IV
STORM
A s soon as my eyes fluttered open, I found myself feeling refreshed. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly. Strangely enough, nightmares didn’t disturb my sleep. Instead, it was peaceful. I didn’t dream of anything – though I didn’t truly need to.
That was when I sat straight up, remembering the events that led me to this peaceful night. My eyes scanned the surroundings, and I desperately tried to figure out where the hell I was.
Until it clicked.
The entire room was familiar, but my blurry eyesight and sleepy mind didn’t allow me to realize immediately. Undoubtedly, the mattress was similar, the sheets smelling like my favorite fabric softener.
Pictures decorating the walls, and even the walls themselves, were all recognizable.
The interior of the room looked like a perfect replica of the room Micah used in the cabin three years ago. The only reason I was confident it was a replica and not the actual cabin was because it was long purchased by some businessman, and Micah wasn’t stupid enough to take me to the same spot twice.
But where the hell was he?
The only thing this room was missing was a window. It wasn’t dark, as it had a big lamp in the corner, but it was odd that there wasn’t even a single window in the spacious room.
Unless we were in a basement, then it made perfect sense.
Slowly, I pulled the covers off my body and noticed immediately that he hadn’t taken off my clothes. A part of me was relieved, whereas the other part was very much frustrated. He at least could’ve removed my coat and shoes.
With a sigh, I stood from the bed, yawning and stretching.
No matter how much I’d anticipated this and yearned for this experience, I was too relaxed. Micah wasn’t a man to be taken lightly, so I needed to have my guard up.
If it turned out that he was, in fact, only toying with me and his goal was to make me into an obsessive freak, I was unsure of how I’d react.
Over the past years, I did have a couple of breakdowns.
I never knew when they would come, and it seemed that anything was a trigger. Twice, Sierra witnessed it. The worry on her face as she struggled to help me regain my breath was engraved in my mind.
Lying became a part of me. Almost every word I uttered was a lie.
There was no way I could’ve confided in anyone. Sierra would’ve died from shock and a therapist would’ve called the police. In the end, I was left all alone to deal with the aftermath of his abandonment.
My family was overprotective of me during the first couple of months. It was suffocating because it seemed that I couldn’t escape them. Even while I was sleeping, there was someone watching over me.
It got annoying quickly, and I almost snapped at them numerous times.
I was an adult, yet they continued to treat me like a child. Of course, in their eyes, I’d gone through a traumatic event and they wanted to show their support. But the line between support and suffocation was thin, and they seemed to use that line as a jump rope.
Much to my surprise, the door wasn’t locked.
I peeked outside, only to see a poorly lit hallway. At the end of the hall, there was a staircase leading up. Not a single window.
So it was a basement.
With shaky hands, I started walking toward the stairs, until I found myself staring at a door.
Reluctantly, my hand reached for the knob and the door swung open swiftly.
Now this was something I didn’t expect.
Something I never would’ve expected.
The room itself was small. It was supposed to be a living room with a kitchen on the side, but that wasn’t what caught my eye.
The walls were filled with me.
As in, with pictures of me.
They went back to my kindergarten years, to quite literally yesterday. Some were taken with a good quality camera, whereas others seemed to be screenshots of street security footage.
There were even pictures of me asleep in the comfort of my home.
All my accomplishments were on full display. A copy of my master’s degree, a picture of me at a signing event, from the numerous interviews I had — all of it was there.
On the right side was a bookshelf.
The upper side held all my books. From my debut to my recent release, signed copies, limited editions, and even multiple copies of each novel.
The lower side had binders titled with every bit of research I had done since starting to teach at the university. The prettiest binder was the one I did on Micah, and that made me chuckle.
I didn’t realize that I approached the shelf until the binder was in my hands, opened, with me sitting on the marble tiles.
This research wasn’t publicly available. I did it to help my students. It was a project. I gave each of them a copy and their assignment was to find something new, to give me their theories.
Of course, it was just a cover up to see if I’d missed anything.
However, I was yet to get their assignments back. The deadline was December first, which meant that Micah either bribed one of the students and took it, or he was present while I was spreading the sheets.
There was no way I would’ve missed him in the amphitheater, right?
Right?
I closed the binder and returned it to where it was, before taking a small stroll around the room.
It was a little creepy that he had this entire room dedicated to me, but on the other hand, I was overjoyed by the fact he hadn’t forgotten about me. He kept a close watch on me at all times, and soon enough, the happiness turned into anger.
Why the fuck didn’t he come to me, then?
