9. Dahlia
The high ofthe evening’s activities had me wound tight. Driving away from Marco’s burning home, I laid my head back and enjoyed the wind rushing over me through the open window. Above us, the night sky was bright and shimmering with stars. I could still hear Marco’s screams, and they filled me with a warmth that almost nothing else on earth could match. I grinned to myself, remembering the way his face had looked when Drake’s cum had splattered across his face.
“What about this place?” Drake said.
He’d pointed out a small roadside restaurant.
“Sure. I could destroy a plate of pasta.”
Drake chuckled as he pulled the car into the tiny parking lot beside the restaurant. When we walked in, the crowd was rowdy and several folks were cheering and cursing at the two TVs set into the walls. A soccer match was ongoing. From what I could see, it looked like the Italian national team was playing another country, but I couldn’t recognize the opposing flag.
We took a seat near the large window that, in the daylight, would have overlooked the ocean a few hundred yards down the hill. I’d had nothing to drink, but the buzz of our activities had me in a happy daze, and I let Drake order for us while I gazed out the window at the stars above. If a fifteen-year-old me could see this now, she’d never believe it.
Food came as a platter of a dozen different items, along with cheeses, and toasted focaccia bread. I plucked an olive off the tray and popped it into my mouth, and lifted my wine glass. Sighing, contented, I swallowed and took a sip of my drink. I still wasn’t used to the expensive tastes Drake had. The wine was sweet, bursting with flavor on my tongue, and so rich it almost seemed thick. It was glorious.
“You look happy,” Drake said, munching on his own food.
“Happy that a piece of shit got what he deserved. You think his wife will get all his money now that he’s dead?” I said, keeping my voice low, though over the raucous yelling of the crowd, I could have shouted and no one would have heard me.
Drake sipped his own wine and nodded. “She will. He might have been an awful person, but he did have a will. I found that when going through his personal files online.”
“Good,” I said, grimacing in disgust. His wife had been taken advantage of as a child. It was good that she’d be set for life. She’d never have to go back to her parents who let her be sold to the fucker either.
We ate in silence for several minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the food. I was about to ask Drake what he thought our next move should be, but a new shout interrupted my thoughts.
A man stood, pointing at the TV, shouting something I couldn’t understand. He sounded panicked. Soon the rest of the restaurant was shouting as well. I turned to see what was so bad about the game, that they’d all sound so freaked out. What I saw made me freeze in terror, eyes widening in shock.
On the screen of both televisions the game had been replaced. Instead of soccer, the murder of Marco played out on fifty-inch screens.
“Drake,” I hissed, voice choking.
“Hmm?” he looked up, saw what I saw, and let out a gasp.
On the screen, the bloody display was playing out, and the people in the restaurant were growing more confused and upset as it went. The angle of the video was taken from the hallway behind us, close to the ground. Jesus Christ, Sam had been there. He’d been in that fucking house and had videoed us. The thought made my stomach drop and nausea swelled within me.
“Let’s go,” Drake said, throwing a wad of Euros on the table, and pushing his chair out.
I took his hand and rose as well. The shouts of the patrons turned into screams of horror and disgust. Despite myself, I glanced up to see what was happening. Drake had me bent over, fucking my brains out while Marco choked on his own severed cock. My face was clearly visible, mouth open in ecstasy, blood smeared across my face. All I could think of was getting away, before anyone turned to look at us. As we hurried out the door, I thought I could hear someone inside vomiting.
Rushing behind Drake, I glanced around the area, searching for anyone. They had to have been close. To have patched into the restaurant’s cable or internet, and show that video, meant they’d have had to have been inside or behind the restaurant. They’d followed us there. I imagined Sam sliding out of the darkness and sliding a knife between my ribs.
Drake double checked the car before hurrying me into the passenger seat and running around the driver’s side and getting in. The tires barked on the pavement as he pulled out, gunning the engine until it screamed.
“How the fuck is he doing this?” I asked. My heart hammered like crazy in my chest as we flew down the road.
“I don’t know,” Drake said through gritted teeth. He looked both pissed off, terrified, and confused.
The drive back to our place was much less relaxing. I stared out the window, horrified by the thought that there was nowhere to run. No place to hide. Sam had become a boogeyman, hiding under every bed and inside every closet. A preternatural stalker that we’d never be rid of. I chewed at the inside of my cheek, an old habit, and a few seconds later, tasted the copper tang of blood on my tongue.