Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Berlyn
The shadows lurk in the corners of my mind, dancing just out of reach and flitting away every time I stretch an open hand out towards them. They never stay for long, but always fill me with such contentment.
They soothe the anxious and turbulent energy that washes through me, consuming me even in my sleep as memories better off forgotten try and force their way to the forefront of my mind. I don’t want to think about the slow descent into hell my childhood home took after my mother passed away.
Don’t want to remember the way my skin prickled and tingled at the thought of always being watched. Never having privacy or safety. The pain of rough hands and the stench of stale alcohol make my stomach turn.
The memories I can never truly escape assault me in my sleep more often since my paranoia has grown at the idea of someone being in my house.
It isn’t him. I know it can’t be and yet my subconscious draws up these memories in a horrifying slideshow of my worst moments until even my dreams are no longer a safe escape for me.
Maybe that’s why the shadows are back so soon. An old friend coming in my time of need to chase away the demons I don’t have the strength to fight on my own. After all, what better way to fight darkness than with the very beings that are made of it?
My shadows linger longer than usual, leaving more than just comfort, but a rush of heat and fire that consumes my mind, leaving no trace of the nightmares. My body aches for their touch even as I drift further into the depths of my mind.
It’s always too soon when the shadows pull away, but my whole body feels lighter as cool sheets wrap around me. That light feeling follows me into my waking hours and I stretch my body, rolling over onto my stomach and pulling my pillow into my arms.
Wait.
My pillow? When did I even get in my bed?
Fog slowly clears from my mind as I open my eyes and look around my room. What happened last night? Why is it so hard to pick out what’s real and what was only a dream? The light makes my head throb.
Right. I drop my face back into my pillow and groan. Why do we insist on drinking when it feels like this in the morning?
I lick my dry lips and my morning breath tastes worse than usual, eliciting another groan. I’m feeling a bit dramatic this morning with my pounding head and dry mouth. I slept better than I have in a long time though. Some pain meds and water and I think I’ll be okay.
Oh my god, Summer. I shoot up in bed, looking around my room for signs of her. I don’t remember her leaving last night, but I also can’t recall coming into my own bed either. That’s when I spot it, and dread begins to build in my gut.
It’s too damn early for this.
“Summer,” I yell, throwing my sheets and blankets off of me as I dash out of my bedroom, nearly tripping and falling. I’m still in the same set of pajamas I threw on after Summer got here last night.
I hear the sound of a muffled groan and find her wrapped in a blanket on the couch with her hand over her eyes. “Too bright,” she mumbles, grabbing a pillow and attempting to smother herself with it.
Grabbing the throw pillow from her and throwing it across the room, I know I have to look completely deranged.
“He came again last night,” I yell in her face.
It’s one hell of a wakeup call, but I felt the same way finding the same hot pink vibrator the police took with them back on my bedside table.
Well maybe not the exact same one, but definitely a replacement for the one they took.
Whoever the stalker is knows I called the police, knows they took the gifts, knows everything about me probably. I don’t even realize I’m beginning to hyperventilate until Summer’s hands wrap around my arms and she gives me a firm shake.
“Knock it off,” she demands. “We don’t fall apart.”
Right. I nod like a little bobble head. We don’t fall apart. Think, Berlyn, think.
“My laptop,” I exclaim as I suddenly remember the whole plan from last night before we got drunk. Damn, my thoughts are moving slow this morning.
It was too soon to try and get a doorbell camera installed but I did order one that should be here this week. Figured the laptop would be a good place to start and maybe would go unnoticed. Apparently not though.
My laptop still sits where we left it last night but it’s noticeably closed, giving me a bad feeling.
“It still could have caught something,” Summer encourages, opening the device.
Swiping her hands away, I take over, adjusting the brightness to be able to see the screen again.
I try not to get my hopes up as we pull up the most recent video that’s far too long to watch the whole thing.
