Chapter 25 #2
I stopped directly in front of her, crouching down so we were eye to eye.
“Your life is an open book to me. That little story about you being stalked? That was just a pretense you used to weasel into his life. And now, I have had so much fun with you. We’ve had so many beautiful moments, with you in your apartment, and me waiting outside your window.
I’ve gotten to bond with so many people, all because of you.
Brenda certainly has a great listening ear, and of course I’ve been able to make some calls on behalf of your fake friends to report your concerning behaviour and declining mental health.
I’m sure with all of the helpful hints I have left, the state is ready to take you away any moment now, as soon as one more issue pops up.
I can make it happen. If I wanted to, I could have you committed for life.
Or, I could arrange for you to have a tragic little accident.
And given your documented ‘mental instability,’ no one would question it for a second. ”
Her tears were silent now, tracks of pure terror cutting through the grime on her face. It was time for the final act.
I stood up, my work here nearly done. The fear was a palpable thing in the room, a cold dampness that clung to the concrete walls. I looked down at her, a pathetic, broken thing, and delivered the terms of her surrender.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, my voice returning to the calm, detached tone of a professional reading a contract.
“You have twenty-four hours. Not a minute more. You will pack one single bag. A backpack, a duffel, whatever. You will leave this town. You will go to a different state. I don’t care which one. ”
I paused, letting the instructions sink in.
“You are forbidden from contacting Callum, Ginny, or anyone in their social circle ever again. No texts, calls, or any passive-aggressive social media posts from a fake account. You will become a ghost to them. If I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve tried to reach out, the deal is off. ”
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a cheap, flimsy burner phone, the kind you buy in a pack of three.
I knelt and placed it on the concrete floor, just out of her reach.
“This has one number programmed into it. Mine. When you are gone, when you have physically left the city limits, you will send me a single message. It will contain your new city and nothing else. Once I receive that, this is over. If you don’t, I will assume you’ve changed your mind, and I will come find you.
Then, it will be a wonderful surprise for you - committed for life, and buried under six feet of dirt. ”
I let that hang there for a moment before I added the insurance policy.
Reaching into my other pocket, I produced a manila envelope.
It was light, but it held the weight of her entire world.
I dropped it beside the burner phone before I untied the restraints on her wrists and ankles.
They fell away with a clatter, but she didn’t move.
“A parting gift,” I said softly. “Open it.”
With trembling, fumbling fingers, she managed to tear the edge of the envelope. A handful of glossy photos slid out and scattered across the floor. They were 4×6 prints, the kind you could get from any kiosk in an hour. And they were all of her.
One of her sleeping in her own bed, her face peaceful, her mouth slightly open.
The angle was from her bedside table. Another of her sitting on her couch, watching TV, a half-eaten tub of ice cream in her lap.
The shot was through her living room window.
A third of her in the shower, a blurred silhouette behind the fogged glass, but unmistakably her.
The last one was the most damning. It was a close-up of her face, taken from just a few feet away as she slept.
She was facing directly towards the lens, though her eyes were closed.
It was intimate in a way that was unspeakably violating.
“These were taken two nights ago,” I told her, my voice dropping to a near whisper.
“I was in your home for three hours. I know the creak on the third floorboard by your bedroom. I know the spot in the hallway where the floor is cold. This isn’t a threat, Ashley.
It’s a promise. I can get to you whenever I want.
Nowhere is safe. So you will follow my instructions, and you will disappear.
Because the alternative is me becoming a permanent, unwanted part of your life. ”
Her eyes were glued to the photos, darting between them as her body shook with silent, wracking sobs.
“Get up,” I said, my voice hard again.
She stumbled to her feet, a puppet with severed strings. I guided her out of the chair and toward the van, my hand firm but not rough on her arm. She didn’t fight. She was past fighting.
The drive was silent. I didn’t speak, and she was incapable of forming words.
I drove for hours, heading east into the dead of night, until the city was a distant memory and we were in the middle of nowhere.
I found a desolate bus station, the kind that’s just a single flickering lightbulb over a bench and a sign listing destinations to places no one ever wants to go.
It was nearly three in the morning. The place was utterly empty.
I pulled the van over and killed the engine. “Get out,” I said.
She fumbled with the door handle and stumbled out onto the cracked asphalt, looking small and lost under the vast, empty sky. I leaned over the passenger seat, looking at her one last time.
“Don’t ever let me hear your name again,” I said.
She just stood there, shivering in the thin clothes she’d been wearing when I took her.
I put the van in drive and pulled away, watching her in the rearview mirror.
She didn’t move. She just stood there, a solitary figure in a sea of darkness.
As the taillights of the van receded, I caught my own reflection in the mirror.
I was just smiling. A slow, calm, utterly terrifying smile.
It was the smile of a man who enjoys his work, the smile of someone who knows he has just broken another person so completely that they will never, ever be able to put themselves back together again.
The psychological trauma of the entire event, being gaslit, kidnapped, threatened, and left with proof of her vulnerability, was a permanent brand.
It was guaranteed to ensure she never looked back.
For a moment, my smile faded. My poor, neglected shovel. It so desperately wanted to join in on the fun.
Oh well. Next time.