Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
HER
T he threat scrawled on my living room wall continues to weigh on my mind.
Since that night, life has been mostly uneventful. But I am always on edge, waiting for the threat to materialize. Every time I leave my apartment, I scan my surroundings for any suspicious activity and scrutinize anyone who even glances at me from afar. I’ve even looked into self-defense classes and considered buying a gun for protection.
I worry about myself, but I’m more concerned about Blake. The person stalking me probably won’t stop at terrorizing just me. He knows Blake and I are close, which puts him directly in the line of fire. And considering it looked like a bomb went off in my apartment because of some fucked up tantrum, it sends a chill down my spine when I think of that rage being unleashed upon us.
I stare at the door, hoping that Blake will show up at the store tonight. I need to talk to him, need some kind of reassurance that he’ll be okay and will take whatever steps necessary for self-preservation. Unfortunately, after ignoring his calls and brushing him off one too many times, he hasn’t been in the store for the past two weeks. I don’t blame him; I just want him to be safe. Being around me right now is too risky.
The sound of the bell chime interrupts my thoughts. Zoey enters, wearing her usual long red coat and beret, a bright smile on her face. I force one of my own, but it falters as I glimpse the strappy dress underneath her coat and the heels she’s wearing.
“Hey, Mia,” she says, coming up to the counter. “Where’s the big lout? We have a date tonight.”
So, she’s all dressed up for her date with Nick , I think to myself with a pang of envy, wishing it was Blake and me. “You look great,” I comment, feigning interest in her fashion choices.
She laughs and twirls, showing off her dress. “You like it? It’s designer vintage. My mom let me borrow it for the party we’re going to tonight.”
I nod slowly, feeling out of my depth. Nick returns from the break room, carrying a stack of cardboard boxes. Zoey’s focus shifts towards him, bringing me a sense of relief.
“Hey, Nicky! Ready to rock?”
Nick grins crookedly as he sets down the boxes in front of the nearby shelves. “You bet! I was just finishing up here.” He leans across the counter and kisses her on the cheek, making her blush visibly even through the layers of party makeup. “Give me a minute, and then we can get going.” He quickly disappears into the break room.
Zoey turns back to me, her eyes glinting with a hint of concern. “Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?”
I chuckle nervously; this isn’t the first time I’ve volunteered to close the store for my coworkers. Usually, it’s Nick and Zoey. But occasionally, Jen has had to leave early for family emergencies. “Sure. I can handle it.”
“So,” she begins, leaning both elbows on the counter, “how’s the cute guy, Blake? Haven’t seen him around in a while. You two been hot and heavy yet?”
My face flushes in embarrassment, thankful that he can’t see my reaction. “Uh, no. Not yet, anyway …”
She giggles and pats my arm. “Don’t worry. You still have plenty of time to make your move!”
At the mention of Blake, Nick emerges from the break room. “Speaking of, it’d be fun to go on a double date with you guys sometimes. What do you think, Zo?”
She looks at him with surprise, almost like she didn’t expect his suggestion. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” she replies, looking at me as if she’s expecting my input.
I don’t have the heart to tell them that the two of us haven’t been speaking lately—because that would invite questions I’m not willing to elaborate upon. “Sure, why not?” I say, shrugging casually, as if everything is perfectly normal.
Zoey grins, her face lighting up. “Call me whenever so we can set up a time. Anyway, we should get going. I still have to pick up Marco.”
Nick puts on the coat that had been slung over his arm and wrinkles his nose like he smells something sour. “That guy? Really?” he says, going over to Zoey.
“Shush. I told him I’d do him a solid and give him a ride to the party.” She links arms with Nick. “See you later, Mia.”
“Yeah, see ya!” he says as they head to the door. “Thanks for closing up for me!”
“It’s not a problem. You two have a great time!”
Watching them leave, I feel a strange mix of emotions. I long for things to go back to the way they were before, when I first moved to Fallbank. Back when there was no stalker, and I could sleep without being haunted by nightmares.