Evidently, he was everywhere. He had access to my apartment, despite me living in a high-security building. It wasn’t just one picture of me sleeping, it was multiple, taken on different occasions.
Some were even from my classroom.
The asshole was right under my nose this whole time, yet I didn’t notice him.
He didn’t want to be noticed.
Why?
A small groan slipped past my lips, and then I chuckled. The front door was locked.
Like a broken film, memories flashed behind my eyes.
The times when I desperately tried to escape from the cabin and he kept it locked. My heart swelled at the souvenir, and I couldn’t help but grin to myself.
This time was different.
I expected him to come. He probably thought I played right into his hands, but it was the other way around. The winner of this game was going to be me, with him falling on his knees at my feet.
To keep me occupied while he was out there, doing God knew what, I turned on the TV after finding some snacks for myself.
There were a couple of movies on, but that wasn’t what I was interested in. A news channel didn’t broadcast my disappearance this time around, or perhaps I hadn’t caught it on time.
Much to my surprise, it wasn’t a remote location. It wasn’t a cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere or a place that was in any way significant to me.
With a mere glance out of the window, I noticed a quiet neighborhood. Given the size of the house, it resembled a summer stay. A bit bigger, but not big enough to be considered a home.
Soon enough, I found myself bored out of my mind.
Was this one of his mind games? Boring me to death?
There wasn’t anything interesting on TV, and there were no books for me to read, except my own.
That was a horror movie I wasn’t going to watch.
It was starting to get dark outside quickly, and that was when I heard faint footsteps on the front porch.
Carefully, I stood from the comfortable couch and grabbed the first knife in the kitchen I could find.
Since Micah was able to keep himself hidden whilst killing people for years, I was now certain that he had help. However, there was also a possibility of that person knowing who I was and where I was, and I was yet to find out whether they were a friend or a foe.
If it turned out to be Micah, a light stab in the forearm was a punishment good enough for abandoning me.
For now, at least.
There was no way I was stopping at something as silly as a stab wound.
Light on my feet, I was a couple of inches away from the door, gripping the steel handle of the kitchen knife. It was sharp, pointy, and definitely enough to at least send a warning.
The footsteps came to an end, and my ears perked.
I couldn't hear anything except the unsteady rhythm of my heart.
Blood rushed through my veins, anxiety building in the pit of my stomach. An exhilarating feeling Micah had deprived me of; excitement.
“I don’t know what you’re planning with that knife, but I strongly suggest you drop it before you hurt yourself.’’
His deep voice rang in my ears, soothing my nerves like the softest lullaby. My hand trembled momentarily before I managed to grip the handle tighter, jaw clenching.
Who was he bossing around?
“Hurt myself?” I snorted, yet my voice cracked. “If I recall, it was you who ended up on the sharp end of the blade once before.’’
A laugh came from the other side of the door, chilling the blood in my veins. I was frozen to the spot, just like last night, when he was behind me in the coffee shop.
My resolve always seemed to falter when it came to this man.
Keys jingled as he unlocked the door.
My feet moved of their own accord, taking a big step back. A knot had formed in the back of my throat and I couldn’t swallow it. As the door seemed to be opening in slow motion, my anxiety hit the roof.
And then there he was, standing in all his glory.
He was wearing a black turtleneck, with black pants, and a trench coat in the same shade.
Even over his clothes, I could tell that his build had improved. His muscles were more defined, and it could’ve been just in my head, but it was as if he’d gotten taller.
Perhaps it was because my knees had buckled, and the intensity of his stare made me feel small.
His hair reached just above his shoulders, thick as always. A strand fell over his right eye, but it didn't minimize the predatory gaze.
“What’s wrong?’’ The tone of his voice was light, but there was mockery hidden beneath. “Where did all that confidence go?”
I swallowed harshly and managed to regain control of my body. With my head held high, I pointed the blade at him, raising my eyebrows.
“Oh, it’s still here. It’s almost as if you want me to stab you.’’
Micah chuckled, before grinning widely. “Do it. The pain will be worth it.’’
“Worth what?”
“Worth seeing you covered in my blood.’’
There it was.
The sadistic persona I’d been missing for years. With a simple, terrifying sentence, a part of me instantly healed. It was as if my heart had slowly started putting the broken pieces back together.
Air got knocked out of my lungs as he approached me, placing his hand on mine, right where I was holding the blade. He didn’t break eye contact, sizing me up with a silent, smoldering gaze.
Like a predator.
My predator.