Going almost to the end, the frame is still of the living room and I can see Summer sleeping on the floor but I’m nowhere to be seen.
Skipping ahead a little more we see a dark figure make his way into the frame but not from the front door.
“Back up more,” Summer says, waving her hand in front of my face before I can even get a good look at him. “He came from your room.”
“We don’t know that,” I argue and she gives me a droll look. Fair enough. I don’t think he took a bathroom break in the middle of his breaking and entering. I do as she says until we catch the moment of the front door opening.
Both of us hold our breath and her hand grips my shoulder almost painfully as the figure closes the door shut behind him. I can barely make anything about him out except he’s wearing all black and has a hood pulled low over his face.
Wait.
As he moves closer to the camera, I catch the barest amount of his profile and don’t think he’s wearing a hood at all.
All my focus had been on the front door, I hadn’t even noticed I was also sleeping on the floor until I realize he’s bending down to pick me up.
“Oh my god,” Summer whispers and my breath gets stuck in my throat as we watch this stranger carry my unconscious body to my bedroom.
I don’t skip ahead back to where he makes his reappearance, wanting to see in real time how long he stayed in my bedroom with me sleeping like that.
The seconds stretch out into hours as my knuckles turn white waiting for him, but as I count the seconds I realize it wasn’t long at all. Logically anyways.
It feels like years of my life have passed before he walks directly towards the camera and I get the first good look of his face.
Only it’s not a face at all. The stark white contrasts harshly with the empty black holes that make up the mask’s eyes and elongated mouth into an all too familiar face.
Nothing distinctive to make out who could be behind the plastic and cloth of Ghostface.
He gives a little finger wave before stopping the recording and presumably shutting the laptop for good measure.
I can’t see even a hint of his expression but the way he cocks his head to the side and waggles his gloved fingers in the barest of movements gives away his amusement.
I can feel the smirk that must be hiding under that damn mask.
Can feel him mocking our attempts at discovering anything about who he is.
Not an inch of skin or hair on display. Only a rough height and build that I can estimate and the knowledge he’s strong enough to carry me.
Panic digs its vicious claws into my chest and throat.
It’s happening again. The weight of my past comes barreling through all my defenses, crushing the fragile peace I hold dear.
How can I live through this kind of torment again?
How can anyone survive with fear, humiliation, and shame acting as shackles to hold me down from ever breaking free of everything that haunts me?
How can the shadows help me cope with this living and breathing stalker?
“I gotta say it,” Summer whispers, breaking my train of thought.
Raising a brow, I wait for her to spit it out as I start the recording over again from his first appearance, desperate to push the growing despair out of my mind.
To bury it until I can find a way to fix it.
“I didn’t have a blanket,” she mutters, pausing the video where the masked stranger picks me up.
“That’s what you wanted to say?” I ask, shocked.
I thought it was going to be something inappropriate and probably dirty.
Maybe I was even hoping for it. The mask does invite some dirty comments into the conversation, an opportunity my best friend rarely passes up on.
There’s a part of me that would rather turn this into a twisted fantasy than let my fears consume me.
“I think your stalker tucked me in too,” she continues, looking back at the impromptu sleeping place. Summer has slept over before and this wouldn’t be the first time we knocked out on the floor. As embarrassing as that is to admit.
I’ve never gotten up and left her before, which would have been my first red flag this morning if my neurons had been properly firing.
“If I were aware enough to grab a blanket and get comfortable on the couch,” she starts and points to my room, “I would have been in your bed with you.”
A very fair point. With each word spilling from her mouth I’m able to force all the thoughts and memories and worst case scenarios back into the cage I do my best to keep locked.
The video cuts off with her still snoring on the carpet, no blanket in sight.
“Aww, your stalker is kind of sweet,” she coos and hits play on the video again. “Strong too,” she points out as he carries me to my room. “There are definitely worse kinds of stalkers.”
I can’t help the laughter that spills over. Manic and slightly deranged, but laughter all the same. Better to laugh…