Sighing, I head back to the register and start tidying until closing time. The final act of Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare plays on the TV in the background. I shake my head; it’s not a particularly good film. But I hate to admit that I find Maggie a relatable character in some twisted way.
For the next few hours, I work on autopilot, completing mundane tasks as the evening passes in a blur. I make sure the shelves are stocked and everything is displayed neatly, finding a temporary escape in the catchy tunes playing from the television courtesy of Grease . Finally, when closing time comes around, I feel both relieved and exhausted.
As the credits to Pretty in Pink finish, I lock up. Returning to the counter, I grab a stack of video game cases and head to the shelves near the back of the store. While sorting through the cases, I am caught off guard by a particular title: Street Fighter II . Memories of playing it with Grace one night come flooding back, and a faint, sad smile crosses my face.
It was the same night he showed up.
As I place the game on the shelf, a strange noise startles me. My head snaps up, and I look around, though I’m unable to find the source. I swallow hard, trying to reason with myself that it’s probably just my imagination. But as I go to put the last case on the shelf, the noise sounds again, closer this time. Terror chills me to the bone, my breath a ragged gasp as I listen for any hint of danger.
Suddenly, the power cuts—and I’m plunged into total darkness. Fear grips me as I hear something shuffling in the shadows, my heart thudding in my chest. Has he come to kill me? I whirl around at the sound of footsteps behind me, but no one’s there. In a panic, I fumble for my taser and search for an escape route. I should be able to get out, knowing this place like the back of my hand.
I poke my head out of the cubby, every muscle in my body tense as I scan the store for any sign of movement. I find nothing strange, but something still feels off . Taking one last glance around, I swallow my trepidation and run to the door—before realizing that I left the keys by the register.
“You’re closing late tonight,” a voice says .
The unnatural inflection sends a prickle down my spine. “Who’s there?” I call out, failing to keep my voice from trembling. No response. I scour the area with squinted eyes, seeing nothing overtly amiss—until I see him. A figure standing in the shadows across the store, watching me. I take a step back as my heart races. “What are you doing here?!”
The power blinks back on, the lights momentarily blinding me. By the time my vision clears, the figure is gone and the door to the break room is cracked open—almost like an invitation, a dare to come seek him out. I consider doing the smart thing and getting the fuck out of here. But something urges me forward. I’m tired of this asshole screwing with me.
Taking a deep breath, I cautiously push open the back door, holding my taser at the ready. Inside, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The break room is small and windowless, with a table and a couple of chairs. Connected is the cramped storage area leading to the back exit of the store. The air is heavy with the smell of stale coffee and food, a reminder that the trash still needs to be taken out.
Hearing a strange humming sound, I creep across the scuffed linoleum, my taser gripped tight. As I’m about to approach the storage room, the humming stops. The door to the store slams shut behind me, cutting off my escape—and before I can register what’s going on, arms coil around my waist and yank me backward.
I scream and try to wriggle out of my abductor’s grasp, but their grip is too iron-clad. In desperation, I throw back an elbow, earning me a mechanical grunt. Then, I trigger my taser and drive it into whatever part of my assailant’s body I can reach.
“Fuck!” the modulated voice growls, and I jump out of his grasp.
But he’s on me, slapping the taser from my hand before snatching me once again. I let out a startled yelp as my feet leave the ground, watching helplessly as my taser skitters across the floor. My hands scrabble for purchase on his arms, trying to tear them away, but it’s no use. He throws me against the counter face-first, his weight against me as he wrenches my arms behind my back and holds me there.
“Nice to see you, too,” the robotic voice remarks.
“Let me go!” I yell as loud as I can, causing him to tighten his grip. “Who are you? What do you want from me?!”
“This isn’t how I intended us to meet,” he says, leaning down, his body covering mine.
