Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
HIM
I click on my flashlight and slip into the abandoned warehouse unseen.
A rat scurries away into the shadows as I hop inside. The walls are damp and moldy, and the smell of rot fills my nostrils. The abandoned machinery has already been taken over by rust. As I take a few steps forward, my boot disturbs a pile of rubble, creating an unexpected noise that echoes throughout the warehouse.
I hear someone stir, and then try to scream. I smirk.
He’s awake .
Moving further inside, I make my way to a room at the back, which appears to have been an old office. The door creaks open as I push it and go in. Flipping the switch, a bulb flickers on and casts a dim light around the room. Colton thrashes against his restraints, desperate to escape, but the zip ties on his wrists and ankles do a fine job of keeping him in place .
I turn off my flashlight and take a seat in the chair across from him, studying his face. He stares at me, his blackened eyes wide and clouded with fear. Despite this, it seems I haven’t completely broken him yet. He mumbles something, his words made unintelligible by the cloth tied around his head. I stand and remove the gag before going over to a desk nearby with a small wooden box atop it.
He greedily sucks in a breath before asking, “Why are you doing this? Who are you?!”
“I already told you.” I pluck the pliers from the box and turn around. His face pales as his eyes flit from the tool, to me, and back again. “You have to pay for fucking with what’s mine.” Slowly, I move toward him, taking my time to savor his fear.
He tries to scramble away, but the chair has him pinned. “I didn’t do anything!” His forehead is slick with sweat, his hair a greasy mess.
His gaze is wide and unblinking as I grab his chin and turn his face up to mine. His skin is clammy under my grip; the fear radiating from him is almost palpable. “Don’t play dumb,” I say, grabbing one of his fingers on his right hand—before snapping it with a sickening crunch.
His scream pierces through the silence of the room. I roll my eyes, stuffing the gag back into his mouth. Crouching down, I work the pliers underneath the nail of his broken finger. His teary eyes meet mine, full of anger and fear. I return his emotions with a smirk, chuckling as I grip the nail .
And then tear it from the nailbed.
“That’s four,” I state.
Again, he screams, blood blooming from his finger and dripping onto the cold, cracked concrete. I release him and stand back, crossing my arms nonchalantly as he writhes in agony. His muffled sobs are pathetic; I so want to end him right here and now, but my Little Finch has a promise to fulfill.
I rip out the gag and go to return the pliers to the box when he spits, “You’re a fuckin’ psychopath! Goddamn masked fucking freak!”
“You should know,” I counter, putting the tool inside the box before closing it. “Glass houses and all that.”
“Mia’s mine,” he hisses. “I saw her first.” He licks his dry lips, his gaze venomous. “You won’t get away with this. I swear to God?—”
I rush towards him, gripping the collar of his shirt and slamming him against a wall. He yelps as his head knocks into an exposed bolt, throwing him for a loop.
“You’re so goddamn pathetic,” I say, observing the sticky blood that leaks from his skull. “Do you think you scare me? You know nothing about me.”
He scowls, his lips trembling as he pants. “Release me, and I won’t tell a soul. I promise. Please .”
I lift an eyebrow in amusement at his sudden plea for mercy. “You forget I know who you are—and what you’ve done,” I reply icily, my grasp on him loosening. “I know about all the girls in your closet. Literally and figuratively.” He gulps, confirming the information I’ve gathered. “I’m the one with the bargaining power here, Colton Avender. So be a good boy and behave until I come back.”
He nods numbly as I shove the gag back into his mouth and shut off the light.
“Nice to know we can come to an understanding,” I say as I step away, casting one last glance before striding out of the room and slamming the door behind me.
Christ, I fuckin’ hate that guy .
“The Fright Night Festival has changed their lineup, and it will now feature Syndrome of Rhyme instead. As you know, Helix Hollow pulled out last second. Anyway, I’ve gotten in contact with a couple of members of Syndrome, and?—”
I smile politely as David continues to talk on and on about the local band’s upcoming performance, unaware that I’m not the least bit enthused about what he’s saying. I’ve been trying hard not to seem too disinterested, but it’s becoming harder by the second.
“We also snagged Disco Moxie from Ohio for the third year in a row. You could say they’re a Fright Night Festival staple.”
