24. Chapter 24
Halloween had finally arrived, dropping onto the calendar like a dark gift on a Friday night.
That meant tomorrow, the oppressive, sanitized walls of Blackthorne wouldn’t be my problem.
Even with the phantom ache of another grueling shift still settling into my bones, a rare, electric current of energy buzzed beneath my skin.
When Emma knocked on my apartment door, practically glowing and brandishing a crisp, sweating bottle of Pinot Grigio, the heavy fog of the week began to lift.
We clinked our glasses together—a musical chime that signaled the start of our exorcism from reality.
This year, our costumes were a study in contrasts. Emma was the ethereal "good" witch, draped in fabrics that caught the light. I, on the other hand, was the shadow to her light: the unnerving, gothic "bad" witch.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. With everything unraveling in the dark corners of my mind at work, stepping into the skin of something wicked felt entirely too fitting.
But tonight was supposed to be a sanctuary. Tonight, I was fiercely determined to scrub the Jester from my thoughts. Tonight, he could rot in his cage, crawl back into whatever cracked abyss of hell he came from, and kiss my ass.
The wine was already doing its job, weaving a warm thread of confidence through my veins.
I stood before the bathroom mirror, humming along to the nostalgic early 2000s pop drifting in from the living room, and dragged a bullet of matte crimson lipstick across my lips.
The sharp, bloody red stood out starkly against my pale skin.
I loved the costume choice. It felt like a dark, historical ode—a beautiful, vulgar gesture to the ancient, panicked zealots who used to burn women out of fear.
Look at how the times have changed, bitches.
I stepped back to examine the outfit in the full-length mirror.
My dress was short, midnight black, and cut low.
It didn’t display the kind of effortless, perky cleavage Emma boasted, but it hugged the slender curve of my hips and the arch of my waist in a way that made me feel dangerous.
For the first time in months, I actually liked the woman looking back at me.
Then, the sudden, violent buzz of my phone against the marble counter shattered the music. I picked it up, the screen illuminating the dim bathroom. It was an unrecognized number. Just three words, simple and entirely devoid of context, but enough to make the air in my lungs turn to ice.
UNKNOWN: Nice lips, doll.
The second vibration was sharper, a violent tremor against my palm that made me nearly drop the phone onto the tile floor. My heart, which had been dancing to the upbeat pop music a moment ago, slammed violently against my ribs.
How?
Blackthorn was a maximum-security fortress.
He was behind three inches of reinforced plexiglass, stripped of everything, monitored twenty-four hours a day.
It was impossible. It had to be a coincidence.
A sick, twisted prank by one of the guards who had noticed my frequent visits to his block. It had to be.
The screen lit up again, bleeding light into my panicked stare.
UNKNOWN: Red is my favorite color.
Pursing my lips, I quickly sent a text back.
ME: Wrong number. Stop texting me.
The reply was almost instantaneous, the phone buzzing in my hand before I could even set it down on the counter. My pulse spiked as the text popped up on the screen.
UNKNOWN: You can block this number, doll, but you can’t block me.
"Elara?" Emma’s voice cut through the heavy, suffocating silence of the bathroom, accompanied by a rap against the wood. "Everything okay in there? The Uber’s going to be here in ten minutes."
"Fine!" I managed to call out. "I'll be right there."
My fingers were moving rapidly, slick with sudden cold sweat as I tapped furiously on the screen, desperate to find the block button and banish the unknown entity from my life. My thumb hovered over the final confirmation, a desperate breath trapped in my lungs.
Before I could press down, the screen flashed with an incoming alert. The new text popped up like a physical blow, making my stomach violently drop into a hollow, freezing abyss.
UNKNOWN: Touch that block button, sweetface, and I’ll make sure the next thing that vibrates is the lock on your front door. Keep me in your pocket where I belong.
I could have fainted.
But a low ping came when a final text appeared.
UKNOWN: -J
The sticky, beer-slicked floor of the bar vibrated with the catastrophic bass of a poorly tuned karaoke machine.
Under the strobe of neon green and purple lights, a guy dressed in a horribly stained Frankenstein mask was slurring his way through "The Monster Mash," gripping the microphone like a lifeline.
He caught the cavernous groan of the chorus, his voice cracking into a drunken, echoing wail that the rest of the packed bar cheered along to with raised plastic cups.
Normally, I would have laughed. Normally, I would be standing by the bar with Emma, making fun of the guy’s terrible rhythm and taking another shot of cheap tequila.
