Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
HIM
D avid and I walk towards the hayride.
He whistles appreciatively. “So, who’s the chick?”
I purse my lips, battling the temptation to stab him in his stupid mouth. “That would be Mia,” I say, keeping my cool.
“First name basis, huh?” He nudges me playfully as we approach the hayride. “She taken?”
We flash our press badges at the operator, and I hop into the wagon beside Amy, the photographer replacing that fuckhead, Colton. “Yes,” I answer. “She’s taken. By me.”
David joins me in the hay, his face contorting in surprise. “You? With someone?” He chuckles as the driver releases the tractor’s brake, the wagon lurching forward.
I retrieve my notepad and pen from my pocket to distract myself from snapping at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just, you never seemed like the type,” he replies, peering around like a curious child. “Like you’re too focused on your work to settle down with someone.”
I frown and give him a shrug. “What can I say? She swept me off my feet.”
“That’s great, man,” David says as the wagon pulls up to a beautiful grove of trees. “I guess workaholics need love, too.”
Amy snaps some photos and then fiddles with her camera. I scribble notes on my notepad, hoping David will drop the subject of my love life and get on with his work. Thankfully, he’s too enraptured by the autumn scenery of the Pennsylvania countryside to push the subject any further. Eventually, he strikes up a conversation with another passenger, allowing me some semblance of quiet.
As the sun slowly sets, I look up from my notes to admire our surroundings. A patchwork quilt of oranges, reds, and yellows stretches across the rolling hills, as far as the eye can see. We stop at an apple orchard, and Amy captures some pictures in the fading sunlight. While she works, I climb out to stretch my limbs and find myself gazing at a nearby farmhouse.
A woman and her two children are outside, the young boys chasing each other around and hollering as they run in circles. Their mother gathers the laundry hanging on a makeshift clothesline. The scene stirs something in me, and I’m overcome with an intense wave of nausea. Disgust. Rage .
I try to shake off the resentment, the bitter revulsion that threatens to consume me. But it lingers in my mind as we continue along our journey. The deep, gnawing loathing doesn’t relent. David, thankfully, doesn’t press. I take a deep breath to calm myself.
The rest of the ride is quiet as I avoid making eye contact with anyone and keep my head bowed over my work, pretending to be lost in thought. Finally, we make it back to our starting point. The wagon jerks to a stop, and I get out, desperately needing some time to myself.
“I got some fantastic shots,” Amy states as she carefully packs up her camera.
“That’s great!” David says, tapping his notepad. “With the three of us, this article is gonna be a smash. But damn, I could really use a break.”
I’m riled up, have shit to prepare for. “Me too,” I agree, working out the kink in my shoulders.
“Let’s take a breather and meet up in half an hour for the costume contest.” He looks at Amy, then at me. “Sound good?”
Amy and I nod.
“Sure,” I say, turning on my heel. “See you then.”
I set off in my own direction, determined to find some peace and quiet before the next round of festivities begins—specifically the special event I have planned for my Little Finch. She still needs to learn the hard way that I’m the only one she can trust, the only one that can understand her .
I won’t let anyone come between us again.
As luck would have it, I spot Jen a few paces away near a growing crowd in front of a stage. I go toward her, waving a hand in greeting. “Hello, Jen. Fancy seeing you here.”
She whirls around in surprise. “Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were coming to this event.”
“Ah, yes. The costume contest.” I smile pleasantly, hoping to lower her guard. “It won’t start for a bit, right? Want to hang out until then? I’m on break and could use some recreational relaxation.”
She considers my proposition a moment before nodding. “Sure. Let’s grab a drink while we’re at it. Any idea what you wanna do?”
I shrug and gesture to a nearby food truck. “We could grab something there, then walk around?”
She brightens and leads the way through the human traffic to the truck. I follow, ecstatic that she took the bait. We snag a couple of cups of punch, and despite Jen’s protests, I pay the vendor. She shuffles her feet, her gaze downcast. Inside, I can’t help but laugh; this girl is far too easy to wrap around my finger.
“So, where do you want to go?” I ask, sipping my punch.
Her eyes light up and she points toward the craft stalls. “There! That looks like a lot of fun. Maybe we can find something interesting.”
Once again, I allow her to take the lead as we head over. We weave in and out of the stalls, admiring trinkets and other miscellaneous goodies. Every so often, Jen grabs something to examine more closely, asks the seller questions about the materials they used, and other banal things that I tune out.
As we explore, we continue chatting, and I’m careful to steer the conversation away from anything that may make her suspicious. Gradually, I sense a change in her demeanor as she relaxes in my presence. After some time passes, she finishes her punch with a big gulp before the topic shifts into something more serious.
