The Dead List

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  left as I bent at the waist. Extending my right arm, I swung it back, my hand knocking off his inner thigh. Close enough for him to suck in an unsteady breath. He let go as I wrenched forward.

  Two options. Fight. Or flight.

  I didn’t think it through as I spun around, facing him. Jensen had started forward, but drew up short when I raised my hand back with the keys.

  His brows, darker than his sandy hair, rose. “You’re going to fight?”

  Breathing heavily, I watched him. Would I fight? I’d gotten free Saturday night and I’d run. I hadn’t gotten very far. “Seems like a smart thing to do would be to injure the person and then run.”

  “It would be, but I would rather you run.”

  I frowned, thinking by choosing to fight I’d done the right thing. “Why?”

  He looked away for only a moment, and then he shot forward, wrapping his large hand clean around my wrist. He hauled me against him, chest to chest. The contact frazzled my senses and I dropped the keys.

  Like a total loser.

  Jensen lowered his head, coming so close that his mouth was inches from mine. “You should’ve probably held onto those keys.”

  “No shit.”

  “Although, there’s not much you can do with the keys when I’m holding your wrist,” he pointed at.

  “Double no shit.”

  “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

  “When you weren’t around,” I shot back without really thinking about it.

  “Good point.” His gaze dropped for a moment and then rose, the hue of his eyes deepening to a magnetic blue. “See how easy that was? That’s why I’d want you to run. Not to mention you have no idea where to even shove your keys.”

  “How about in your face?”

  “All I have to do is lean back.” He didn’t lean back, though. If anything, it felt like he got closer. A sweet, low simmering warmth washed down my neck. “If you’re going to fight, you need to really know how to fight, Ella. If not, you need to get away. That’s the smart thing to do. That’s what we teach in self-defense. How to utilize these moves to get away. Not to turn around and engage.”

  “But I did get away,” I whispered, and my lashes lowered. I could almost feel my toes slipping through the grass and the dirt. “But he caught me again.”

  “Is that how this happened?” he asked, and when I must’ve given him a huh look, he twisted his hand, barely brushing his thumb under the scratches on my palm. They ached from how tight I’d been holding the keys. “And this?” With his other hand, he trailed his fingers under the mark on my cheek.

  The soft whisper of his touch rattled me. My breath was coming in and out a little too fast. “Yes, but… but you can teach me where to hit. You can teach me how to fight.”

  His fingers drifted off my cheek. “I can.”

  “Then teach me.”

  He shook his head. “You need to know how to get away—”

  “I already told you that I got away, but he caught me. I don’t want to know how to run. I want to know what to do when I get caught. Okay?” I swallowed the sudden burn of tears. “I don’t need to know how to run.”

  “I know you know how to run. If I remember correctly, you could run fast.” His eyes searched mine. “Why aren’t you on track or cross country like you planned?”

  The question caught me off guard. “I don’t run anymore.”

  He blinked. “What? You loved—”

  “I just don’t do it anymore. I… I got bored with it.” Frustration rose. “I want to learn to fight, Jensen. That’s why I’m here.”

  His brows knitted as he stared down at me. He didn’t respond for a long moment and then said, “I get it. I do, Ella.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

  Jensen’s lips split into a real smile, reaching his eyes, and I was a little awed by that. It had been far too long since I’d been on the receiving end of a Jensen Carver smile. “Against my better judgment I can teach you how to fight, but not tonight. It’s getting late.”

  I hadn’t even thought of the time.

  Jensen hadn’t moved. Neither had I. And our chests were still getting to know each other, and if I stretched up on the tips of my toes, my lips would meet his, but that would be wrong. All kinds of wrong.

  I just couldn’t remember exactly why that would be a bad idea.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, breaking the silence.

  My fingers curled inward. “I’m… I’m glad you were there.”

  His eyes met mine and then flitted away. “Yeah, me too.”

  Jensen let go and backed off, thrusting his hand through his hair. “That’s enough for tonight.”

  The sudden change was like walking into a freezer. I turned, picking up my phone and collecting my useless brain cells. “So, how much do I owe you for this…?”

  He shook his head as he strode past me. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “But I need to pay you for this. I don’t have a lot, but—”

  “I’m not taking your money,” he interrupted, reaching the door. Holding it open, he motioned me forward. “Come on. I’ve got to turn the lights off.”

  I didn’t like the idea of not paying him, but I could see I wasn’t going to win this argument right now. I let him usher me outside, and as he locked up the room, I realized his intentions. “You don’t need to walk me to my car.”

