1. Ava
1
AVA
TWO MONTHS AGO…
That Night...
“ J esus , it’s hot,” I whisper under my breath, wiping the few beads of sweat rolling down my temple. It’s late and humid—quiet—and a feeling of unease fills my chest as the sudden stillness overwhelms my system.
I’m surrounded by it. Not a single, minuscule noise can be heard.
There’s not so much as a stranger passing by or a car on the road, something completely at odds within the tight-knit community I call home. Because there’s always someone around. Always an event or gathering, people talking while sipping coffee or having a beer, no matter what time of year it is.
Neighbors are family. End of.
Tonight, though, it feels as though the world’s stopped—the beautiful town I’ve built my life in is empty. Desolate. Void of life.
“Wonder where everyone’s tonight. Did I miss a special event announcement?” We’ve had those before. Have one scheduled for next weekend; the governing HOA likes to host outdoor parties or BBQ festivals at different venues near the downtown area for the families that live here.
Lifting my wrist, I check the time on my watch, and it’s only fifteen minutes after seven. Not late at all, and with summer near its end, I’ve come to expect the scents of cooking to greet my senses the closer to home I get.
“Not tonight, I guess.” Shrugging, I give my neck a quick stretch side to side before taking the next right turn. The family-oriented subdivision I’m walking through is the closest to my bakery. In a cluster of three, the communities dominate a huge roundabout with an impressive water fountain at the center—this one is the first exit, and it holds a feature none of the others do.
Beyond the charming houses adorned with quaint, seasonal outdoor decor lies a community garden I fell in love with. It’s nestled between my block and the next two, toward the back end and in the middle, where there’s a shortcut I take on nights like these.
My house also sits at the center of my street, and while I usually avoid low-lit areas, taking this pathway will get me there quicker than the normal route. Besides, no one hides behind a strawberry tree, much less baby ones at that. The new plants are barely visible above the ground, just leaves and a couple of vines, while tomatoes a few rows down look to be ready for picking.
Just a few more minutes, and my poor, tired body will be able to crash for the day. I need a good soak in my clawfoot ? —
The sudden hoot of an owl causes me to jump, its sound echoing, and I look up to find it perched atop a power line. Its presence—the way it watches me with its head slightly tilted to the side and those sharp eyes following my every move—unnerves me as I pass beneath its large body.
“Almost home,” I mutter under my breath, trying to ignore the way my erratic heartbeat matches the sharp sounds the large animal emits. My hands visibly shake as I fix the strap of my cross-body bag, and yet, when a woman’s scream suddenly rends the air, I freeze.
The sound is bone-chilling.
Pain-filled horror.
And fear, that unforgiving monster, takes over my limbs as everything around me goes deathly still once again. Too quiet.
What the? I cock my head, leaning back a bit to see if another sound follows, but I’m met with nothing. A deathly nothing. An eerie nothing outside of a more subdued hoot from the owl still perched above me.
“Keep walking, Ava. It’s more than likely someone watching a horror flick nearby.” Maybe it’s coming from the house a little farther up. I force myself to take a step, and then another, cursing my newest shop assistant for burning two trays of orange cranberry muffins until they were nothing more than a charred crisp—an incident/disaster that’s taught me two valuable lessons as I mentally repeat that I’m safe.
Cleaning trays with burned fruit is a nightmare. That, and I should’ve filled my gas tank instead of deciding a late evening stroll was good for me after a day of nibbling on treats because right now, as I rush through the empty garden, I feel idiotic.
Especially on a night when it seems the neighborhood is desolate.
“Keep calm. Nothing’s wrong…just keep walking.” It leaves me on a gasp when the heavy crash of something metal and then glass rings through the air, followed quickly by another sharp scream of pain. My eyes shift, my mind running frantically while trying to pinpoint where the danger is coming from, and that’s when I notice I’ve taken a wrong turn.
This exit leads to two-story homes on what looks to be a cul-de-sac, and the lot beside me on the left seems under heavy remodel as I step onto the paved road. Moreover, the overgrowth partially blocks my view past what’s a few feet from me. This is also out of the norm in a neighborhood where every lawn is manicured to look exactly like its neighbors.
No weeds.
No leaves.
No garbage.
My hand trembles as I pull out an old cell phone from my back pocket, and even more so when I dial 911. An operator answers, asking me how he can help, but words evade me.
