Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“Ouch.”
My head is pounding… and apparently so is my door.
Or someone at my door? I blink, trying to orient myself, but it’s dark and everything is so loud.
I rub my face and yell “Coming!” swinging my legs off the bed.
My blanket—my throw blanket from the couch—falls away, and I remember that I have to get clothes on.
Shit.
“Ugh,” I groan, because my head is thumping and whoever is outside won’t stop banging on my fucking door.
“Hold on!” I scream, grabbing my fluffy white robe from the back of my bathroom door. I slide it on, taking a second to luxuriate in the softness in contrast to how horrible everything else is right this second.
The assault on my front door hasn’t stopped, so I go barreling out of my room. Whoever thinks they can fucking bang my door down before dawn is going to get a piece of my mind—several pieces.
Pieces that say things like “what the fuck is wrong with you,” and “leave me alone,” and “I’m calling the cops,” and “get off my property!”
The noise has apparently woken Henry, because now he’s at the front door, barking his head off.
I’m like the Grinch complaining about “noise, noise, noise,” right now, and I can just imagine those little cymbals clanging in my brain.
By the time I stomp to my front door, my jaw is clenched and my five-foot-nothing ass is ready to attack whoever is on the other side. At the last second, I remember the bat I keep in my umbrella stand and clench it in my left hand, even though I’m shaking.
My knuckles are white on the deadbolt and doorknob as I turn them and rip it open, glaring out into the darkness. Next to me, Henry growls and before I can stop him, he launches himself outside.
He tackles the door-banger to the ground and plants his feet on their chest, growling down into their face. Whoever they are covers their face with their arms, screaming and whimpering.
“Who are you?” I demand, anger deepening my voice. Hopefully I sound more intimidating.
“Ada!” they scream. “It’s me! Tom! Help!”
“Tom? Jesus!” I duck outside and grab Henry’s collar. “Come on, boy, it’s just Tom.”
He’s annoying, not dangerous. I add mentally.
Henry allows Tom to get up, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it. Listen, dude, I’m not pleased about being woken up this way either, but that’s life.
Scrambling up, Tom wipes his hands on his pants frantically and looks at me, wide-eyed. “We’ve gotta get you out of here!”
“What?” No, Ada, we are not letting him boss us around. “What the hell are you doing here, Tom? It’s—well, I don’t know what time it is because I was sleeping!”
“The trail cams! Someone came out of your house!”
“No way, I’ve been asleep.”
“Well, I got an alert and then there they were, right there on the footage!”
“I am telling you I—” I stop, because suddenly, vague memories filter into my brain.
Noise, in the kitchen.
A masked man—my nightmare masked man.
Baking.
I remember grabbing the knife… and then… nothing.
But no, that was a dream, it had to have been… I mean, nightmare guy isn’t real.
“I was asleep, Tom. Look at Henry, he’d never let anyone in the house.”
His eyes lock onto my dog who would clearly happily tackle him again at a moment’s notice. “I’m serious, Ada. You are in danger.” Tom frowns at me, like he’s disappointed. Like I’m stupid. “I’m sorry for waking you, sweetheart, but you can’t stay here.”
“Are—are you sure?” I can’t stop my voice from cracking, because as angry as I was a second ago, it’s all drained out and icy, cold fear grips me.
My eyes search the darkness beyond him, and everything in me tells me to retreat inside, lock myself in, and fortify.
I shrink back, from him, from the darkness, from the world, and try to close the door.
But he shoulders the door to follow me in.
Voice steady, Tom reaches out a hand to me in a “calm down” motion.
“Yes, I’m very sure. Now, Ada, sweetie, I need you to go into your room, get dressed, and pack a bag.
There was no sign of forced entry outside, so whoever is stalking you has a way into your house. You aren’t safe. Do you understand?”
I shake my head, but somewhere in my lizard brain, I understand alright.
Suddenly, my house, the one place in the entire universe that felt safe, isn’t.
My thoughts are sluggish in my head, probably from lack of sleep, but either way, I feel like Tom is part of what is making me feel unsafe. But that’s silly, right?
He put up all those cameras, did all that work, rushed over here in the middle of the night to protect me. He’s here to keep me safe. He’s part of the safety.