“You won’t get away with this! The police?—”
He laughs, the sound eerily inhuman. “Oh, them? Remember that police report you tried to file? The one they didn’t take seriously?”
My nostrils flare in anger. Recalling how the officers laughed and made demeaning remarks about me as I left the station, my humiliation returns in force. They called me paranoid and hysterical, not even caring if I was out of earshot. An all-too-typical response to a woman in distress .
“But the cameras,” I protest, knowing full well that they’re just for show.
He laughs again and leans in closer, the mask against my ear. “Nice try. But I know your boss is too cheap to pay for security services, Gwen .”
My veins go ice cold. “How do you know that name?”
“You can say I’m a big fan of your father,” he replies, nuzzling my neck with that stupid mask in mock affection.
I struggle against his hold, but he keeps me pinned against the cheap counterfeit marble counter. “Is that why you’re after me? Why you broke into my apartment and terrorized me? Because you have a sick fascination with my father?” He cracks up as if what I’ve been going through these past months is nothing but a joke to him. God, I want to punch him and break his fucking jaw for his heartless mockery of my pain.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t been the one breaking your shit and vandalizing your property.”
I lift a brow, craning my neck to peer up at him. “But you have been breaking and entering, haven’t you?”
I can almost see him smirk behind the mask, choosing not to fight my accusation. “But I can help you figure out who it is. Bastard’s in my territory, after all.” My breath hitches as his hand wanders down my spine and rests against the curve of my ass. “I’ve been doing interrogations of my own since the police are fucking useless.”
I swallow nervously. “So the murder last week … ”
He nods, and I just know that he’s grinning at my unease, deriving joy from it. I don’t know whether to believe him. What are the odds of two psychos hanging around this town, both obsessed with me? I chew the inside of my cheek. Trusting this guy and taking him at his word would be a colossal gamble, one I’m not confident I’m ready to make.
“And outside the apartment building,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, “that wasn’t you who threatened and chased me?”
He chuckles darkly, the sound made even more unnerving by the voice changer. “No, but,” he says, his fingers creeping underneath my shirt to graze against my ribs, “if you wanted me to chase you, all you had to do was ask.”
I feel him, his hardness against my back. I draw in a sharp breath as his gloved fingertips brush against the underside of my bra-clad breast. A lump forms in my throat, and my mouth goes dry. “I … I don’t appreciate you doing that. I have a boyfriend.” A lie; even prior to the threat being painted on my wall, we weren’t officially together.
He snorts, his tone incredulous even through the modulator. “That dork? Seriously?”
I glare up at him. “Blake’s a nice guy.”
“A nice guy? Judging by the way you’re reacting …” He grinds against me, his erection obvious, and I’m unable to hold back the small whine that escapes me. “He doesn’t give you what you need. Doesn’t fuck a lady like she deserves.”
My face grows hot as I rub my thighs together. I hate to admit it, but I’ve refrained even from masturbation for a while now. Especially with everything going on. Shame fills me as my mind wanders to sex instead of what’s important right now—namely, being held hostage by this goddamn creep. “Shut the fuck up! What the hell do you know, anyway?” I snap. “Blake respects my boundaries, and?—”
In a flash, he brandishes a knife and places it against my throat. “This Blake guy, he seems too perfect. You ever consider that he’s your stalker, hm? I can takecareof him for you, you know.” I gasp, and he laughs, a rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine. He digs the blade ever so slightly into my flesh and presses himself against me. “Seems to me you could use a roll in the sack.”
“Shut up!” I bite out, feeling a trickle of blood crawl down my neck. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Not wise to threaten me with a knife to your neck, Gwen. I’d hate to have a little accident, if you know what I mean.”
“Stop calling me that!” I want to wiggle away, but he’s right. If I don’t cooperate, he’ll slash my neck. “Just … What do you want from me?”
