17. Hades
Hades
Rain runs down the back of my neck.
I ignore it.
I've been standing beneath the trees for almost twenty minutes, watching Presley through her living room window. Again.
At least tonight I have an excuse.
I'm checking that the back door is closed and locked.
It’s a bullshit excuse.
I lean my shoulder against the wet trunk.
A murderer with some morals.
Imagine that.
I huff out a low laugh. The rain battering the leaves and ground around me muffles the sound.
Fine. I wanted to see her.
After lunch today, I told myself I'd stay away for a few days.
Give her space.
Give myself space.
That didn’t even last until dark.
Pathetic.
Through the window, Presley is curled beneath a blanket on the couch. Penny is pressed against her leg, chewing on something.
The television flickers in front of them.
I can't hear much over the rain, but every once in a while, Presley's voice carries through the glass.
She's talking to Penny.
She does that a lot.
I like it.
I like knowing what she's doing when she thinks no one's watching.
Presley reaches for something on the table.
I shift closer to the edge of the trees, trying to see what it is.
She takes a drink, then grabs a handful of popcorn.
Her attention remains on the television.
Mine remains on her.
I've learned more about Presley over the last few days than I should know.
She talks to her dog.
Drinks coffee constantly.
Reads before bed.
Checks her locks more than once.
Loves Halloween.
Misses her grandmother.
Wants to become a professor.
And when she's nervous, she tells herself everything is fine even when she doesn't believe it.
I know the sound of her laugh now.
The way her cheeks turn pink when I flirt with her.
The way her green eyes look when she's trying not to stare at me.
My jaw tightens.
It’s not enough. I don't know nearly enough.
The television flashes brighter. Presley tenses.
I shift to see what’s on the screen.
A tall man dressed in black moves between trees.
I straighten slightly.
Presley says something I can’t hear. Penny stops chewing and looks up at her.
Whatever Presley says next makes me wish I were inside the fucking room.
I want to hear it. Every fucking word.
Instead, I'm standing in the rain like an asshole.
The scene changes.
A woman appears on the television.
Then the man steps from behind a tree. He's wearing a mask.
My attention sharpens.
Presley goes still.
Even from here, I see the change in her.
Her hand stops halfway to her mouth. Her shoulders stiffen.
She looks away from the television, toward the window. Toward me.
I don't move.
She can't see me.
The rain distorts the glass, and darkness covers the woods.
But something about the way she stares makes my pulse quicken.
She feels me again.
My attention goes back to the TV right as the masked man slams against the window.
Presley screams. Popcorn flies all over the room.
Penny launches off the couch, barking.
“Shit.” I step farther behind the tree.
Presley calls her name.
Penny ignores her.
She stops several feet from the window, then stares directly at me.
She knows I’m here.
I just hope she doesn’t give me away.
Presley looks terrified.
My pulse kicks harder.
Fuck. I like it.
I like knowing I’m the reason she’s clutching Penny tighter. That I’m the reason she keeps looking toward the window. That some instinct buried deep inside her knows she isn’t alone.
She just doesn’t know it’s me.
I don’t want Presley afraid of the world. I don’t want her afraid inside her own home.
But afraid of me?
Something dark inside me fucking thrives on it.
I want her safe. Protected. I want her to know no one will ever touch her while I’m around.
No one except me.
The contradiction should bother me.
It doesn’t.
She’s safe from harm.
But not from me.
Which is pretty fucking ironic considering I'm the reason she's currently staring through the window like she expects someone to appear.
The television continues blaring.
Presley grabs the remote and pauses it. The house goes quiet enough that I can hear the rain striking the porch roof.
Penny growls.
I stay still.
Then a branch cracks somewhere to my right.
Presley's body stiffens. Her gaze moves toward the sound.
She says something to Penny that I can't make out.
She stands.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Come to the window.
Come closer.
Part of me wants her to pull open the front door.
Another part knows if she does, I'll disappear before she can see me.
Presley takes a few steps, coming closer to the glass.
Then she grabs Penny.
I watch her carry the dog back to the couch.
Smart girl.
She settles beneath the blanket again.
Eventually, she starts the movie.
I should leave.
She's okay.
I've seen her.
That's what I came for.
Except the masked man appears on the television again.
I stare at him.
Then at Presley.
Her body tenses. She pulls the blanket higher.
Interesting.
I think about the book she recommended.
I read another hundred pages after I saw her, so I’m close to finishing. The heroine knows someone is watching her. She knows she should hate it. She knows she should be terrified.
Part of her is.
But there's another part she doesn't want to acknowledge.
The part that wonders what it would feel like to be wanted that much. To consume someone's thoughts. To have someone learn every little thing about her simply because he can't stop himself.
I understood the man immediately.
That probably isn't a good sign.
Then I think about Presley.
The flush in her cheeks when I stood too close. The way she looked at me over lunch. The hunger in her eyes that she tried to hide.
Fear and desire aren't the same thing.
But maybe they can exist together.
Maybe one doesn't always erase the other.
My gaze returns to the masked man on television. An idea forms inside my head.
Presley doesn't know who the man in her woods is.
But she knows the guy from the bookstore. The one she ate lunch with. The one she’s attracted to.
