Chapter Twenty-four
I look up from the book in my lap to the sound of a door closing downstairs. I’m sure I locked up before I came up to bed to read, but the weather is a little windy tonight, and maybe I just didn’t latch it properly.
Placing the paperback on my nightstand, I reach for my robe and head for the door to my bedroom.
I’d already switched off all the lights, so it’s dark when I step into the hallway, barely lit by the glow of my lamp still illuminated in my bedroom.
I glance at the shadowy stairs just as another knock sounds, like the back door does when it gets caught by the wind after I’ve left it open to let in fresh air.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until it rushes from me, and I shake my head.
I really need to get better at locking down for the night, I don’t know how many times I’ve woken up in the morning to unlocked doors and windows.
I live in a quiet neighborhood, the houses neat and well-kept, but, as my sister always says, one wrong turn can change everything.
It’s the same thing I tell myself whenever I find my doors unlocked, but no matter how many times I remind myself to do it, I always forget when it comes to it. Wrapping my robe a little tighter, I take the stairs down, the chill of the wind rapidly stealing the warmth from my house.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hit my hand against the switch to turn on the light and make my way through to the small kitchen, where the backdoor is swinging and knocking into the counter behind it.
Rain falls in heavy torrents, flooding my lawn and path, and a puddle has started to form in front of the door.
“God damn it,” I whine, pushing the door closed and turn the lock this time.
I’ll check the front door on the way back to bed once I get this water cleaned up.
My house is only small, set on two floors.
It only has a simple living room, small kitchen, and double bedroom upstairs with one bathroom, but it’s home.
My home. One I bought after I saved a deposit for years and got my first teaching job at the prestigious daycare for children aged three months to five years.
Three days I teach the older kids, getting them ready to start Kindergarten and the other two days I get to spend with the younger ones.
I’ve always loved kids, and now working with them all day, every day is a dream. It helped me buy my first house.
Reaching for the towel, I crouch and mop up the water, seeing that it’s splashed all the way in, but as I stare at the puddles of water, the more I realize the shape. They’re not puddles. They’re footprints.
Boots by the look of them — big too — and they’re all the way through the kitchen, heading for the…
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he’s staring right at me.
He wears a balaclava that covers his face, is dressed all in black, and rain runs down the nylon, dripping onto the floor. A hood obscures his head. I can’t even see his eyes.
His head cocks to the side.
I have to get out.
Not wanting to give him my back but having no choice, I turn to the door and yank at the handle, but of course, I locked it already.
I hear his steps thunder toward me, too quickly for me to be able to get the door back unlocked so I bolt to the side, hoping to put the small kitchen island between us but his arms snag me around the waist, and he throws me down instead.
I hit the cold tile of the kitchen, head bouncing off the unforgiving porcelain, and stars burst behind my eyes. It takes me a second to realize he’s on top of me, trying to get me to turn onto my back, his legs straddling my hips.
“You think you can taunt me, Sloane?” He growls, his voice deep and enraged. “Years! You’ve taunted me for years!”
My head clears just enough as he attempts to force my arms above my head.
“Stop!” I beg but he slams my hands down, the bite of the tile snapping against my knuckles.
“You’re fucking mine, Sloane.”
“Who are you!?” I cry as I attempt to fight.
“I’m going to take what’s mine!” He continues. “Mine!”
Oh God. Oh fuck.
This cannot be happening. This isn’t happening.
“If I can’t fucking have you, no one can, you hear me, Sloane Harding?”
The way he says my name… the way it sounds… it’s so familiar, and yet I can’t place it.
But I don’t have time to dwell on this. I have to get out, call the police. I have to lock myself away and hide.
So, I start to flail, kicking and squirming beneath him, shocking him enough that his grip goes looser on my wrists.
Using every bit of strength I have, I shove my hips up, bucking, and he falls forward, hitting his head on the kitchen island, and I get out.
I don’t waste a second to look back as I run for the stairs, taking them two at a time as I shove into my bedroom and lock the door, running for my cell plugged into its charging port.
I dial 911.
“There’s someone in my house!” I cry into the phone at the first sound of his fist against my door.
“Sloaneeeee,” He drags out my name, “Come on, Sloane, let me in. You know it’s just you and me, right? Just you and me.”
“He’s trying to get into my bedroom. I’ve locked the door, but I don’t think it’ll hold.” I reel off my address. “My name is Sloane Harding, please. Help me.”
“Stay on the phone, Miss Harding. I’m sending officers your way right now. They’re five minutes out.”
A lot can happen in five minutes.
I hear the wood of the door splintering as something slams against it.