“I’ve been thinking about a lot lately,” she says softly as we make our way out of the market area. “About life and how complicated it can be. I just feel so … lost sometimes. Like I’m not sure what direction to take or where to go from here.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if the punch was spiked. But I choose to say nothing and let her continue rambling.
“I don’t know what to do,” she continues. “I’m not sure if I should drop out of college. My grandma is sick, my mom has no time to take care of her … or my brother. No one else wants to deal with it. I feel like it’s my responsibility to step up.”
I pause, trying to think of how best to respond without overwhelming her. “It’s a tough decision,” I finally say, offering her a feigned sympathetic smile. “I’m here for you, Jen. All of us. We’ll support you to the end, no matter which decision you make.”
She sniffles a bit before looking at me with a faint smile. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible against the noise of the crowd surrounding us. “ You have no idea how much that means to me right now.”
Too fucking easy . I wrap my arm around her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze, feeling her body relax beneath my touch. “No problem,” I say.
We walk in relative silence for a minute. I can tell that she’s still mulling over her thoughts. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she speaks up. “Why don’t we check out the corn maze?”
I stop at a trash bin, turning away to stifle my glee as I discard my cup. My luck has been excellent tonight , I think. Which deity do I have to thank for this? “Sounds like a great idea,” I reply with a smile. “Let’s go.”
We make our way towards the entrance of the corn maze. My pulse thrums in anticipation; everything is going according to plan. As we step through the archway into the maze, I can already feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The strain of keeping track of every twist and turn should be overwhelming—but I already have it all committed to memory.
We wander deeper through the winding paths, purposefully letting us get lost. I steal a glance at her now and then; she’s looking around, her face scrunched in bewilderment. I give her an encouraging smile and tug her along. Eventually, we stand at the heart of the maze, surrounded by towering stalks of corn.
There are a few beats of silence as she takes in the clearing’s beauty. And how it feels like it’s isolated from the rest of the festival. A structure looms nearby, its wooden body adorned with symbols and writings left from days long gone.
“Thank you for listening to me,” she says, her hand still resting comfortably in mine.
“No need to thank me,” I reply, smiling. “So, what do you—what was that?” I stop short, my gaze whipping around the area. “Did you hear that?” It’s bullshit, of course.
But Jen doesn’t know that.
Her eyes widen, scanning the space for any sign of danger. “What’s going on?” she whispers, her voice quaking.
I take her other hand and squeeze it gently. “It’s alright. I’ll check it out,” I say. “Stay here.”
She grips my hand harder. “Be careful.”
I flash her a reassuring grin. “I’ll be fine,” I say, extricating myself from her. “Sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
She swallows visibly as I vanish into the stalks, feeling her eyes on me. Once I am at a safe distance from her, I quietly proceed towards the specific location where I had left my duffle bag. After quickly changing and stuffing my costume inside, I put on the mask and voice changer, unsheathe my knife, and make my way back to where Jen is waiting.
It’s time to silence my prey.
I move with a cautious, stealthy pace, like a predator on the prowl. Returning to the clearing, she doesn’t hear me coming—until it’s too late.
I clap a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries as I trap her in a headlock, putting pressure on her neck. She tries to scream, but no sound comes out.
“Just do as I say, and you won’t get hurt,” I hiss into her ear. “Understand? Nod if you do.”
She nods quietly in response before I loosen my grip—but the bitch shows me no courtesy when she shoves against me, slipping out of my grasp. I roll my eyes as she bolts for a path in the maze. I’m undeterred; she’s no match for me. But I toy with her, letting her think she can escape.
We move swiftly through the twists and turns. She’s fast, but I’m faster. I cut through the darkness, just on her heels. Occasionally, she looks back, her face bleached with terror—which is the very thing that will be her undoing. Clumsily, she trips, her ankle twisting unnaturally. Nothing can stop me now.
She’s mine.
She tries to use her other foot to kick me, but I snatch her ankle, forcing it down as I use my weight to pin her. She struggles against me, but her lithe body is no match for my strength.
“It’s alright,” I whisper in a voice only she can hear as I straddle her. “I’ve got you now. We’re going to finish this together.”
Her eyes shine with tears as I raise the blade above my head—and in one swift motion, I plunge it deep into her chest. She gasps, her mouth forming a silent scream, her eyes widening in shock. I drive the knife into her flesh one, two, three, four more times. Crimson stains the dirt, billowing out around her like a deathly halo as her life drains away. Soon, she goes limp beneath me.
But I’m not finished yet.
After taking her necklace and hiding it in my pocket, I wait until the coast is clear to carry out my plan. I clean my knife on her costume and put it back in its sheath before dragging her body into the clearing of the maze by her ankles. I then use the rope I had stashed earlier to set the scene.
Once done, I step back and smile, satisfied with my handiwork.
Now all that remains is what my Little Finch will think of it when she finds her way here.