It’s hard to breathe, much less answer past the knot in my throat.
“Please stop!” the woman being attacked cries out, and my chest grows tight. I still can’t see them.
“Shut the fuck up,” a male voice growls out, and the sound of a hard smack comes seconds after. She sobs, the garbled pleas becoming louder, and I can’t explain why it sounds as if they’re closer. “You deserve this and so much more, whore. Now beg.”
Oh God. I begin to shake because I know this voice. The low timbre conjures images of him coming into my shop. Of him asking me out on a date various times in the last few months.
The way he told me just this morning that someday I would be his.
The bakery’s bell chimes above the entrance, signaling a new customer, and I look up, almost cringing when Jason’s eyes immediately meet mine. He’s a loyal customer at Cherry On Top, always too polite, yet his flirting borders on pushy. Not that he’s done anything, but the vibe is always there.
Off. Weird. Creepy.
Or maybe it’s all me.
Either way, I’m always wary, and the smile on my face is fake yet professionally acceptable. “Morning, Mr. Ripley. What can I get for you today?”
“The usual, Miss Ava.” There’s the ever-present wink. His tone is friendly, yet a hint of unwanted suggestiveness comes through, and I can’t help the goosebumps that rise across the tops of my arms.
Not the good kind, either. There’s no giddiness or excitement in me at his subtle flirting.
Instead, this man, with his average looks, light green eyes, and cheap cologne, makes me uncomfortable. It’s like a blaring red light sits over his reddish head, and the moment he comes near me, it screeches to life to stay back.
I don’t question the why. Far too many docuseries describing similar scenarios and the untimely end of those who didn’t heed the warning exist, and I don’t want to become a statistic.
Always listen to your instincts.
“Large black with no sugar and a half-dozen of our apple pie donuts coming right up.”
“Thank you, Sugar.”
“I’ll be right back.” I swallow down the demand that he quit calling me that—the urge to cringe—and succeed, but then a commotion comes from the kitchen. It’s the sound of a loud yelp followed by a curse and then the screech of a metal pan hitting the floor. Eyeing the kitchen door, I sigh. Why me? “Sorry about that. Your order will be ready as soon as possible.”
“Take your time.” His chuckle meets my ears, and I turn to face him again. The smile he’d been wearing is now a cocky smirk, but it’s the way Jason looks me up and down that catches me off guard. He’s never been this blatant. Leering at me. “Seems to me you need a man around here, Ava. Someone to take control.”
“I’m sorry?” My hackles rise, but with the bell sounding again and an older couple taking their place behind him, I bite back my unprofessional response for a second time. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Oh, you did.”
Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly. Try to calm myself and my smart mouth. “Sir, I apologize if I gave ? —”
“We’re going on a date this weekend.” Not a question. A demand.
“Listen, I’m not sure ? —”
“Quit fighting me.” Leaning over the counter, Jason lowers his voice so only I hear. Anger flashes across his expression, and I take a small step back. “We’re inevitable, Sugar, and soon I’ll own every single inch of you. That’s a promise.”
“Is someone there? Please don’t hang up,” the operator begs, bringing me out of the memory, and I nod, letting out a low whimper as another strike greets my ears. More pleas from this woman. His sick laughter. “Help is on the way, but I need you to find a safe location, and don’t move if possible.”
However, I don’t listen. I can’t find my breath and my chest aches—burns—as guilt threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe if I’d reported him for the harassment this morning? Maybe if I didn’t wave it off as just a man coming on too strong?
Unbeknownst to me, I’m walking toward the house while clutching my phone tight. I’m close enough that the smell of spoiled garbage slams into my senses, and I crinkle my nose before pinching my nostrils closed. His community-assigned dumpsters are shut, but the funk coming from inside is stomach-churning, and breathing through my mouth doesn’t lessen the smell. I move closer while questions flood my mind:
Why hasn’t the HOA fined him for this stench?
Why hasn’t anyone else called the police?
Where the hell is everyone on this street? In my community?
The grey home dead center on this cul-de-sac is where the noise comes from; I’ve seen this place a few times and have never given it a second look. It’s nothing special. Just another large home with shutters and a pretty facade that blends in with the aesthetics of the area.
A familiar company truck sits in the driveway tonight, though, and my dread multiplies.
It’s his. Why didn’t I notice this before?
