Chapter 11
Eleven
At last, the weather has warmed up.
I step off the bus and onto the sidewalk in front of the stop. I take a moment to soak in the rays and breathe in the fresh air. Like a younger version of myself, I lift my arms and reach up as if I could hug the sun. The person behind me lets out an impatient huff and bumps into me as they pass.
But today’s a good day, and nothing can ruin it.
I begin my trek to Maggie’s Grocer. I can’t help but grin as I go over my plans for the day: a celebration dinner for Luke. He’s secured a good job down in Pennsylvania, a significant promotion from what I gleaned based on the details he’s supplied. He even invited me to join him, if I am willing to leave my life here behind.
I, of course, accepted his offer.
I feel like I’m on top of the world, the best I’ve felt in years. I just wish I could share my happiness with my closest friend.
A few weeks ago, at the club, Briar ditched Kyla. Luke witnessed him leaving with a woman during his supposed smoke break. When Luke confronted him, Briar handed him his keys and said he wasn’t coming home with us. Since then, Briar has ignored all of Kyla’s calls and ended their relationship with no explanation. This has caused Kyla to become withdrawn. I never understood what she saw in him. But this is cruel, even for Briar.
As I enter the store, I see Maggie’s husband, Frank. His arthritic hands shake as he struggles to heft products up on a shelf. I rush to his aid, assisting him in putting the box in its place.
“Thank you, young lady,” he says, giving me a kind smile.
“It’s no problem.” My brow creases in concern. “Just be careful, okay? Maggie would be heartbroken if anything happened to you.”
He chuckles. “I will, dear,” he says, waving me off. “Now don’t let me keep you.”
I can’t help but beam as I scurry toward the shopping baskets and grab one. Pulling out the slip of paper from my pocket, I skim the list of ingredients and head down the nearest aisle.
I am no master chef, but I should be able to follow a recipe. Though I’m not as skilled as Luke, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the effort. I decided on something that’s mostly straightforward, something that borders on gourmet that I can’t easily screw up. At least that’s what the cookbook promised.
I gather the ingredients I don’t already have at home: chicken, mushrooms, cheese, heavy cream, and thyme. I’m grateful for the space this week to make my purchases. And as for the required white wine, I raided my mother’s stash; I’ll repay her later.
After checking out, I wait outside on the bench for Luke to pick me up. He mentioned he would swing by after handling some errands. I didn’t want the ingredients to spoil in the warmer weather, so I agreed to his offer. While I wait, I put on my earbuds and play The Smashing Pumpkins.
As I listen to Disarm, a car pulls up in front of me. A warm, honeyed voice greets me as I remove my headphones. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he says flirtatiously, waggling his brows. “Want a ride?”
I snort at Luke’s teasing, grabbing the shopping bags from the bench as he whistles. “Sorry, I don’t accept rides from strangers. Especially not the creepy ones.”
He laughs as I slide into the passenger seat. “Oh, harsh.”
As I shut the door, he tries to sneak a peek at the contents of the bags. “Excuse you,” I chide, shooing his face away. “This is supposed to be a surprise.”
“Sorry,” he says, shrugging. “Couldn’t help myself.”
I quirk a brow. “Right.”
He chuckles and drives out of the parking lot.
It doesn’t take longto reach my house. Luke helps me carry the groceries inside. I kick off my flip-flops and head for the kitchen. He tries to follow, but I nudge him with an elbow, shaking my head in disapproval.
“Go to the living room and make yourself comfortable,” I order. “And no peeking, okay?”
He hands over the bags, and we part ways without a fuss. Once I’m in the kitchen, I begin unpacking, ensuring all the ingredients are there. I even bought another package of meat for additional servings—or if I somehow make a dire mistake—and an extra bottle of olive oil, just in case.
Better safe than sorry.
