Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  “Easy.” He encouraged, pulling me back. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  Beside me, I saw the picture frame lying facedown, the edge of paper sticking out from beneath it. Shuddering, I turned into the circle of Nick’s body. He didn’t question my actions; he didn’t hesitate to offer comfort.

  “I’ll have them send an ambulance with the police.” He decided, reaching for his phone.

  “Wait,” I said, placing my hand over his. “You haven’t called the police?”

  “You passed out before I could.”

  “That’s good.”

  A strange look crossed his features. “I have to call them. Callie—”

  “We definitely have to call them. But there’s something I need to tell you first.”

  “It can’t wait?”

  Lowering my gaze, I said, “I wish it could. I wish I didn’t ever have to tell you.”

  “What’s this about?”

  Pulling out of his arms, I picked up the frame, hugging it against my chest. I wasn’t even sure how to say it. How to begin. This was a story I’d never told anyone before... only it wasn’t a story; it was my past.

  And now the past I tried so hard to cover up, to pretend never happened, was bursting into the present and threatening my future.

  “Angel,” he prompted, keeping his voice gentle despite the impatience shimmering around him.

  Pulling the frame from my body, I turned it around, sliding it into his waiting hands.

  The paper taped to it was folded in half, and he lifted it out of the way to see the photo. The glass covering the picture was cracked now. A few slivers had already fallen somewhere onto the floor. Beneath the shattered barrier was a headshot of Callie, her blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty on full display.

  “This is what made you pass out?” Nick asked, confused.

  Not answering in words, I flipped the paper over the image and pulled it open so he could read the note that was pieced together letter by letter with magazine and newspaper clippings.

  The words made me shudder, but it wasn’t the words I feared the most. The bottom corner of the wrinkled, abused-looking sheet was burned as if someone lit it on fire, then changed their mind and snuffed it out. The singed, uneven edge brought back vivid memories of what it felt like when fire tried to eat you alive.

  Just looking at it again made me lightheaded and sick with fear.

  They were all wrong. He isn’t dead. He’s out there. Waiting.

  “What is this?” Nick wondered, his fingers turning white around the edges of the frame.

  “It’s a warning. A promise.” I couldn’t help but shiver. God, it’s happening again. My voice was hoarse when I spoke again. “He’s back.”

  “Who’s back?”

  I felt myself slipping into that hole of despair, back into the darkness I’d barely escaped the first time.

  “Zoey!” Nick’s voice was sharp, the fingers grasping my chin tight. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “You know who this note is from?”

  I nodded, numb.

  “Who?”

  When I didn’t answer, he gave me a shake. My body flopped like a rag doll, then, slowly, I fingered the left side of my face.

  Holding my scars, I met his stare. “Him,” I rasped. “The man who did this to me.”

  She had my attention. One thousand percent of it.

  Not even the niggling, familiar feeling gnawing at my gut and making my spine tingle was enough to overpower the look on this angel’s face.

  It was the look of an angel who’d fallen into hell.

  A look of innocence stolen.

  Her voice the sound of a woman haunted.

  Lifting her from the floor, I carried her over to the couch, letting the soft cushions cradle her body.

  Him, she’d said, fingering her scars. The man who did this to me.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “You said you were in a car accident.” I began, lowering beside her, trying to understand.

  Clutching the frame, she stared off into space. I couldn’t help but wonder where she was right now, because mentally, it wasn’t here with me.

  “I wasn’t in a car accident.” Her voice was raspy and foreign. “I know that’s what you think, and I never corrected you.”

  “It’s okay.” I soothed. I had no idea what to say, what to do. But damn, I was willing to try. “You’re ready to tell me now?”

  She shook her head. When her eyes focused on me, some of the tightness in my shoulders eased just a bit. I felt as if when her eyes were on me, she would be safe, that she would be anchored here instead of that dark place inside her.

  “I’ve never told anyone. I don’t want to tell you.” Tears filled her eyes. “But now I don’t have a choice.”

  “You can tell me anything.” Laying my hand palm up on the cushion between us, I wiggled my fingers, inviting her touch. “Anything at all.”

  She stared at my offering sadly and stayed exactly how she was.

  Unoffended, I left my hand there. Her rebuff didn’t sting because I hadn’t expected her to come to me. I wouldn’t pull back, though. I would stay this way in case she changed her mind. So she could see that no matter what she said, I would still be here.

  “Did you ever hear about the Bloodlust Killer?”

  I frowned. “The serial killer?”

  She nodded, eyes encouraging me to continue.

  “I think everyone in California has heard of him.”

  “It’s been a while... I wasn’t sure if you would remember the case.”

  “He’s the most infamous serial killer on the West Coast. He killed, what, ten people?

  “Eleven,” she whispered. “Almost twelve.”

  An odd feeling overwhelmed me. It was uncomfortable and ominous. “He died before the police could haul him to jail.” I recalled. “A lot of people were angry because his victims never got the justice they deserved.”

  “He didn’t die.”

  No sarcasm. Not a guess. Just a quiet statement. A bold, unwavering truth.