“Your past,” he says, squeezing my wrists in his firm grip. “I want you to face your past. Show me the real you.” He tightens his grasp even more, hard enough to nearly bruise. “But that will come in due time. In the meantime, be a good girl and stay still. No running.”
I nod, the knife against my throat a reminder of my precarious predicament. I know that if I disobey him, it won’t end well for me. So I’ll be strong. Take whatever he’s going to dish out. “You won’t hurt him, right?” I ask. “You won’t hurt Blake?”
“I can’t make any promises … yet.” After releasing my wrists, he reaches around to unbutton my pants and pulls them down to my knees, effectively trapping me in place. “Spread your legs.”
I hesitate, and he presses the blade into my skin, drawing more blood. I bite my lip, only half-stifling a moan as I do as he says. Part of me is disgusted with myself. I do not know who this man is, yet the thought of being taken in this dingy room sends a thrill straight to my core.
I should be more afraid .
His gloved hand traces up my inner thigh and to the covered mound of my sex. I suppress a shiver as his icy fingers slip underneath the gusset to my lower lips, parting them with two digits. “Wet, and I haven’t even done anything yet.” He lets out a low hiss of approval. “Filthy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Let me go,” I say, trying desperately to keep the quaver from my voice as he runs those fingers up and down my slit, coating them in my wetness.
He brushes my clit before sinking two fingers inside of me. I cry out as he angles them just right, toward my belly. My toes curl, and I grasp for purchase on the counter.
“It doesn’t look like you want me to let you go. Not with how greedily you’re taking my fingers.” His tone is mocking, and my face burns in shame—but even more so at the whine that escapes me as he rubs my clit, making me clench down harder on his fingers.
“Fuck … Stop,” I whimper, pushing my hips further into his hand. Out of nowhere, he withdraws, leaving me shaking. I’m about to say something when he slaps my pussy. It’s more pleasurable than painful. I wait for another impact, and when it comes—harder this time—I flinch, a whine wrenching from my throat.
He shoves his fingers back inside and fucks me, working them deeper, my stomach tightening. “I thought you wanted me to stop?” He inserts another finger and curls them. “Change of heart?”
I squirm, wanting to strangle the life out of him for his stupid remarks. But all I can do is moan, my heart pounding in my ears. He laughs, graveled, with an undercurrent of want. I groan as he hits just the right spot deep inside.
“You like that? My fingers inside of you like this?”
I nod, clawing at the counter.
“I like it too,” he says, finger-fucking me, touching that spot again and again. “I’d kill everyone in this town before they’d take you away from me. No—I’d kill everyone in the world.” He growls, clearly getting off as he drives his digits into me. “You belong to me .”
He pumps in and out, causing stars to burst behind my eyelids. He pants behind the mask, his rhythm steady, confident. Like he knows just where to touch me so deeply. I’m dripping, my cheeks red-hot, my legs shaking as I throb around his fingers. My stomach coils as he shows my g-spot no mercy, working me to the edge of my sanity.
Fuck, I’m gonna black out!
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he murmurs, almost affectionately. I trap his digits in a vise, and I can almost see him smile as curses tumble from my mouth. “That’s it. Come for me.”
My back arches, my mind blanking as I scream, the pressure in my belly too much. My climax washes over me, and I come, releasing like a tsunami, soaking my panties. He doesn’t relent, wringing out every last drop until I’m breathless, boneless, and completely in his power.
When I’m finished, he withdraws, leaning over me. He lifts the mask just enough to kiss me softly on the temple. He grinds against me once—then twice more for good measure—as he tastes my cum on his fingers. After savoring it for a moment, he drops the mask back into place.
“If you’re a good girl,” he says, releasing me from his grasp, “I can do more than just make you bleed next time.”
I blink away the tears that linger in my eyes from the intensity of my orgasm and give a half-hearted attempt at swatting him. He easily dodges me as he steps back, his laughter echoing off the walls.
“See you around, Little Finch.”
He disappears, leaving me to process what the fuck just happened.