“It’s awesome you helped the committee out,” I comment, feigning excitement.
David grins proudly, puffing out his chest in mock pride. “I know you’re new to town and all. But trust me when I say that you don’t wanna miss these guys. They put on one hell of a show. And Moxie? Well, they pull out all the stops and bring their spookiest tunes to the stage every year. We’re expecting a great turnout.”
“That’s incredible,” I say, forcing a bit more enthusiasm this time. “I can’t wait.”
As he continues talking, I nod absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting elsewhere. All I can think about is my Little Finch proving her loyalty to me. Imagining her making Colton bleed, torturing him—before slitting his throat and leaving his body to be eaten by rats—causes warmth to spread through me. I suppress a shudder as I’m filled with a savage satisfaction.
A hand on my shoulder breaks me from my thoughts. I swivel my chair around to find myself face-to-face with Molly. Concern etches her face, making her look older than she is. “Something wrong?” I ask.
She purses her lips as if trying to figure out the best way to say something delicate. “Have you guys seen Colton lately?”
I frown. “No, not for a while now. Why?”
Her expression turns grim, and she scratches the back of her neck nervously. “He didn’t show up for work again today,” she says, lowering her voice. “I asked Billy if he’d heard from him, but no dice. He can’t get a hold of him, either.”
“Do you think something happened to him?” David interjects, his voice wound with worry.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says uncertainly. “But it looks like you guys are gonna have to find another photographer for the festival. I’ll sort through my contacts and forward some potential options to you ASAP.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, nodding at her gratefully. “We’re running the wire here.”
She takes her leave, and David and I exchange glances.
“Do you think something happened to him?” he repeats.
“Hard to say,” I lie, furrowing my brow in fake distress. “But we can’t worry about that now. We have to focus on the article.”
He chuckles. “Always straight to business with you, isn’t it?”
I shrug and resume typing. Inside, I’m giddy, lightheaded at the prospect of finally seeing the life drain from that son of a bitch’s eyes. All by Gwen’s hand. I smirk to myself.
Maybe I’ll prepare the note tonight.
I vibrate with glee as I head down the sidewalk on Main Street, anticipation building in my chest the closer it gets to evening. The sun is shining brilliantly for an autumn day, adding to the spring in my step as I head out for my daily coffee ritual. It’s also a valid excuse to escape the office before my tolerance for my colleagues expires.
I round a corner and see Gwen crossing the street with shopping bags in hand. Annoyingly, Jennifer Breck is trailing behind her with bags of her own. She may not be as loathsome as Zoey Johnson and her repulsive father, Oscar—who is now dead, courtesy of me. But she’s definitely a parasite, sucking up all of Gwen’s attention from me.
I sigh and walk on, suddenly not feeling so giddy. But just as I’m about to pull open the door of the coffee shop, a familiar voice calls my name.
“Blake!” Gwen jogs over to me, and Jen joins her.
“Oh, hey guys,” I greet. “What are you up to?”
“We were out shopping for Halloween costumes and stuff,” Gwen replies, holding up the bags for emphasis. “We needed a pick-me-up, so we stopped for some caffeine. What about you?”
“I’m just on my way in now.” I put on a cordial smile. “You two wanna join me?”
Gwen smiles brightly and looks at Jen, who nods in agreement. “We’d love to.”
Someone’s in a good mood , I think, vividly replaying the memory of our frenzied quickie that night in the woods. I pull open the door to Tetra Brew and we all walk in. As we enter the queue, I ask, “So what did you decide on for your costumes?”
“I couldn’t decide on anything specific, so I ended up buying some stuff for something … original,” Gwen answers.
Jen thinks for a second before pointing her thumb at me. “Blake’s gonna be one of those slasher guys, right? I still don’t get why you decided to dress up as?— ”
“Don’t tell him!” Gwen interrupts, putting her finger on her lips. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, remember?”
I chuckle to myself, almost forgetting that Gwen and I talked about Halloween costumes a few weeks ago. I brought up the possibility of going as Jason or Michael—and my Little Finch was more than thrilled to encourage me. Someone has a kink for masked murderers .
If that wasn’t already obvious from our sordid encounters.
“What about Zoey?” I ask, wanting to stir the pot in revenge for Jen’s nosiness. “Is she joining in on the fun, too?”