  Tilting my head, I tried to comprehend what was happening. “What?”

  Her eyes remained downcast. I saw them occasionally drift to my still-offered hand. I had to fight to keep from reaching for her. “They all said he died, but it was never actually confirmed.” Her face lifted, and even though there was obvious fear in her eyes, they were steady on mine. “I’m telling you that killer isn’t dead. He’s still alive.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  The sound of her lungs shuddering as she sucked in a deep breath made me feel like I was walking through a haunted house, anticipating ghouls to jump out.

  Lowering the frame, Zoey pointed to the eerie, pieced-together letter with a single quivering finger. “This is from him. This is his way of telling me he’s back.”

  Leaning forward, I stared between her and the note. “Telling you?”

  She nodded.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, trying to understand. “If this note was for you, why would it be here in Callie’s apartment?”

  “He knew I would find it...” Her voice was hollow. Paranoid, she glanced around, searching all the corners of the room. “He’s been watching me.”

  “Zoey,” I demanded, irritation and fear making me angry. “What the hell are you saying? Why would you think this?”

  Releasing her lower lip from the abuse of her teeth, she blew my world apart.

  “Because I was number twelve,” she confessed. “Seven years ago, the Bloodlust Killer kidnapped me, held me hostage, and almost killed me.”

  Shock reverberated through my body. It was impossible to stay still. Bolting up off the sofa, I paced the living room, trying to wrap my head around the bomb she’d just set off.

  Stopping abruptly, I turned, pleading with my eyes and my voice. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

  Her lower lip quivered, and my heart dropped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Everyo
ne thinks he’s dead, even the police. But I know he isn’t... and this,” she said, tapping her finger against the grotesque note. “This is proof. He’s come back. He’s come back to finish what he started.”

  The pace in which I rushed to her matched the pace of my pounding heart. The sofa slid crookedly on the floor when I practically jumped onto it, my knee bumping against hers. Without permission, without the caution I always used with her, my fingers reached for her face. Despite the makeup covering all her scars, I caressed all the places I knew it hid, including tracing over her eyebrow with the pad of my thumb.

  Lowering my hand, I shifted attention to her leg. Leaning down, grasping the hem of her pants, I tugged the fabric upward, revealing the prosthetic she wore in place of her missing leg.

  “He did this to you?” I demanded, my voice harsh. “You’re telling me that some animal inflicted all this pain on you, and you’ve lived for seven years all alone... in hiding?”

  She nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek.

  Anger unlike anything I’d ever felt before assaulted me. It was so powerful tears rushed my vision and vomit clogged my throat.

  When I said I wanted to see all the times she needed me and I hadn’t been there, I meant it. But this... Never in a million years did I imagine this.

  Grabbing her face, I implored. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  And so she did.

  The weight of the chain tried to drag me back down. Down into the depths of the abandoned pool, down into what I considered an open grave.

  I wouldn’t go back down there...

  “Ahh!”

  My body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Stars swam behind my eyelids, lighting up the darkness with a dizzying glow. I knew I was alive because being dead could never hurt this much.

  That was the benefit of death, right? No pain. No fear.

  Nothing.

  I hadn’t endured this long to succumb to nothing. Even if the appeal of nothing was great.

  Sitting up was daunting, but I did it all the same. Glancing up at the ladder I’d just slipped off, I noted how the dirty rungs were streaked with red.

  The weight of the shackle and chain dragged me down. The slick substance of my own blood made me lose my grip.

  Get up. Try again.

  Balancing on my right foot, hunching in like a woman with a broken spine, I stared through matted, half-wet clumps of hair at my newest opponent.

  I would get up that ladder. I would get out of this grave. Once at the top, I would climb into that elevator and rise to safety.

  Dragging the chain up, I wound it loosely around my neck like a fashionable scarf. The next scarf I wore would be designer. It would be cashmere and monogrammed with my new initials. It didn’t matter how much it cost, because no matter the price, it would be cheaper than what I was paying now.

  With the chain out of the way, I used the clean gown that psycho had brought me to wipe away the blood and sweat from my hands and feet. Beneath the shackle, my ankle was still bleeding. The flesh was gnarled and raw. It seemed what little skin I had left was swollen and oozing with more than just blood. Ripping off a section of the gown, I tied the fabric around the wound, crying out in pain. That scrap of fabric would hold off the blood at least until I was up the ladder.

  It took longer than I expected to get out of the deep end of that pool. My limbs were weak, my vision a little faulty. My left foot was numb, so I had to stare down to make sure it was actually on each step as I climbed.

  How could something be numb yet so painful at the same time?

  The back of my arm felt raw and irritated. At times, my only thought was to lie down.

  I fought my way to the top of that ladder, and when I got there, I sprawled on the floor as if I’d made a journey to the moon. Allowing myself a few moments to cry and catch my breath, I stared up into the rafters, wondering just how high the ceiling in this place rose.

  The hollow sound of a noise somewhere in the distance made me lurch up. I had to hurry! If I didn’t move fast, he would come back. He would find me.

  He would be angry.

  I would die.

