Chapter 12 Chloe
CHLOE
Isit frozen on my bed, listening to Theo’s heavy footsteps as he thumps down the stairs. My body is drawn tight between terror and something dangerously close to arousal. A sign of my own sick desires, the ones I’ve always tried to keep buried.
My first movement is to tentatively lick my lips, like I might find some lingering taste of him.
My first kiss in what? Two years? The dating apps are a fucking nightmare, and I learned early on that most guys are not worth the trouble, especially with my tastes.
My vibrator, a good-sized dildo, and my collection of questionable porn have been more than adequate in keeping me happy.
Until this absolute madman, this murdered-boy-turned-Hunter, fucking unraveled me.
Downstairs, the back door clicks shut. I wonder if he really left or if this is some ruse, that he’ll hide in a closet or one of the unnecessary bathrooms until I’ve let my guard down so he can jump out at me to finish the job.
I never should have told him I know what he is.
I stand up, still feeling numb. Grab my phone from off the bedside table. Turn on the bedroom light. It’s brighter than I’m expecting.
I swipe my phone open and stare down at the keypad. A normal person would call 911. But then the cops will come out here, and everyone on the street will see, including Oliver. And it’s not like Theo hurt me. He just—
Kissed me.
Looked at me like he wanted to consume me.
Made my clit inflame because there’s something deeply wrong with my sense of desire.
So instead, I pull up Penelope’s number, my skin clammy with fear. She answers on the second ring.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is slurred a little, like she was asleep. But Penelope sleeps like a grizzled assassin from a fantasy novel. With one eye open.
“I don’t know.” I walk over to the bedroom window and peer out at the lake from around the curtain. I don’t see much beyond some glimmers of light on the water and my own reflection in the glass. “Something weird just happened.”
“Talk to me.” Penelope already sounds awake. “And seriously. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I pull away from the window and pace across the carpet in my bare feet, my heart still pounding.
“There was a man here. He—” I don’t know how to say it, this thing Penelope told me I was better off forgetting.
“I think he might be—there’s this ghost story around here, right?
That this boy died and then came back and—”
“Chloe.” Penelope’s voice is strong and firm and motherly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. If this man is still in the house, say good night.”
I let out a faintly hysterical laugh. “He’s not in the house,” I say. “Or I mean, he’s not holding me hostage or anything. What I’m trying to say is—” I say the next part as fast as I can, like pulling off a Bandaid. “Ithinkhemightbelikeyoursister.”
The phone crackles in my ear, and I stop my pacing a few steps away from the doorway. He left it hanging open when he fled.
“Why do you say that?” Penelope finally asks, more calmly than I expect.
I take a deep breath, tightening my fingers around my phone.
“Chloe,” Penelope says sharply. “I’m not fucking around. This is serious. What did he say to you?”
“He said he wasn’t going to hurt me,” I say quickly. “But that he’s killed people—”
Penelope sucks in her breath.
“And that he’s eighty years old.”
I don’t tell her about the sign he made, or how he explained it afterward. A killer whose only purpose is to kill.
More silence. Not just on the phone. In the house. I think he really is gone.
“He also—” I swallow. “He kissed me. And I kissed him back.”
“What the fuck?” Penelope shrieks. “He broke into your house, and you just made out with him?”
“It’s complicated!” I shout back, although I really don’t want to get into the details of my sexual preferences right now. “What the hell should I do? I don’t want to call the police.”
“Yeah, fuck that.” Penelope takes another deep breath. “I’m gonna get Callie, okay? Are you sure this guy’s not gonna hurt you?” She pauses. “Do you even know his name?”
“Theo,” I say. “Theo Shorn.”
Penelope mutters the name to herself. I step out into the hallway, peering into the dark. The house certainly feels empty.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do,” Penelope says. “You sure he’s not going to hurt you?”
No, I’m not, but I still say, “Reasonably sure, yeah.”
Penelope sighs at that. “I’m guessing your grandparents didn’t leave you a gun along with the house?”
“No, of course not.”
“You should fix that. Anyway, see if he’s still…
around. I’m going to get Callie on the line, and I want you to make him talk to her.
” I can hear the edge of panic in Penelope’s voice, and I can’t say I blame her.
But while I do feel scared—my heart fluttering, my palms clammy—I wouldn’t say I’m panicked.
I really don’t think he’s going to kill me. I mean, he hasn’t killed Oliver.
“I’m going downstairs now,” I say.
“I’m pulling Callie onto the call,” Penelope says. “I’ll just be gone for one second.”
The phone clicks over. I step into the hallway, switching the lights on as I go, until I’m in the living room. The curtains on the picture window are pushed open, revealing the lake. The back door is shut, though.
Shut, but the lock is broken.
“I’m back,” Penelope says breathlessly. “Callie’s here, too.”
“Hello.”
Callie’s voice sends a little chill over my skin, the way it always does.
“Is he with you?” Callie asks. “Theo Shorn?”
“I don’t see him.” I press my face closer to the glass, trying to get a view of the lake. I don’t want to turn the light off, even though I know it’s stupid. It just makes me feel safer. “I’m going to go outside, okay?”
“Be careful,” Penelope says. Callie doesn’t say anything.
I push the door open and step out onto the porch, flicking on the light. The night feels like velvet on my skin as I tilt the phone away from my mouth and call out, “Hello?” I definitely don’t sound certain of myself.
The wind seems to swallow up my voice, and I strain for some sign of him: footsteps or a soft rush of breath. Anything. All I hear is the lapping of the lake.
“Theo?” I try again. “I, um, I was hoping maybe we could talk?”
“Anything?” Penelope says.
“No.”
“Just because you don’t see him doesn’t mean he isn’t there,” Callie says coolly. “I know the name. Theo Shorn. The little ghost story he hides behind.”
My stomach twists around. The little ghost story that I bought into until he stepped into my bedroom. I realize now I was only buying into it because I didn’t want the alternative to be true.
“Try again,” Penelope says tightly. “Callie’s going to tell him to leave you the fuck alone.”
My skin prickles. Do I want that, though? Really?
“Are you there?” I call out again. The lake swallows up my question.
“I don’t think he’s here,” I say into the phone.
Someone sighs; I’m not sure if it’s Penelope or Callie. I scan the darkness, but I can’t see anything. Just shadows and stars.
“Go back inside,” Callie says. “Bar yourself in your room and keep your phone on you. If he shows back up, call me.”
“I’ll text you the number,” Penelope adds.
“Okay,” I say distractedly, still staring out at the dark lake. Fear quivers around in my belly, but it doesn’t quite seem to match Callie and Penelope’s worry.
I don’t want to hurt you, he said, and I think I believe him.