What would she do if she saw the other version?
Not a shadow or a movement between the trees, but a masked man standing where she can see me.
Watching her.
Letting her be afraid of me.
My pulse kicks.
I know what I have to do.
I give her one last lingering glance.
Soon, Presley.
You’ll see me.
But you won’t know who I am.
“You're reading porn,” Wilder says.
I don't look up. “It's a romance novel.”
“Porn with feelings.”
I turn the page, ignoring him.
Wilder drops onto the opposite end of the couch. “This might be the greatest thing that's ever happened.”
“Your life must suck.”
“It does.”
Fair enough.
He reaches for the book. I move it out of reach.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, you're protective of it.”
“Touch it and lose a hand.”
“Jesus. Is there a picture of your girlfriend in there?”
“She isn't my girlfriend.”
Wilder goes still. Then a slow grin curls his lips.
I realize my mistake, and mentally curse myself.
“Who is she?”
“No one.”
“You just said she.”
“There's a woman in the book.”
“Bullshit.”
I keep reading.
Wilder leans closer. “You met someone.”
“No.”
“You absolutely met someone.”
“Fuck off.”
“Is that where you've been going?”
I look at him.
He laughs. “Walking around the woods like a serial killer creeping on a woman.”
My jaw tightens.
If he only knew.
“Go to bed, Wilder.”
“It's nine-thirty.”
“Then find something else to do.”
He studies me for several seconds. “Does she know you exist?”
I ignore him.
Eventually, the couch shifts as he stands. “What's her name?”
I look up.
He grins. “Those dog treats were for her dog, weren’t they? Not some stray like you claimed.”
“Good night, Wilder.”
“Just give me a first name.”
“No, asshole. Now go to bed.”
His laughter follows him as he disappears down the hall.
I return to the book, but I can’t concentrate.
All I can see is Presley staring at the woods.
And the mask on her television screen.
The next morning, I wake up thinking about it.
Which is exactly why I don't do it.
It’s rash.
Dangerous.
Thrilling.
I replace another rotten board on the porch. Clean the gutters. Fix the kitchen faucet. Drive into town for groceries.
Normal, responsible shit.
I pass The Crooked Spine, but I don’t stop.
That's restraint.
Bramble & Bean comes into view.
I keep driving.
More restraint.
Then I see the temporary storefront three buildings down. Orange-and-black banners cover the windows. A plastic skeleton sits outside in a lawn chair.
The sign reads:
HOLLOW CREEK HALLOWEEN EMPORIUM
I stare at it as I drive past. “No.”
I continue another block and stop at a red light.
When it turns green, I make a right.
Another right.
Then another.
By the time I'm back on the same street, I'm irritated with myself. “This is fucking stupid.”
I find a parking space anyway.
The bell over the Halloween store door jingles when I walk inside.
Fake screams immediately erupt from somewhere to my left.
A motion-activated skeleton lunges toward me.
I stare at it. “Cute.”
A teenage employee behind the counter laughs. “Gets everybody.”
“Didn't get me.”
“You stopped.”
“Because something screamed at me.”
“Exactly.”
I walk away before he can respond.
The store smells like plastic and fake fog.
Costumes cover one wall. Witches. Vampires. Clowns.
I walk past all of them.
I'm only browsing.
That's all.
Halloween is coming.
There's apparently some town-wide celebration.
Having a costume isn't unusual. If anything, buying one means I'll blend in.
Then I see the masks.
Rows of faces stare back at me.
Clowns.
Demons.
Animals.
Skulls.
I pick up one.
Too ridiculous.
Another.
Too obvious.
I put it back.
Then I see one hanging near the end.
My hand stills.
It’s white. Weathered. Almost bone-colored. Dark hollows surround the eyes, stretching outward like cracks or shadows. The mouth is distorted, neither smiling nor frowning, and the cheekbones are sharp enough to make the face look almost skeletal.
Not quite human. Not quite dead.
I take it from the hook. The plastic is cool beneath my fingers.
I picture Presley’s face the moment she sees this mask.
Her green eyes widening.
Lips parting.
That little rush of breath when she realizes someone is standing between the trees. Watching her.
I stare at the mask.
I could put it back.
Walk out.
Go home and read the rest of the fucking romance novel like a normal psychopath.
Instead, I carry it to the register.
The teenager scans it. “Good choice.”
I look at him.
He points toward the mask. “Creepy.”
“That's the idea.”
He tells me the total.
I pay cash.
“Costume party?”
“Something like that.”
He puts the mask into a black plastic bag and hands it to me.
“Have fun.”
I take it.
“I plan to.”
The bag sits on the passenger seat.
I stare at it at the next red light.
This is a bad idea.
Presley is already nervous.
Checking locks.
Looking toward the woods.
Questioning things she sees and hears.
But beneath her fear is something else. Something I can almost taste.
The light turns green.
My foot presses the gas.
At the edge of town, I reach over and pull the mask from the bag. Empty black eyes stare back at me.
I think about Presley.
The book she recommended.
The way she watched that masked man on the television even though he frightened her.
I toss the mask onto the passenger seat.
I can’t wait to wear it.