Except… it’s not safe here anymore.
I shake my head, trying to remember my dream, and immediately, pain lances through my head.
That was a mistake.
Still, some part of this feels… wrong. I’m missing something, or something isn’t clicking.
But someone was in my house.
After squeezing my eyes shut, nothing is any clearer, except now Tom has his gun out, looking out my front window like he’s on some fucking spy show.
What happened in my dream?
Did I go outside?
Sleepwalking?
Surely Henry would have made noise if someone had been in the house. He’s certainly raised a ruckus about Tom being here…
“Ada,” Tom chides. “Clothes, now. We don’t know when they’ll be back, and I don’t want to kill anyone today, okay?”
Jesus.
I feel hot all over, and my chest clenches. I nod, shuffling to my room.
What is even happening right now? My head still hurts, and a ridiculous part of my mind is telling me that I didn’t dream my nightmare in my kitchen. That he was here. That he was real. That he didn’t hurt me.
Prodding at my head, I find a bump, but it’s oddly cold, and I hiss at the shock of pain.
That might explain things, like why my brain won’t tell me what is real and what I dreamed.
Maybe I’m not safe to stay here alone. If I had my guess, I probably have a concussion, and shouldn’t people with concussions be watched?
As I enter my room, my eye catches on my bedside table. There, nestled atop my latest read, is a small plate with some gingerbread men and a cup of cocoa. Steam still rises from the mug, and the icing on the cookies still bears a slight sheen that tells me that it's not yet fully dry.
I cock my head because, like everything else tonight, it doesn’t make any sense.
On my pillow, a bag of frozen broccoli lies propped with another pillow.
Huh?
God, I feel so dumb. None of this makes sense. It’s like I’m the red string guy, but instead I’m just holding a ball of yarn with a million pins and no way to connect them.
Heavy footsteps tell me Tom is tromping through my house, and I can hear him opening and closing doors.
Perhaps if I just stand here, for just a minute. I can pool all my little pins together and make some sense of things. I glance around the room, cataloging everything.
Throw blanket.
Cocoa.
Cookies.
Broccoli.
Henry, not barking until Tom came.
My dream… my nightmare.
He—
Tom whips open my bathroom door and barks at me. “Ada! Get dressed or I’ll dress you. Your oven is still warm, so they were just here. I think they were planning something with the gas.”
With the gas.
Or with cookies?
My thoughts flow through my mind like molasses, but there’s no way I want Tom coming in to dress me.
“Get out then!” I yell over my shoulder.
At this point, nothing feels safe. Not Tom, not my house, not even my own mind.
One thing is for sure, though. I don’t want to be naked.
I grab some leggings and a long sweater from my drawer, pulling them on before he can barge in again. Once I’m dressed, I’ll be able to talk to him about this rationally.
When I’m pulling on my socks, he barges in again, and I shriek.
“Oh, calm down, Ada, it’s only me. You don’t need to be so jumpy.”
“You just told me someone was in my house! Possibly watching me sleep! I think I have a pretty good fucking reason to be jumpy!”
Tom shakes his head, removing one hand from his gun and running it through his short brown buzz cut. “You’re right, you must be so shaken up, so confused.” His face softens, and he steps toward me. Maybe he means it to be comforting, but it most definitely is not—he’s carrying a gun for god’s sake!
When I step back, he looks hurt for a brief moment before putting on a neutral smile. “Sorry, it’s been a hard night for you. Let’s get you to my place, I’ll get you some coffee, and we can watch the footage. Then, you can tell me if it’s anyone you recognize, and we can call the police.”
“I don’t want to go.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it to be true. My home is still my refuge, and the thought of leaving, of going to Tom’s house, makes me feel like I’m about to vomit.
Everything is so confusing, I’ve got this proverbial ball of red string—days and days’ worth of clues. It’s all coming to a head, and yet none of it makes any sense. My thoughts whirl and collide, making me dizzy inside my own mind.
Tom’s here, trying to help.
He’s reaching his hand out to me so he can keep me safe.
In his other hand though, he still holds his gun.
“Ada…” he says, less comforting this time. Now, I’m a young child that’s disobeying orders. “You’re confused. You need rest after your ordeal. Let’s get you that coffee now.”