  He fell in step beside me, which meant he was slowing down his long-legged pace. “But what if a bug jumps out and tries to bug molest you again?”

  The teasing tone tugged at my lips. “What? Do you make it a habit of rescuing damsels in distress from bugs?”

  “Only from stinkbugs,” he said, staying with me as we hit the driveway leading to the small lot. “And only pretty girls.”

  I tripped as I looked at him sharply. “Don’t say that.”

  His brows knitted. “Why not?”

  There was a multitude of reasons. “Just don’t.”

  He was quiet as we continued down the dimly lit hall. Grunts echoed from the closed doors surrounding us. “Should I not compliment you? Would you prefer that I insult you?”

  A laugh escaped me. His tone was light, still teasing. “How about you just stay… I don’t know, real with me.”

  “Okay. I can do that.” He opened the door for me. “I can keep it real.”

  There seemed to be a message in there that I wasn’t getting.

  “We can talk about what times you want to get together. You’re on A lunch, right?”

  I stopped in front of my car, brushing back the strands of hair the wind had tossed across my face. “Yeah. Are you? I didn’t see you today.”

  “I saw you.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” He started to turn and then he stopped. Our eyes met from across the parking space separating us. “I’ll wait until you’re in the car.”

  It was ridiculous, but the flutter was back in my chest, banging off my ribs. I raised my hand and waved as awkward as a crossing guard with a broken arm. “See you tomorrow… Jensen.”

  A little smile appeared on his lips, just a tiny tip at the corners as he nodded. Over his shoulder, the sun started to disappear behind the horizon, turning the sky along the mountains a deep pink and vibrant blue. He waited until I got into the car and turned it on. Only when I shifted the gears out of park, did he turn and jog over to his truck. I didn’t realize I was smiling like a total fool until my cheeks started to ache.

  The smile stayed on my face all the way home.

  I all but ran inside my house, delayed only by how long it took me to unlock the front door. Darting into the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of water and then made my way upstairs.

  The TV from mom’s bedroom travelled out into the hall. I thought about going in there and plopping my butt down on her bed and stealing the ice cream—the pint of ice cream I knew she had with her—but I headed to my bedroom first to change.

 
Flipping on the light with my elbow, I toed my shoes off and started to pull off my shirt, wincing when the skin along my ribs pulled as I lifted my arms. Stepping in the middle of my room, I stilled when a warm rush of air blew across my exposed stomach.

  Odd.

  I tugged my shirt off as I turned toward my bedroom window. In an instant, everything but my heart slowed down, like someone had pushed the giant remote control on life and hit slow-mo.

  The thin white curtains billowed out from my window, rippling in gentle waves as they settled back.

  My toes sunk through the carpet as I walked toward the window. Reaching out, I curled my fingers around the soft edges, slowly pulling the curtain back. The window was open.

  No screen.

  Nothing but the night air filled the void.

  My heart stopped as I straightened and turned toward my bed. My gaze made a slow crawl across my room, skipping erratically when something—the bathroom door—creaked. I wheeled toward the bathroom, but stopped when my gaze landed on the bed.

  I stumbled back a step, the shirt falling from my limp fingers to the carpet. “Oh my God…”

  On my bed, nestled between the two king size pillows, placed on top of my blue Care Bear, was a mask—the same mask I saw every time I closed my eyes. And there it was, staring back at me with those empty, void eyes and the overly wide, disturbing smile.

  The clown mask was on my bed with a post it note attached to it, just above the holes were eyes should’ve been. The crudely written message screamed at me.

  It’s your fault.

  Chapter 5

  It was here—he was here.

  I back peddled, stumbling into the computer chair as a scream burst from me. Ice drenched my veins as I wheeled around and took off. Throwing open my bedroom door, I raced down the hall.

  “Mom!” I screamed. “Mom!”

  Oh my God, what if something happened to her? My stomach lurched as I reached for the closed door at the end of the hall, but it sprang open before I could open it.

  Mom rushed out, her face pale as she took me in. “Ella, what is going on? Why don’t you—?”

  “He’s here!” I grabbed her arm, pulling on her. “The window was open and a mask was on my bed! With a note! He’s in my bathroom!”

  Confusion flickered across her face and then she spun around, darting back into the bedroom.

  “Mom!” I shouted, looking over my shoulder as my heart pounded so fast I was afraid I was going to have a heart attack. Was she grabbing her ice cream? “We need to get out of here. What are you doing?”