I hear the television coming from the living room and consider turning on the one in here, but I decide against it to avoid potential distractions. Speaking of distractions, I’m glad it’s just the two of us here. I don’t need Mom dipping into the wine and Austin cracking some stupid sex jokes. Although the thought of him and Luke getting along and playing video games together causes warmth to bloom in my chest.
Before starting dinner, I gather all the pans and necessary utensils and wash my hands. With the cookbook clipped open in front of me, I adhere to the directions as closely as possible, separating the chicken breasts, pounding them with a meat mallet, and cutting them into pieces. I keep going, completing each step, and mentally assuring myself that I can do this.
I wipe my forehead with my arm and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I’ll soon have some time to relax. I reduce the heat, cover the skillet, and allow the food to simmer. After setting the timer for twenty minutes, I retreat to the living room. Luke is on the couch, intently watching the evening news. I sit next to him and read the bulletin that scrolls past.
Breaking News: Body discovered in a landfill. Male, early 20s, Caucasian. Multiple stab wounds. Stay tuned for more details.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, the headline repeating in my head like a skipping record.
“Do you think it’s him?”
I almost choke on my saliva. For a moment, I think I don’t hear him right. “W-what?” I stutter, my stomach doing somersaults.
“The serial killer,” he clarifies. “The one that’s been killing people in the nearby cities. And the ones here …”
I look at him—and feel like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again. But this time, something is off. His eyes sparkle with something I can’t place. His breathing is shallower. He almost sounds … excited. It’s possible that he’s interested in true crime because of the wide publicity of high-profile court cases these days.
We all have our hobbies, but I prefer something less morbid.
Unless …My mind whirs with a million possibilities, all of them so utterly ridiculous that I almost laugh at my stupidity for even considering them in the first place. This is real life, not a movie, I think. Get a grip, Grace.
The seriousness evaporates from his voice as fast as it came. “You okay, space-case?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like you crash-landed on Mars.”
I need to stop this train of thought. Taking a deep breath, I compose myself and offer a weak smile. “The serial killer could be a woman,” I point out, trying to sound casual.
But honestly, that really doesn’t make me feel better.
His full lips curl into a grin until he notices my pallor. “Is there something wrong?” A range of emotions crosses his face before he settles on a concerned frown. “Was it something I said? You look pale.”
“I just remembered,” I say, quickly standing up. “I still have to take my meds.”
I leave Luke wondering if I’m crazy as I make my way upstairs and into the bathroom. I search the cabinet for my medication, fill a cup with water, and take my dose with ease. I’m unsure if I should be proud of the fact that I can swallow pills in one go now.
With the tap still running, I get the urge to splash my face with water. Though I don’t want to ruin my makeup, which seems shallow. But I think people should be able to feel good about themselves, even if it means being a little vain sometimes.
After my little meltdown, I am determined to salvage the rest of the evening. I turn off the faucet—and jump at the sound of something falling with a heavy thud downstairs. The door is ajar, and I poke my head out. “Luke?” I shout, hoping he can hear me over the TV. No response.
My shoulders tense, my throat constricting. “Luke?” I repeat, exiting the bathroom. Oh my God. Is he back? The masked stranger, the man I thought I’d stopped fearing. My blood runs cold at the thought of him attacking my boyfriend. Luke is strong, but what if that bastard gets the best of him? Keeping my steps light, I hurry to my room and lift the mattress, retrieving the steak knife.
No way that fucker is catching me off guard again.
I lower my hands to my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I quietly descend the stairs. My heart drops into my ass when a step creaks beneath me, and I freeze, waiting for any sound. But there’s nothing. I continue, keeping my eyes peeled for movement. At the bottom of the stairs, I take a moment to survey my surroundings for any sign of danger.
No one is in the hall or the foyer. Unfortunately, from where I stand, I can only see part of the living room. Suddenly, a commercial blasts from the TV, making me jump. Swallowing hard, I move forward, my fear mounting as I approach the living room. As I get closer, I see someone lying limply on the floor by the coffee table. Fear sinks its icy claws into my crumbling resolve as I reach out and croak, “Luke?”
