asshole.”
The Phantom tilts his head, another eerie chuckle reverberating over the walls of my bedroom. “Do you really think you have it in you, darling? I’d certainly like to see you try.”
I take a breath, never letting my eyes move from that creepy black circle. Then I pull the trigger.
Click.
I look down in confusion—and, I admit, a bit of panic—at my trusty weapon that failed me for the first time. What the ? —
“Come now, darling. Do you really think I’d spend all this time making you breakfast just to get shot in the head?” He holds up a gloved fist, and one by one, he lets the bullets— my bullets—drop to the floor. I stare at the man in horror, for once not knowing how the situation will unfold.
If I could see him, I swear he’d be smiling.
“Oops. Can't forget the one in the chamber.” He cackles, the mechanic twang causing a shudder to run down my spine. Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more horrified, the Phantom reaches up, tapping the side of his mask and causing the bottom half to slide up.
The first thing I notice is a bullet, sitting squarely in the middle of the Phantom's pink tongue. It’s only there for a moment, because in the next second, he closes his mouth and swallows the fucking bullet.
Swallows it. What a psycho.
“I—You sick motherfucker,” I whisper, my throat closing as he stalks to the head of the bed. Nice. Real threatening, Brett.
The Phantom cocks his head, the bottom half of his mask fitting back into place, covering the sharp, stubbled jaw of his. “Sick is a simple term which scarcely scratches the surface of my psychotic and sinful persona.”
I frown when he stops a few paces from me, seemingly coming no closer than that. “Fine. You’re a freak.”
“Now you’re getting warmer, darling.” He pauses, then gestures to the tray sitting on the corner of the bed. “Eat. From what I’ve seen, your nutrition intake leaves much to be desired.”
I glare at him, slightly braver now that he hasn’t tried to outright kill me. That has to count for something, right? “How about you go eat a bag of dicks instead?”
The Phantom sighs. “Are you always this irritating?”
“Excuse you. I’m a fucking delight.” If I could see his brows, I’m sure they would be in his hairline now. “What?”
“Nothing… I’m not sure how to respond to you sometimes. You make me—” He cuts off suddenly. “You’re a confusing creature, is all. Now, eat up, darling. You’ll need all your strength to survive what comes next.”
“I already said no. Fuck off.”
He sighs, hanging his head. I glimpse his snow- white hair before he raises his head, that soulless black mask seeming to pierce my soul.
“I was worried you’d say that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?—?”
The Phantom jumps forward, holding a cloth that reeks of chemicals up to my nose and mouth. I try to fight him off, but he’s much too strong, and the gas is too potent.
The room spins, and everything goes black.