  Wincing at the pain, I levered up until I was standing, balancing on my right leg. The chain felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. Concentrating on each step I took, I stared down at the dirt-crusted floor. Some of the patches my toes met were green. Mildew and mold... maybe moss?

  Where was I?

  Another noise brought my head up. Pressing a hand against my palpitating heart, I looked toward the elevator, praying to God he wasn’t here.

  I forgot all about my captor, though... when I saw the bodies.

  My screams bounced from rafter to rafter, echoing like sound effects in a made-for-TV movie. The only way I could silence them was to shove my fist in my mouth. Even then, whimpering and cries burst around, making me sound like a mewling kitten lost in the woods.

  Now I knew why he’d brought the ladder.

  Now I understood why he’d made so much noise.

  They were hanging from the ceiling. Suspended by chain identical to the one around my neck.

  Have you ever seen a human cocoon?

  I have.

  I was looking at them now.

  Them = more than one. Seven to be exact. Seven corpses wrapped up in clear tarps like they were merely caterpillars waiting to become butterflies. Blood didn’t create butterflies, and the inside of those tarps were most definitely stained with red.

  And other colors that I tried not to focus on. I knew from the body I’d lived across from that blood wasn’t the only thing that leaked from a corpse.

  Shuddering, I averted my gaze. But like a heinous car wreck, I could only glance away before I looked again.

  This was sick. So freaking sick.

  He’d killed so many people. He’d kept their bodies and strung them up. Was this what he was planning to do to me?

  Would I be rolled up in plastic, hung from the ceiling like some kind of trophy?

  Falling to my knees, I vomited the rest of the water I’d drank. It burned coming up, and the retching sounds I made hurt my ears just as the action hurt my insides.

  Shaking, weak, and almost delirious, I got up. Dragging my injured foot, I passed a cocoon, the eyes of the woman inside watching me.

  The second body I fell into, landing on my back. I stared up as it swayed over me like a pendulum counting the last seconds of my life.

  The elevator hummed to life, and the broken, screeching sounds of the gears nearly made me jump out of my skin. The chain rattled when I ran off, crouching behind some old pool equipment that was literally growing weeds.

  He was whistling again. That same tune he always did. I put my wrist in my mouth to stop the chattering of my teeth as he stepped out of the car and into the abandoned space. From my vantage point, I watched him stare lovingly at his handiwork, eyes resting on each body for long moments.

  He was proud of what he did. I could see it right there in his face.

  Surely, this man had been born in hell and clawed his way to earth. There was no explanation for such depravity.

  I shrank back against the wall as he walked forward, his face twisting when he saw the upset ladder and knocked-over toolbox. Instead of running over to see, he strolled, whistling again like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Crouching, he stared at the mess I’d made. Reaching for the bottle of water, he lifted it, staring silently before setting it aside.

  Rising, he went to the edge of the pool and gazed down.

  “Agghhh!” he roared, suddenly bursting to life like a rabid beast set free from a cage.

  The scream I held in burned the back of my throat, and tears streamed down my face.

  “Where are you?” he thundered, stomping around the pool, knocking into the cocoons and making them sway.

  Shivering, I thought over my options.

  He was on the other side of the pool. I could make it to the elevator and close myself in
.

  I had to try.

  Lurching up, I started to run, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor as I went. I didn’t look back, though I know he saw me the second I moved. I focused on rushing for that elevator and hit the button for the doors as many times as I could.

  The small light above the button lit up, and I nearly peed myself with fear. He was coming... running, breathing.

  A quick glance over my shoulder showed him stepping around the last body between us.

  I hit the button again. My knees started to give out.

  When he was almost in reach, I threw my back against the wall and unwound the chain from around my neck. Holding it like a weapon, I dared him to come close.

  The inside-out mask he wore made his skin look plastic and shiny smooth. It was a stark contrast to his dirty clothes, stained hiking boots, and heavy breathing.

  He lunged closer, and I swung the chain. It smacked into him, making him stumble back.

  The elevator door dragged open with a bone-chilling sound. Sobbing, I hobbled through the doors, nearly to safety.

  A hand grabbed the back of the stupid gown and dragged me back. I screamed, grabbing at the doors, clawing and fighting to get into the car.

  A vise-like arm snaked around my waist, and I threw my head back, smashing it against his. His grip slacked for a moment, and I fell onto the ground. Crawling forward, I made it into the car, and the doors began to grind closed.

  That god-awful hiking boot shoved its way between them. All I saw was the blood-stained brown toe with frayed brown laces blocking my way to safety.

  I cried, and he pried open the doors.

  His large frame filled the doorway, standing in the center as though he dared the rickety doors to close on him.

  Lifting a finger, he waved it in the air, back and forth. No, no, no, he said without words. Bending down, he grabbed the end of the chain and began to tug.

  “No!” I wailed, scrambling back as he towed me forward. Grabbing the shackle around my ankle, I began to fight. Hitting my already damaged foot, I tried to break it so I could yank it free. If I’d had a saw in that moment, I’d have cut through the bone.

  “Noooo!” I wailed again, my voice giving up its fight.