“I’m too anxious for coffee,” is all I can muster.
His hand wraps around my bicep, a little too tight to be anything but punitive. Henry growls when he steers me through the house.
Inside, I’m a million different parts, screaming a million different things. I float through a sea of them, trying desperately to come up for air, but they all rush into my mouth every time I try, drowning me in conflicting urges.
I want to run.
I want to be safe.
I want to curl up in my bed and pretend it’s all not real.
I want to dream and for Seth to tell me it wasn’t real.
I want… I want it to have been real.
We’re on my porch now. An engine roars to life, and I realize he must have remote-started his truck. With pressure on my arm, he moves me to the passenger side. When he opens the door, I pause because Henry starts barking.
“Henry?” I ask because he sounds far away.
“We’ll come back for him in the morning, sweetheart. You need all my attention right now.”
“No! Henry!” I don’t know why leaving my dog is what’s tipping me over the edge into actual panic. Tom twists my arm and shoves me toward the truck.
“Ada!” he yells in my face. “Get in the fucking truck. He could come back any second, don’t be stupid!” He gestures toward the truck with the gun, and my veins turn to ice. He could—he might—use that on me.
I hiss, flinching away from him to climb into the truck. The door slams shut behind me. When he walks to the other side of the truck, I scrabble at the handle, desperate to leave, but the damn door won’t open.
Tom opens his door and climbs in, shaking his head and smiling. “See, honey? You’re confused. You’re scared, but don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you. I’ll always take care of you. Maybe now you’ll realize that.”
I’m silent the entire drive to Tom’s house…
all three minutes of it. Before I know it, we’ve turned off the main road and onto his driveway.
He pulls his truck into the garage, shutting it behind us before coming around to let me out.
With a vise grip on my arm and the gun in his hand, he pulls me from the truck and drags me inside.
I’ve never been inside his house, but it’s about what I would expect. A large “Don’t Tread On Me” flag decorates the side wall of the dining room we’ve entered, and everything is camo or wood. Long guns hang along the wall next to the flag, like some sort of wild alt-right interior design magazine.
He takes me through the dining room and down a dark hallway, leading me into what appears to be his bedroom.
The only illumination is the cold blue light of his computer monitor, which is showing what appears to be a live feed of my house.
Through the front window, I can see the curtains swishing back and forth, like Henry is pacing there.
It’s eerie, seeing my house like this, and I shudder, because if I hadn’t closed the blinds, he’d have been able to see into every single one of my windows. Oddly, they are quite zoomed in, less like he was watching the outside and more like… more like he was watching me.
“Here,” he says, leading me to the bed and applying pressure to tell me to sit. “Sit here and I’ll rewind it so you can see.” He sits in a slightly faded black office chair and sets his gun on the desk next to him. While he navigates around on the PC, he talks to me.
“It’s really not safe for you out here, alone like this.
I’ve done my best, sweetheart, but it’s time to face facts.
Ladies, especially pretty ladies like you, just aren’t made for rough living alone.
Hell, you even needed me to get your groceries!
As soon as you see this fucker slinking out of your house, you’ll know. ”
The video feed rewinds, and I watch everything happen in reverse.
The truck pulls in, he takes me out of it, dragging me back into the house.
A few seconds later, I see his shadow walking around in my living room, and then a few more, he’s first tackled—in reverse—by Henry, the door is shut, and then he’s banging.
All of the lights turn off, and then he runs backward to his truck and drives away.
It’s super sped up, much faster than in real life, but it’s surreal to see all of it played out like that. Objective. Clinical.
That girl on the screen, she looks terrified.
And Tom? He looks terrifying. Waving his gun around, pulling me, I can see his fingers digging into my arm.
Displayed so blatantly onscreen like this, I know one thing for certain.
The second I let him in, he was taking me from that house, willing or not.
“There!” he yells, pointing at the screen, triumphant. “There he is! I told you!”
Frozen on Tom’s computer is the final piece of evidence I needed. My red string leaps onto the board, connecting pins in my brain at the speed of light. It’s honestly a wonder it took me so long. Because there, so obvious in black and white, is a masked man that I know very well.
My nightmare.
My monster.
My… Seth.