9. Starla
Chapter 9
Starla
I 'm warm.
That's the first thing I feel before the hard reality of what actually happened screams through my head.
The sound of the footstep behind me. The plastic over my face.
The hard wood presses against my back, and for a second, I don’t move, don’t even breathe. My head feels heavy, like I’ve been drugged, like I’ve been drowning in some nightmare I can’t shake.
My quilt is draped over me, tucked around my body like someone put me to bed—only I’m not in bed. I’m on the damn ground.
A sick feeling slithers through my stomach. I try to sit up, but my limbs feel sluggish, disconnected from me. My mind scrambles for answers, for some kind of explanation that won’t make me fall apart.
Maybe I passed out. Maybe I was sleepwalking. Maybe?—
No.
I remember something. A presence. A shadow in the dark. Hands?—
No. I imagined that. I have to have imagined that.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe, forcing myself to push down the fear clawing its way up my throat.
Then I pull back the quilt.
And I see it.
The word Mine is scrawled across my skin.
Big. Red. Angry.
Over and over again, the letters stretch across my arms, my chest, my stomach. Like a brand. Like a warning.
My breath catches. My whole body goes cold, then hot, then cold again. My fingers shake as I touch the marks, expecting pain, expecting cuts, but there’s nothing but the waxy feel of lipstick. Just the stain of something that shouldn’t be there.
No, no, no, no.
I scramble to my feet, nearly stumbling, my knees weak beneath me. My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs I can feel it in my throat.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
I force myself forward, step by trembling step, until I reach the mirror.
And there I am.
Covered. Marked.
Possessed.
A strangled sob tears from my throat, my hands flying up to my mouth to stop the sound. Tears burn at the edges of my vision, blurring the nightmare staring back at me.
Someone was here. Someone did this to me.
I shake my head, gasping for air, trying to pull myself back from the edge of something deep and dark. Crying won’t fix this. Panic won’t fix this.
I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms, grounding myself in the pain.
I will not let this break me.
But I can’t ignore it, either.
I reach for my phone with shaking hands and dial Sheriff Alden. My breath is still ragged when he picks up.
“There was a break-in,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I think someone was in my house last night.”
A beat of silence. Then his voice, sharp, steady. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up, my pulse still racing, my body still trembling.
I don’t know who did this.
But I know one thing for sure.
They’ll be back. What I don't understand is why. I'm praying this doesn't all have to do with the documentary I'm doing but it's the only thing that makes sense.
Someone is trying to scare me away and as much as I don't want to admit it, it's working.
The tears still flow down my cheeks but I do a quick walk through of the house just to make sure that nothing is out of place but to my surprise I can't even tell there was anyone here last night.
I run my hands over my body just to make sure I truly am okay. Finally I press my thighs together tightly just to make sure that nothing I can't see was done to me. I don't feel any different down there. I guess I should be grateful for that.
Whoever was here last night could have done much worse than just paint my body with lipstick. They could've killed me.
I squeal loudly when my phone rings but quickly calm myself down. When I look down I see it's Liora calling me. I hesitate for only a second. What if she was the one who did this to me. I don't want to believe it but I can't rule her out right now. She's a little too excited about everything we've got going on with the documentary.
My mind switches to the guys I saw outside on the corner the other night. The first victims brother. It could be him too. He made it clear that he didn't want me digging around in this mess. Maybe this was his way of making sure that I did what he asked.
Shaking the thoughts from my head I quickly answer the phone.
"Hey, I thought we were going to the next location today?" Liora questions, her voice chipper and unaware of the turmoil swirling around me right now.
"Uh, yeah... about that, I'm going to be a little late. There was a break in at my place last night. I have to wait for the sheriff to get here."
She gasps, "Oh my god. Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Do you know who it was?"
A slight twinge of suspiscion pings in my mind. Right along with her questions of concern she asks about the identity of my would be attacker. I don't know if she's doing that because she wants to know or if because she's worried someone might have found her out.
"I can't really talk about it right now Liora. I'll call back when I know something else." I hang up the phone not really wanting to think about what could be a possibility there.
The next sound I hear is the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. I nearly collapse in relief when I see the sheriff getting out of the car.
He's wearing his uniform and his sheriff's hat. Looking the entire part.
Quickly I walk over to the front door and pull it open for him.
"Ma'am." Sheriff Alden tips his hat in my direction.
"Starla." I correct him and step aside so he can come in.
"Starla." He parrots back to me. That's the extent of his politeness. "So you want to tell me what's going on?"
Taking a deep breath, I ready myself for what I'm about to say. The last thing I want right now is for him to think I'm overly emotional or something like that. What happened last night was extreme but I don't want it to be the reason he tells me we have to stop shooting the documentary.
"Well last night, I came home, it was late at night. I didn't see anyone outside but there was someone in here with me." I look up at Alden but his expression doesn't change. It's almost as if he doesn't believe me.
"And you didn't notice this person when you walked in?"
"No, like I said it was late and I was tired. I came home got my clothes off and was about to get ready for bed. The person came up behind me and put something over my face. Plastic. I couldn't breathe. I passed out and when I woke up this morning no one was here." I shrug and look around.
"Was it a man or a woman?"
"I can't say for sure. I think it was a man. They were taller than me and much stronger."
"Was anything taken?" Alden asks shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Not that I can see but when I woke up I realized whoever it was had written something on my body." My voice is low. I'm not sure why I'm so embarassed but just going through what I remember happening and what I found this morning is enough to make me cringe.
"What was written? Can I see?" He gestures with his hand to my body.
Slowly I lift my shirt, not enough for him to see my breast but there's enough written on my stomach that he can see the gist of it.
"Wow, that's sick." He shakes his head. It's the first real hint of reaction I've got out of him.
"Yeah, so what do I do now?" I ask ready to take the next steps in order to stop whoever was trying to get under and on my skin.
"Well, I think the most obvious answer is you stop this little movie you're making."
I stare at him in shock. "How does the documentary have anything to do with what happened to me. It shouldn't matter what I'm working on. No one has the right to come in here and terrorize me."
He raises his hand to calm me down, "You don't have to tell me that. I'm on your side, but it's obvious from the lack of serious injury and the fact that nothing was taken that whoever did this was only trying to scare you. It's not just me. This documentary that you're a part of is more than some people can take. It's dragging up a lot of bad memories."
I hear what he's saying, but that's not going to stop me from doing what I know needs to be done. "What about suspects? I mean, the brother of one of the victims was outside just the other day. Maybe he had something to do with this." I press my hands against my hips, desperate for there to be an option I can live with.
"You mean, Greg?"
I nod my head. I think that's his name.
"Nah, it wasn't him. He was in a town hall meeting last night."
Townhall meeting, that doesn't mean he didn't sneak in my home late at night. I keep my mouth shut about it. It's obvious the sheriff has no intention of doing anything more than what he's doing now.
"Well, I can send an officer to check the area tonight if that makes you feel more safe."
"No, it's fine. You're right. This wasn't anything serious." I lie. This feels very serious.
"Alright, well if anything else happens make sure you reach out." He walks to the door and I nod my head even though I know it's the very last thing I'll do. It seems to me that the sheriff is a little biased. I'm not sure why he's fighting me so hard to keep what I'm doing from happening.
Just as Sheriff Alden gets to the door I hear another car pull up to my house.