Instead, I felt hollowed out.
The heavy weight of my phone pressed against my thigh through the thin fabric of my witch dress, feeling less like a piece of technology and more like a live grenade pinned to my hip.
Every time someone bumped into me in the crowded room, my heart leaped straight into my throat, convinced it was the phantom vibration of another text.
Keep me in your pocket where I belong.
The threat echoed louder in my head than the screeching speakers. It was impossible. He was locked away in the deepest, darkest bowels of Blackthorne. Yet, the sheer, unadulterated certainty in that text message made me feel like the locks on my apartment door were made of glass.
He wasn't just guessing.
A cold sweat broke over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. He knew things. Intimate, impossible things. I had thought the break in weeks ago was just a sick, chaotic display to rattle me.
But what if the intrusion wasn't the main event?
The realization hit like a physical blow.
The break-in weeks ago hadn't just been a twisted joke to scare me. The canary he sent into my apartment had left eyes.
The Jester's pawn hadn't just broken the lock; they had transformed my home into his personal theater. Hidden cameras, perhaps. The Jester didn't need to break out of his cell to invade my life because he had already moved in.
"Earth to Elara!" Emma bumped her shoulder against mine, her glowing, ethereal good-witch halo tilting slightly askew.
She thrust a plastic cup filled with something bright blue and smelling heavily of rum into my hand.
"Drink! We are supposed to be exorcising the demons of Blackthorne tonight, remember? "
I forced a smile. "Right. Exorcising demons."
I raised the cup and took a long, burning swallow, desperate for the alcohol to dull the razor-sharp edge of my paranoia. But as I looked around the crowded, chaotic bar—filled with masked strangers and laughing monsters—I couldn't shake the suffocating feeling that I was still being watched.
So, naturally, I did what any sane person on the brink of a psychological collapse would do: I drowned the panic in cheap tequila.
Shot after burning shot slid down my throat until the edges of the room blurred into a warm, buzzing haze.
By the time "Thriller" blasted through the cracked speakers, I was screaming the lyrics along with the rest of the packed bar, my arms throwing mock-zombie poses in the air, desperate to lose myself in the noise.
But the alcohol could only mask the dread for so long.
Eventually, the adrenaline burnt out, leaving me slumped in a vinyl booth that smelled of stale beer. A basket of lukewarm, greasy fries sat untouched in front of me next to a sweating glass of ice water. Emma had vanished into the crowd a while ago—probably hunting down another drink.
My hand moved of its own volition. Driven by a reckless, drunken lack of self-preservation, I fished the phone out of my pocket. The lock screen was blissfully clear. No new notifications.
Instead of locking it and putting it away, my thumbs hovered over the keyboard. The alcohol gave me a dangerous, stupid burst of courage.
ME: Why?
I stared at the screen. One minute bled into two.
Nothing.
Sighing, I leaned my head back against the sticky vinyl and took a long, slow sip of the ice water.
The world tilted slightly when I closed my eyes.
Behind me, a burst of loud, booming laughter erupted from a group of friends.
I watched them over my shoulder, feeling a bitter ache in my chest. They looked so damn happy.
Was anyone actually capable of being that carefree, or was it all just a performance?
A sharp, violent buzz against the tabletop cut my existential spiraling short.
UNKNOWN: You’re going to have to be more specific, doll.
My jaw clenched. I typed back furiously, the anger bubbling over the fear.
ME: Why don't you leave me the hell alone?
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly, dancing on the screen like a taunt.
UNKNOWN: Where would the fun be in that?
A dark, humorless scoff escaped my lips. I didn't care who was reading this anymore—a rogue guard, a stalker, or the devil himself.
ME: I’ll kick you in the balls next time.
The response came back with a sickeningly playful speed.
UNKNOWN: That’s moving a little too fast for me, sweetheart. Here you are, presuming we’ll be in a position for that to even happen.
I rolled my eyes, a flush of heat creeping up my neck that had nothing to do with the tequila.
ME: Oh, don’t pull that on me.
UNKNOWN: Does someone have a dirty mind?
Before my thumbs could even form a scathing retort, the screen flashed again. The playful tone vanished, replaced by something heavy, dark, and utterly suffocating.
UNKNOWN: That’s okay… I have a dirty mind, too. And I have so many fantasies involving those lips of yours around my cock, leaving a red stain.