“He’s going to get in,” My voice shakes. “He’s going to get in. He’s going to kill me.”
“Is there anywhere to hide, Miss Harding? A closet? Do you have access to a window?”
“He’s at the door; the lock isn’t very strong.”
“We have officers en route to you, they’ll be there any minute.” She assures me, her voice calm.
“I don’t think I have a minute,” I whisper cry into the phone as another loud crash sounds, a crack visibly forming in the door.
The operator starts to say something, but the door slams open at the same time, stealing my attention. He barrels in, and even though I can’t see his face, can’t see his expression, I feel his anger.
“You little bitch,” He snarls as he lunges for me. It’s then that I notice the blade in his hand, the metal catches in the light, glinting viciously. “I told you, Sloane, if I can’t have you, no one can!”
In my attempt to get away, I drop the phone, accidentally kicking it with my toe so it skitters under the bed and out of reach. The police will be too late. They’re going to find my body right here.
“Please,” I beg as I try to get away from him and to the open door. Maybe if I can get downstairs, I can escape, run to a neighbor, or just run, run until I find the cops coming my way. “Please, I don’t want to die.”
“We’ll be together again,” He vows, “We will.”
“No!” I scream and make a beeline for the door, but I’m not quick enough, not strong enough.
I’m weak, useless, even in an attempt to save my own life.
I didn’t lock my doors; I let him right in.
I don’t have a weapon; I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.
I have doomed myself. I fall as he tackles me, his heavy gait landing on my back, which is gone in the next moment and his hand grasps my ankle, dragging me back into the room.
“We are destined, Sloane, don’t you see?” He picks me up like I weigh nothing and throws me down onto the bed, his body following so he can pin me to the mattress. “We will always find each other.”
“I don’t want to die,” I plead, “Stop, please.”
“I can’t,” He sighs, “I can’t, Sloane, because if I stop, you’ll leave. You’ll leave like you always do.”
I don’t understand what is happening, how I’ve missed this. There were no warnings, no signs.
“You always come, Sloane, and then you leave, and you don’t even look at me. You don’t, you act like I am invisible, and that hurts.”
“Who are you?”
But my question only enrages him.
“You fucking slut! You don’t even see me!” He growls, lifting the knife to slice it down my arm. I cry out at the pain, a burn that bursts from the gash. Blood warms my skin and runs off my body. “I’m sorry,” His tone changes, soothes, “I’m sorry, Sloane.”
But all I can do is cry.
“I have to do this. It’ll hurt for only a minute, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to die!” I scream.
I watch in abject horror as he lifts his knife, his position meaning it’s going to come down into my stomach. I don’t know the odds of surviving such a wound and I don’t want to play with statistics. I cannot die today. I cannot.
“No!” I scream, the sound curdling my own blood, but he doesn’t hesitate. The knife comes toward me, so I do the only thing I can, I jerk with every ounce of my strength.
It’s not enough.
But it is enough to stop the blade from hitting me in my gut.
The knife slices through me at the hip, opening me down the entire left side of me. It cuts me open, splits my flesh and muscle, spilling my blood. I feel it leaking out of me like a burst pipe.
He screams in anger and frustration, but my strength is dwindling. I fought it off for now, but there’s nothing left. I have nothing left.
At least I fought, right? When this is reported in the town news, will they say that? Will they say I tried?
What will they say about me? Will it be kind?
I sag into the mattress, going boneless, and my vision fades.
Vaguely, I hear sirens, but I can’t tell how far away they are.
The weight suddenly lifts from me, leaving me cold in the middle of the bed while a hot pool of blood forms beneath me.
He’s leaving.
This is what he wanted, to kill me. To find me in whatever life is next now.
“Miss Harding!?” Someone yells, but it’s too late. I can feel myself dying. “Miss Harding, stay with me. I’ve got you!”
But they don’t have me. No one has me.
“Where the fuck is the ambulance!?” They yell frantically. “Stay with me. Stay with me.”
I wake in the hospital, a machine beeping to my left, and my sister crying to my right. Everything hurts, aches, throbs.
“He escaped,” Someone says, “We have no leads.”
My lashes flutter, but there’s a weight on my eyelids, stopping me from opening them.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might wish harm to your sister?” They continue.
“No,” Shelly, my sister, answers, “Everyone loves Sloane. She’s so nice to everyone. She works at the daycare, for Christ’s sake.”
“I understand,” The other voice responds. “But as of right now, we don’t know who hurt her. If you think of anything, anything at all, call me.”
“Of course,” My sister answers.
Another voice joins the mix, one that has alarm bells blaring, but the fog descends quickly after, and I fall back into that dreamless, black sense of nothingness.