Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
HER
I fell asleep on the couch again.
It’s been a week since the incident in the warehouse, a week since a murderer nearly coerced me into becoming one, too. After he injected me with some sort of sedative, I only remember seeing that damn mask before waking up the next day in my bed. So he likely increased my dose, based on the previous jab and how long I was out.
I considered turning in his DNA. But not only did I not want to deal with invasive questions or the humiliation of facing the police again, Damon had gone to great lengths to clean and scrub me of every little trace of fluid. Even the clothes I wore are missing. Fuck him for being so thorough.
I fumble for the lamp cord and tug it on. As light illuminates the room, I notice that there’s a piece of paper on top of my coffee table. My heart slams into my throat as I gingerly pick it up. The text reads :
“The power to take away life, to bring justice in our own way.”
From now on, your decisions will have lasting consequences.But you understand that, don’t you? If not, you will soon.
Acid churns in my stomach. I crumple up the note and throw it across the room before slumping into the couch, shaken. He was in my apartment again. Is this his way of trying to get me involved in his screwed-up version of vigilante justice? And why does he want me to help him, anyway?
I don’t understand why he’s so obsessed with me. Does it all go back to my father? I’m scared, but part of me is morbidly curious.
I know this is a dangerous game, but I can’t help but wonder what he’s planning next.
I start pacing around my living room, trying to make sense of the situation. He clearly has some sort of plan in mind, and it’s up to me to figure out what it is. And do what? I ask myself. Stop him? That note could be a clue or just a taunt. Either way, I need more information before I can act.
My stomach growls, and I realize I completely forgot to eat lunch. I head to the fridge, hoping to find something delicious, only to be met with a few wilted vegetables, a jar of pickles, and half-empty condiment bottles.
I groan, wishing I had gone grocery shopping earlier this week. But after what happened in the warehouse, I couldn’t be bothered. Going to work, acting normal, and just existing took everything out of me. Just as I’m about to put some cheap ramen noodles into the microwave, my phone rings, startling me.
As I walk over to answer it, I realize my fingers are trembling. Packing my fear away, I pick it up. “Hello.”
“Hey, Mia! It’s Jen!” I’m instantly relieved to hear a familiar, friendly voice on the other end. “I’m just calling to check up on you. I heard you called off work the other day. Is something wrong?”
“Hey, Jen,” I say, putting on a smile that I hope shows through my voice. “Things are alright. I’ve just been working too much again, and my body finally forced me to take some time off.” The lie slides too easily off my tongue. “I was about to get a late lunch before you called.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out at my place. A girl’s night at home, maybe? I need to get my pumpkins carved, and some baking done. I could use the company.”
“And I could use the time away from this apartment,” I say, chuckling. “Sure. That sounds fun. I’ll head over soon.”
After exchanging goodbyes, I hang up—and something catches my eye at the corner of my periphery.
I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly to calm myself. The visage of my stepfather ripples away, leaving behind only the fading scent of his cheap cologne and bottom-tier beer. I clench my fists to ward off the memories that seem to come alive with every glimpse of him, a past I’d much rather forget.
I can still feel his presence as I head to the bathroom to wash up. After rinsing off, I exit the shower and dry myself off. But when I wipe the steam from the mirror, it’s not my stepfather’s face that usually stares back at me.
It’s my father’s.
Tears well in my eyes as I shake my head, the lingering presence of my father filling the air. I can still feel his arms scooping me up as a child, his voice full of love and assurance that he’d never leave me. That I would always have someone to turn to, no matter what. I lean against the sink, struggling to suppress a sob.
When I next open my eyes, the image of him vanishes. A single tear runs down my face as I wipe it away and head to the bedroom to get dressed.
As I finish applying some light makeup, I still sense my father’s presence in every corner of the room. I know periods of stress can trigger episodes, but this is becoming ridiculous. I worry my medicine isn’t working as well as it should anymore. Maybe I should find a new psychiatrist, get my prescription adjusted .
I grab my keys, pocketing them as I head out the door. As I breathe in the crisp autumn air, I assure myself that I will be okay. I can get through this .
We put on a random horror movie in the background while we carve pumpkins.
An eerie score fills the room as a teenager walks through the darkened woods with her flashlight. Jen picks up her knife—and startles at the abrupt change in music. The protagonist whirls around, her hands trembling as she tries to find the source of the noise.
“Are you okay?” I ask, drawing a crooked eye on the pumpkin with a marker.
“Yeah, it just scared me a bit.” She laughs nervously, setting the serrated blade down. “Horror movies aren’t my thing. I prefer something a little less … intense.”
Her words cause Grace’s face to appear in my mind. I remember how tightly she used to grip her pillow whenever we attempted to watch anything remotely scary. Usually, we’d end up switching to something more lighthearted. A sudden wave of sadness washes over me. “We can always watch something else.”
She smiles gratefully, like she’s relieved. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Again, Grace’s face flashes before my eyes like déjà vu. A pang of guilt lances through me as I draw another eye. She would have loved this—carving pumpkins and watching movies on a chilly autumn evening. As I contemplate the style of mouth, Jen gently places her hand on my shoulder, almost as if she sensed the shift in my emotions.
“I’m sure there’s something I can find,” she says, grabbing the remote and flipping through the channels, until we settle on an 80s rom-com.