  She returned, her cellphone in one hand, and she tossed me a shirt. Only then did I realize I was standing in the hall in my jeans and a bra.

  Horror sunk my stomach to a new low when I realized that I’d been in my room half naked and so had that—that thing.

  Mom grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the stairs as she spoke into the phone. Breathless, she gave the dispatcher her name and address. “Yes, we’re leaving the house right now.”

  We rushed outside and then across the front yard, the grass warm and wet under my feet. I stopped at the thick hedges and turned back, raising my gaze. My bedroom was in the back of the house, overlooking the backyard, and there was nothing I could see from here.

  My chest hurt as I shuddered. “He had to have gotten in through the window. The front door was locked. He had to have climbed the tree and opened the window.”

  Mom said nothing as she wrapped her arms around me. Within seconds, I could hear the blaring of sirens and the steady approach calmed my nerves a little bit, but all I could think about was that thing being in the house with Mom and for God knows how long.

  Three city police cruises arrived, one after another. One of the cops hustled us out to the sidewalk as two of them went inside, guns drawn.

  I sat down on the curb as Mom repeated to the officer what I said, watching the red and blue lights whirl over the road. There seemed to be no explanation of who I was, as the officer had immediately asked if it was the same kind of mask the attacker had worn Saturday night.

  I nodded. “Yes. It was the same mask. I’m a hundred percent positive on that. And there was a note on it. You’ll see. It said it was my fault.” I looked at my mom. “I don’t understand what that meant.”

  She folded her arm around my shoulders. “I don’t know, honey.”

  Mom stayed with me until one of the deputies called her over to where he was standing near the porch.

  Shoving the hair back from my face, I rested my forehead on my knees. What was the monster doing back? Trooper Ritter had insisted that the attacker most likely fled not only the county, but also the state. So why would he be here?

  For some horrible reason I thought of how the Trooper had asked about Vee and the worst kind of idea popped in my head. What if she hadn’t run away? What if she had been grabbed, just like I almost was, and the guy was coming back….

  It didn’t matter. The cops were here and they had to have found him. Whatever this was would be all over and my life would be normal again.

  “Ella?” Mom’s soft voice called.

  I sat up, spying the other two officers, and I jumped to my feet. I searched behind them, looking for some creep in handcuffs, but there was no one with them. Unease blossomed in my belly. “Did you find him?”

  One of the officers, older with hair graying at the temples, glanced at the other cop. He cleared his throat. “We checked the entire house, top to bottom, and there was no one in your home.”

  “No.” I balled my hands into fists, wanting to hit something. “He must’ve climbed back out the window.” I looked over at Mom and the pinch to her expression confused me. “Did you at least get the mask off the bed? The note?”

  Because I was so not going back into that bedroom with that thing in there. On second thought, I never wanted to go back in there and touch anything he’d had his hands on.

  The cop shifted his weight. “There was no mask on the bed, nothing, and the bedroom window was closed. There’s no evidence that anyone was in the house.”

  It took a few moments for what he said to sink through, and then I understood the look on Mom’s face and the reason why the officers looked so uncomfortable. “No.” And then I said it again. “No.”

  “These things are common after traumatic events,” The officer who’d remained outside turned to my mom, speaking quietly. “Stress can do some strange things, make people believe that you’ve seen something not there.”

  I zoned them out as I turned back to the house. There was no way I was so stressed out that I imagined all of that. I wasn’t crazy.

  Red-hot anger bubbled up inside me, and I was walking toward my house before I even knew what I was doing.

  “Ella!” Mom called out.

  I ignored her and took the porch steps two at a time. I threw open the storm door and rushed up the stairs. I didn’t stop until I reached my bedroom and I stood in the doorway, breathing heavy.

  The window was closed.

  The bathroom door was open as were the closet doors. My gaze shifted to the bed and another wave of anger burst like a firecracker, a mixture of humiliation and frustration.

  My Care Bear sat on the pillows, minus the creepy clown mask and note.

  The cops probably thought I was crazy. So did my mom. But there was no way I could’ve imagined all of that.

  I crossed the bedroom, tugging the curtains back. The window was down. There was no lock on it, so it was entirely possibly that he’d bolted once I ran screaming from the room, taking the mask with him, and closed the window behind him. Getting up or down wasn’t hard. The tree was right up against the roof, and I knew that was possible. It had been done over and over before.

  But why?