Chapter 10
Theo
Forty-five minutes later
Ruffling her curls, Holly pauses outside a decrepit building. One of many in a row. They all might have housed apartments once upon a time, perhaps even an office or a hospital, but not anymore. Now every window in sight is covered in iron bars and nailed-up plywood.
I quickly turn off the light inside my Prius and zoom in on my binoculars, shifting ahead to get a better view.
For all her merits and competencies, my love sure does have an abysmal fashion sense.
She’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a short white t-shirt, the words BOYS MAKE GR8 PETS <3 sprawled across her chest. She also has a black leather jacket on (that’s new) along with a dark fanny pack wrapped around her waist.
A soft breeze picks up, sliding across her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps on the back of her neck.
Another gust of wind and this time she visibly shivers.
A small part of me wants to throw her over my shoulder, drag her back to my car, and warm her up with my own fucking body if she’d let me.
But then there’s the other part. The not-so-sensible one.
The one that’s so fucking fascinated by everything this woman does.
Doesn’t matter if she’s slitting someone’s throat or standing in the midst of a snowstorm wearing questionable clothing.
I could watch her for hours on end and never get bored.
With her attention glued to her phone, she twirls a lock of hair between her thumb and index finger and the snow starts to fall harder. I notice her nails. They’re painted a deep shade of red. Blood-red.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I imagine those nails scraping against my back and down my abs.
I imagine them wrapped around my cock pumping up and down till I can’t breathe.
A few scattered snowflakes fall over her shoulders, some kissing the nape of her neck, some settling on top of her head.
Another breeze. A stronger one this time.
It sweeps up a cascade of flurries, swirling them around her like confetti.
Despite the tiny frown between her brows, she seems relaxed.
At peace, even. Indifferent and so breathtakingly oblivious to the effect she has on the world around her.
She finally looks up from her phone screen, allowing me to see her face clearly.
Her amber eyes follow the fluttering of the snowflakes, her lips parting like she’s only now realizing that it’s even snowing.
Her palm slips down her arm and she sniffles, her nose crinkling.
God, she’s adorable. She dusts some snow off her shoulders.
It’s nothing special, just an innocent gesture, but the hot, tight heat that kindles low in my belly is anything but.
A soft sigh leaves my mouth.
The tip of her nose is pink, probably due to the cold.
Her ears too. It’s kinda cute actually. She’s still unaware of my presence, her short curls dancing in the breeze.
She's lost in her own world. Her phone rings. I don’t hear it, but I see the brief flash of light from the screen reflect onto her face.
She disconnects the call, glances both ways, and then slips inside the building.
A wave of protectiveness crests in my chest. I open the message I received last night outside Holly’s apartment.
+1 (917) 555-9012: may the best man win
The message is cryptic to say the least. I have no idea if it’s a threat or a challenge of sorts, or even a prank.
I've gone over my contacts (and Holly’s) a dozen times, trying to match the number to a face, but it’s been futile.
I tried calling the number too, but apparently it is no longer in service.
Each attempt at tracking this person down has led me to a dead end.
It also doesn’t help soothe my nerves that whoever sent me this message is probably the same person who’s been tormenting Holly.
The same person who asked her to come here.
They might be waiting inside for her. Hoping to attack her in this isolated building.
The question is why. Why would anyone want to harm something so perfect?
Who the fuck could it be? Who is sending her these texts?
I reach into my dashboard and pull out the picture I borrowed from Holly’s flat last night — Happy Holly — and look up the girl standing next to her.
It takes exactly five reverse image searches for me to find out her name. Aanya Kapoor.
Twelve minutes later, I’ve found her social media.
Unlike Holly’s social media (which is non-existent), Aanya Kapoor’s social media is a blend of smiling faces, kissy faces, and sunsets. I have to scroll through nearly four months’ worth of nonsense — if only Holly knew the lengths I go to for her safety — before striking gold.
A picture of Holly and Aanya. The same one I stole.
I see the comments.
@_luisa: No way…rest in peace.
@hayleybailey: wishing she found peace in the end :(
@lulu4you: For anyone struggling with similar issues, please feel free to reach out to me!
Ten minutes (and a much more intense google search) later, I find an article on their college website stating that Aanya Kapoor committed suicide ten years ago after she was allegedly raped by one of her classmates. There’s a name. Nate Lawson.
Information about Nate Lawson is relatively easier to find. There are multiple articles stating that he was arrested on January 11th, 2017, and is currently serving his sentence in the Queensboro Correctional Facility.
Queensboro. That’s just a few miles away from here.
I quickly log on to the correctional facility's website and enter his name in the search bar. It takes exactly two seconds and a single word under the ‘current status’ column for my suspicions to be confirmed.
Released.
The date says October 26th of this year. That’s two days before Holly received her first message.
Well, fuck.
I look back up at the decrepit building and my heart squeezes tighter at the thought of this psychotic asshole trying to take advantage of Holly. No. It’s fine. It’s why I’m here. To protect her. I will never let anything bad happen to her. Never.
I have two options.
Option one: I could follow her inside and find out myself.
But the text clearly asked her to come alone with the threat of turning her in to the police.
What if I go inside and ruin everything?
What if Holly ends up behind bars because of me?
I’d never forgive myself. Never. The mere thought of not being able to watch Holly as and when I please makes my muscles twitch.
Option two: I could stay right here in my car and just…
keep watching. Even if someone were planning on attacking her, Holly is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
She has a scalpel tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.
A garrotte too. She’ll kill and consume anyone who tries to sneak up on her.
I know that. But I can’t shake this nagging sensation that something is wrong.
That she’s not safe. That it is more than just about physical harm. Frustration climbs my nerves.
Scraping my fingers through my dishevelled hair, I decide that this might just be a trap. It sure feels like one. But also like an opportunity. Does Holly need my help? Or is it already too late? Should I stay or should I go? I’ve never been so torn.
A few more minutes pass, and my gaze roams the building’s first floor, filtering through the snowy haze, trying to get a glimpse of Holly.
Nothing.
I wait for an additional minute. Still nothing.
Fuck it.
I put aside my binoculars and slip my arms into my coat. It’s new. I just bought it.
Quietly, I get out of my car and make my way towards the building. I pick up my pace, head down and hands in my pockets. I slip through the front door, closing it behind me, the soft snick of the lock settling into place silent as a sigh.
There’s nothing but pitch darkness inside the building.
Without making a sound, I take a step forward, blinking once, then twice, letting my eyes adjust to the dark.
There’s a crumbling staircase to my left.
Along with piles of old construction materials and mounds of shredded paper at the base.
There’s a putrid smell everywhere too. It’s going to get all over my new coat.
I hear something.
Drip, drip, drip.
It’s coming from upstairs. Water? Or maybe something else? Something worse.
Adrenaline floods through my system as I make my way upstairs, careful not to displace even a single pebble. The sound grows louder.
Drip, drip, drip.
I see a pillar at the head of the stairs and slide behind it.
Drip, drip, drip.
I peep around and see a light in the distance.
Dim with an orange-ish hue. A room. The door to which is partially open.
Heart pounding in my chest, I start walking towards it, still crouched low and looking around to constantly check that I’m not being followed myself.
Wouldn’t that be a crazy turn of events?
The stench gets stronger. I’m careful not to make any loud noises.
I push open the door with my hip and not with my hand.
Just like Holly does. The second I get inside, I turn on the flash-light of my phone and see a bed.
A cold chill wraps around my stomach. At first, I’m unable to fathom the scene.
There’s a girl passed out in the center.
It’s not Holly. No, this girl looks positively dead.