I’d know it anywhere, but before I can peer inside, a small flicker of light comes from a partially open window near the right side of the home. There’s no gate or shrubbery to block my path, and I don’t stop until I’m standing beneath it and rising onto the tips of my toes.
At once, my eyes close and the world becomes a muffled sound.
I’m afraid. Probably stupid. Not ready, but what if I can save…
Another blood-curdling scream. Another dark chuckle.
My eyes snap open, and the scene before me causes my throat to seize. There’s so much blood, and the woman looks to be near unconsciousness. There are several cuts down her tied arms and torso — stopping an inch from her mound—and while they don’t appear deep, her life’s essence pools and then slides down her flesh in little rivulets of pain.
“Your life for hers. Consider yourself useful, my bitter little sugar.” Bile rises, and I nearly double over as that term of endearment settles into me. It’s a play on what he calls me…
Always sugar. Something to devour.
Keep it together, Ava. Put the phone a little closer so the operator can hear.
“Yes. You’ll do just fine.” Jason sweeps a blood-stained finger down her cheek before placing both hands at her throat. Her body thrashes, and everything around me comes back into focus—a sharp punch to my senses.
It’s too much, and I scream.
The sound is loud and full of the utter fear coursing through my veins. Panic claws its way through my limbs, and his face snaps in my direction, eyes dark in the low lighting. His lips curled into a demonic sneer.
“Ava,” he hisses and rushes toward what I can only assume is the front door. My eyes shift to the woman, and I see her chest still rising. It’s slow, but she’s alive, and that’s all that matters. If I can keep him away until the cops… “Where the fuck are you, beautiful?”
“Get here quick, or you’ll have two dead bodies,” I choke on a whisper and take off toward the back of his home while giving the operator directions of where I’m heading. It’s dark, and I can barely see, but I don’t stop.
Jason’s cursing and getting closer, his heavy boots stomping on the higher-than-normal grass as he makes his way toward the back.
With my phone still connected to the call, I light the way, stumbling over an old ax and lawn care equipment near the property line. I’m so close to the unoccupied lot behind his home—this is my only chance to escape—and I scramble over a riding mower to reach it. The unfenced parcel of land doesn’t belong to our subdivision, and I’m so thankful for the wild cluster of older trees that provides cover as I crawl inside.
I don’t care about the thorns scratching my skin; they sting, and I can feel a few drops of blood sliding down my arms as I move deeper inside and hide within the unruly shrubs.
I’m lucky that the faint sound of leaves rustling is masked by his heavy footfalls and the sudden rush of a scared cat running.
Large trees are up ahead, just a few feet away when he whispers my name, and I freeze.
“Where did little Miss Ava go? Come out, Sugar, and I promise to play nice after you ruined my surprise.” His shoes crunch on old leaves or garbage—who knows—and I bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep in the whimpers that want to escape. I don’t turn around, but I know he’s very close. Jason takes another step, and his shadow looms near when sirens wail. They, too, are close, and he kicks something that sounds like metal near him. “You’ll pay for this, and only after I’ve lubed my cock with your blood will I forgive you.”
Oh God. Don’t make a sound. I’m panicking as multiple car doors open and close; he doesn’t move. The sound of Jason’s front and back door being kicked in comes next, and someone yells for help—for an ambulance. Again, he doesn’t move.
Multiple lights move throughout the backyard, focusing on him as feet pound the ground coming toward us.
He. Doesn’t. Move.
But I know he sees me now.
How close he was to me.
“Hands up and drop to your knees,” a man yells from behind us as multiple guns are cocked. Still nothing, but I feel him. His eyes burn into my flesh. Eating me alive. “On the ground now!”
At that moment, I look back, and our eyes lock a second before his knees are taken out from behind. He falls near me but can’t react when three officers grab him and force his hands behind his back.
Jason is in handcuffs before I can blink.
He’s being pulled up and searched as someone offers me their hand, and through it all, his eyes never leave me. Not once. There is no anger in them, either, which I find odd.
Instead, I’m given a disturbing grin. His cold, dark eyes are happy.
“You’re safe,” a female officer says, and my head tilts in acknowledgment. Through the corner of my eye, I notice her crouching down next to me, but I’m still trapped in Jason’s stare.
“I-I’m. I?—”
“Miss, are you injured? Do you need medical...” her words trail off then as I’m gripped by a horror-coated shiver running down my spine as Jason mouths the words:
“I’ll come for you.”