Jen’s mouth curls up in amusement at the cheesy one-liners, and a weight presses down on my chest. My thoughts wander to Grace again, and the way she used to light up when she was around me. My heart aches as I remember how much we had in common. It’s painful to think about her being nothing but a memory now, a memory that will haunt me with things left unsaid and goodbyes never spoken.
Get it together , I think, taking a deep breath in an attempt to push away those memories. It’s not fair to Jen that I’m preoccupied thinking about another friend.
Jen catches my eye and smiles. “Hey, you okay?”
I hesitate for a moment before smiling back at her. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking.” She nods and turns back to the movie with an understanding look in her eyes.
We watch the movie while carving the pumpkins, falling into an easy banter as the couple’s love story unfolds on the screen. Our carvings all feature goofy, smiling faces. We line up the pumpkins on the coffee table, and I step back to admire our work.
“Wanna light them?” she asks.
I nod eagerly. “Definitely.”
She places a tea light in each gourd before handing me a lighter wand. “I’ll kill the lights so we can put our designs to the test.”
I’m about to speak when something outside the window catches my attention. My nerves stand on edge as I spy the silhouette of a figure standing in the darkness beyond the curtains, watching us through the glass. Damon? I quickly jump up and pull the curtains shut. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom before we light them up?”
“Go ahead.” She looks at me curiously. “Is everything okay?”
I try to hide my rattled nerves and give her a reassuring smile. “Yep, of course,” I answer as nonchalantly as possible before making my way into the bathroom. Once there, I lock the door and lean on the sink, taking in deep gulps of air. I survey my reflection in the mirror, wondering just what Damon is up to. Likely nothing good.
I unlock the door and peek out—only to see him standing right outside. He sticks his hand through the crack, wedging the door open. I’m about to slam it on his fingers, but I hesitate, not wanting to get Jen’s attention and risk putting her in danger. That same hesitance allows him to slip inside and engage the lock.
“Tell me why the fuck you followed me here,” I demand in a whisper-shout, heart racing as I cross my arms.
He sets his gaze on me, and I can just imagine the smirk that plays on his lips. “I followed you because I wanted to see what you’re up to. I had to make sure you were okay. Especially after everything that’s happened.”
I feel myself seething. Is he fucking with me? “Not your concern,” I say, wishing I brought the kitchen knife with me. “Now get out of here before I make it my business to get you gone.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender, and a faint chuckle rumbles from his chest. “I just wanted to check up on you, that’s all. No need for you to get so unnecessarily fired up.”
Anger boils in my gut, my eyes narrowing. He’s got some fucking nerve following me here, knowing that I can’t do anything drastic with Jen around. “I’m fine, Damon. Now get the hell out.”
“You just have to trust me. Okay, Little Finch?” He steps closer and reaches out, placing a hand on my cheek. “I promise everything will make sense soon enough.”
Before I can respond, he snatches my wrists, making me gasp. He spins me around and pins my hands behind my back. I bite my lip to silence my traitorous whimpers as he rubs against my ass, his erection unabashedly prominent. “I’d be careful if I were you. Wouldn’t want your little friend to get hurt, do you?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, jerking in an effort to free myself.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure that you knew who had the control here.” He inhales the scent of my neck. “ Me .”
I grit my teeth and dig my heels into the tile. “Let me go, Damon. Now .”
“Fuck, I love it when you say my name,” he murmurs, grinding against me. “Say it again.”
“Let me go,” I say again, this time with more force. He doesn’t reply and presses into me harder, drawing a moan from me. My chest heaves as I try to collect myself, before mumbling, “Please, Damon … Let me go. ”
He doesn’t, choosing to keep me under his control. And some deep, fucked up part of mewantsthis. I feign a struggle in freeing myself, my breath coming in pants as he groans in my ear, like he’s relishing my helplessness.
“And to think, I didn’t even have to threaten you with my blade,” he growls, his breathing almost as labored as mine. “Look at how compliant you are. Like putty in my hands, ready for me to mold you into what I want.”
Suddenly, Jen’s voice pierces through the room. “Mia? What are you doing in there? Is something wrong?”
I freeze, unable to answer her question. Damon moves against me once more before finally releasing me with a chuckle, leaving my mind in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as I scramble to improvise.
“What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” she asks.
I slam the handle of the toilet, flushing it to muddle the noise in the room. “Nothing, Jen. I’m just talking to myself.” I glare daggers at Damon as he snickers. “Get out—now,” I mutter, pointing to the window above the tub.
Unconcerned, he shrugs and slides open the window. After taking one final, lingering look at me, he hops over the side of the tub and climbs outside. I shut the window behind him, my legs shaking and my head still reeling.
“Everything alright?”
I can hear the worry in her tone, guilt descending upon me. After taking a few steadying breaths, I square my shoulders and turn the lock. “I’m fine,” I reply with a forced smile as I open the door. “But thanks for worrying about me. It’s sweet of you.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” If she knows something’s up, she doesn’t acknowledge it outwardly. “Let’s get those pumpkins going, shall we?”
I let her grab my arm and escort me down the hall. As we return to the living room and light the tea lights, all I can think of is the last thing Damon had said to me before he left. I know I should focus on the pumpkin faces that come to life in the dark, but anger and fear continue to swirl within me. Something is going on with him, something that I can’t put my finger on.
Damon, just what is your endgame?