Jen rolls her eyes, awkward tension tightening her expression at the mention of her romantic rival. Gwen clears her throat as we approach the counter and give our orders to the barista. Jen gets a sweet mocha, Gwen chooses a seasonal pumpkin spice latte, and I stick with my usual black coffee. After finding a free booth, we slide in, Gwen by my side and Jen across from us.
“My colleague David and I will be at the Fright Night Festival,” I bring up casually. “We’re the ones assigned to write an article about it. You ladies going?”
Jen perks up, her brown eyes wide with excitement. “I never miss a year! I always dress up in costume, too. It’d be a social faux pas not to.”
I lean forward on the table, feigning interest. “You never said what you were going as.”
“I went with a classic: a witch!” She beams, eager to divulge her idea. “But instead of the traditional black dress and pointed hat, I’m gonna add some modern flair. Leather boots, crystals … It’s gonna be so cool!”
An employee walks over to us, carrying our orders. Once our drinks are on the table, I take a sip of my coffee. Gwen stirs her latte slowly, her gaze distant, while Jen continues talking about her costume.
After a few more minutes of discussion, Gwen finally speaks up. “I need to take a … potty break.” Her eyes flit to me briefly before I scoot out of the booth to allow her space to exit. She moves past me to stand, giving me another pointed look, and then departs for the unisex restroom.
“Um, yeah. Excuse me,” I say to Jen, who raises her brow as I hastily follow Gwen.
I enter close behind her and scan the stalls; no one else is in here. I want to lock the door, but I can’t risk freaking Gwen out—not yet. So I hover nearby, shifting from foot to foot as she examines herself in the mirror.
“Wanna go to the festival together?” I ask, my voice a little too loud in the empty bathroom. “Or at least hang out between my note-taking?”
She stares at her reflection for a few more moments. “Sure,” she says with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
Not as enthusiastic of an answer as I wish, but it’ll do. “We can meet up there, check out the festivities together. There’s gonna be some bands playing, a costume contest … It’ll be fun.”
She’s still unfocused as she finishes her business, and we exit the bathroom. I wonder what’s on her mind. Our trysts, perhaps? But one thing’s for sure .
She’ll have something to be really distracted about soon.
I’m in the park, hiding amongst the trees, waiting for my beloved Gwen.
Earlier, I taped the note to her vanity mirror. As I glimpse my watch and tap my foot impatiently, I can’t help but wonder if she could have missed it. After everything we’ve shared, I doubt she would ignore me. She should be here any second now.
And right on cue, there she is.
However, she is tardy tonight, which is quite odd for her. I suspect she’s not getting much sleep, and she probably passed out on the couch again watching shitty sitcom reruns. Good thing I have this prepared for her , I think, patting my pocket—where I’ve tucked a needle, all ready to go. It’s a carefully controlled amount of sedative. I don’t want to risk harming my Little Finch. Not like this, anyway.
She finally makes it to the rendezvous spot, warily eyeing the bench as if it’s poisoned. I take a few steps forward, revealing myself. She stops dead in her tracks, startled. Her face only relaxes a bit when she realizes it’s me.
“Hi there, Gwen,” I say, hoping to ease some of the tension that’s got her coiled tight. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. ”
“What do you have planned?” she asks, jaw set and guard still up. Ignoring the question, I come closer, and she whips out a taser, her finger on the button, her gaze never leaving me. “Stay back,” she orders, exhaustion heavy in her voice.
“I just want to make sure you get enough rest—because we have quite the trip ahead of us,” I say softly, closing in on her.
She looks at me skeptically, unsure of what to do or say. I approach her, twirling a strand of her dyed red hair around my finger before tucking it behind her ear. A shudder runs through her, momentarily distracting her. Then I pull out the syringe—and jab it into her neck in one swift move.
Eyes widening in shock, she stares up at me, clutching her throat where I injected her. “W-what did you do to me?!”
I hold up the syringe for her to see. She stares at me in disbelief, her body swaying as her eyelids start to flutter closed. I guide her to the bench, pry the taser from her grasp, and wait, mentally keeping count. After a minute, she loses consciousness.
I scoop up her limp body into my arms and whisk her away to my car, where I drive her to the abandoned warehouse outside of town.