The oven timer goes off—and he lunges, knocking me down. But it’s not Luke playing a prank, or some sick practical joke.
I scream as the masked stranger pins me down and restrains me. He presses his fingers into my wrist, causing me to cry out in pain as I lose my grip on the knife. He kicks it far across the room before subduing me. I’m left staring into the pitch-black eyes of his mask. Paralyzed like a deer in headlights.
“Luke?” I ask meekly, willing myself not to sob—even though I know it’s not him.
Right?
His chuckle is rolling, soft in its dark amusement through the voice changer. “Wrong answer. Try again, Bunny.”
“I don’t know!” I yell, thrashing against him as he laughs at my pathetic attempt to escape.
He removes the mask and tosses it aside, his lips curving into a cruel smile—revealing the man who came to me in my darkest hour. The one I trusted with every fiber of my being, the one that made me come alive for the first time in years. I let out a wail of despair, screaming like I’ve never screamed before.
“The answer you were looking for is Damon.” His expression darkens. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but you won’t be knowing me for much longer.”
I let out a blood-curdling shriek, my entire world shattering in an instant as I process his words. “It’s been you all along!” I flail my legs, but he’s straddling my hips, his weight keeping me trapped. “You killed them all! Invaded my home, my life! And that night—you were there, in my room …” Anger surges through my veins as I screech my voice raw.
He places a finger on my lips. “Quiet now,” he admonishes, his voice almost sounding seductive if it weren’t for the circumstances. “No need to be so loud.”
“Fuck you, Damon. You’re a fucking monster! Go to?—”
My defiant words die in my throat as he sinks his blade into my flesh, just below my collarbone. I scream as pain sears my chest. He cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. His face is emotionless and calculating as he pulls out the knife and stabs me again, this time in my abdomen.
I wail as he withdraws the blade. “You’ll never get away with this,” I say through sobs.
He strokes my bottom lip with his thumb in a mocking show of affection, then leans down to whisper in my ear. “I already have.”
I feel his hot breath against my skin as he impales me again. Then again. And again.
It isn’t long before I lose consciousness.
I wake up with a startle.
But the adrenaline is short-lived. I slump back against the porcelain of the tub, surrounded by red water. My heartbeat is abnormal, too slow. Trying to inhale, I manage only a shuddering, shallow breath. There’s something in my mouth, a bitter aftertaste I don’t recognize at first. As I lift my wrist, my blood freezes at the sight of the vertical, parted flesh of my forearms.
“Careful,” a man cautions. “Don’t think you’ll last much longer if you keep moving around like that.”
Sluggishly, I connect the dots in my lethargic mind. “Damon,” I slur, turning my head to see him perched atop the toilet. “Am I dying?”
He nods. “Are you scared?” he asks quietly.
I say nothing and remain still as I digest his words. Time slows to a crawl, its passage a mystery to me now. A silly idea pops into my mind. “Could you turn on the radio over there?” I ask, weakly nodding towards the shelf on the wall near him.
“Since you were so fun, I suppose I’ll grant you this last request.” He gets up and switches it on, even tuning it to my favorite radio station. “I usually don’t do these sorts of things, you know. Accommodating my victims and all that.” He sits on the edge of the tub and gazes at me. “So, any last words?” he asks, pulling out his knife from its sheath.
I look down at my arms, watching the flow subtly slow and continue coloring the water crimson. I’ve given a lot of thought to how I want to die. Slitting my wrists, jumping off an overpass, overdosing on medication or painkillers. But to be granted death at the hands of a serial killer—that’s something I could never have imagined.
Not me, a target too boring, too unremarkable.
He leans closer, and I feel the razor’s edge of his knife on my neck.
This is it.
“Thank you,” I murmur, closing my eyes. “Even if it all meant nothing to you.”
He runs the blade across my throat.
Sweet dreams, Bunny.