by Banks, R. R.
The back lot is empty, save for my car, and Jake's. I imagine the front is the same way. Ashton Mill is a ghost town tonight. Not that it's ever all that lively and hopping, but most nights, there are some good ol' boys in the bar, drinking until at least midnight. Not tonight, though. For whatever reason, everybody decided to take the night off.
Which is fine. I'm tired and ready to go home anyway. I’m standing beside my car, fishing my keys out of my purse, when an ominous feeling suddenly washes over me. I look up and feel the blood in my veins turn to ice. Someone is standing at the edge of the parking lot, not fifty yards from me. They must have stepped out from the bushes when I came out of the bar.
Whoever it is, they're wearing a bulky black coat – I can't tell if it's a man or a woman – and a clown mask. A damn clown mask. Ugh. I hate clowns. Always have. They're creepy as hell. Whoever it is, they’re standing directly beneath one of the light poles in the lot, so it's obvious they want to be seen. They're standing there motionless. Just staring at me.
“What?” I call out. “You got something to say to me?”
As unobtrusively as I can, I slip the canister of pepper spray out of my bag and hold it down at my side. I have no idea who it is, or what they're up to, but I want to be prepared.
“If you've got business with me, say it now,” I call out. “Otherwise, I'm leaving.”
As I look at the creepy figure standing there, part of me starts to wonder if it's Leon. Wondering if he's trying to screw with me because Aidan humiliated him in front of everybody. That's probably it.
“Yeah, okay, Leon,” I call. “Nice try. Cut the crap now.”
The figure continues to stand there, silently staring at me, until I’m consumed by a primal fear. I don't know why, but my heart starts to pound, and my palms start to sweat, as I stare back. I'm suddenly filled with a deep and profound sense of dread that's pushing toward panic.
Clown-person raises their hand and wiggles their fingers at me, waving. I don't know what it is about that gesture, small and innocuous as it is – but, coupled with the silence – it creeps me the hell out. I jam my key into the lock and rip my door open. Never taking my eyes off the clown, I jump in, slam the door behind me, and lock it.
The entire time, the figure never moves. They just stand there, head cocked, watching me.
Firing up my engine, my tires squeal as I roar out of the parking lot. It's not until I'm on the road, putting the parking lot and that fucking clown behind me, that I start to relax. I grip the wheel and check the rearview mirror almost constantly. As creepy as the clown-man is, I really doubt there's any way he would have been able to keep up with me, with as fast as I'm driving.
I have to force myself to slow down a bit, just to avoid drawing the attention of Sheriff Keller or one of his men. I don't think telling them about some creepy clown standing in the parking lot would get me out of a ticket. Once they finish laughing at me, they'll probably tell me it's nothing more than a couple of kids pulling a little prank, and that I should lighten up a bit.
A nervous chuckle escapes me, and I loosen my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, it probably was nothing more than some stupid kid pulling one over on me. And I'm gullible enough to fall for it. The more distance I put between myself and the bar, the more likely that seems.
“Fucking kids,” I mutter. Don't get me wrong, I love a good scare prank. Love feeling that rush of adrenaline you get when somebody genuinely scares the hell out of you.
But, sometimes, some people go way too far with a prank. They take way too much license with the creepiness.
Like that idiot in the parking lot.
I sigh and shake my head, starting to feel a bit better about it all as I drive on. I just want to get home and unwind.
* * *
I'm sitting on the rim of the tub, hunched over, looking at the small plastic device in my hand. One small piece of plastic that can change my entire life. Turn it completely upside down.
I haven't been feeling well lately. My period is also over a week late... Something is definitely not right – or at least not normal – inside of me. I know it's unlikely that I'm actually pregnant – I mean, I was with Aidan once, and we used protection. So, I really doubt it's that.
So, just to rule it out, and put my mind at ease, I decided to take a pregnancy test anyway. Just in case. I don't expect to really get any answers from it. I'm sure it's a flu coming on or something. I usually get sick when the cold weather starts to set in. I'm sure it's nothing more than that. Nothing more than something a little rest and some over-the-counter meds won't fix.
Still, there's a flutter in my stomach, and my head is wracked with anxiety. I'm sure it's the flu, but I can't believe this is happening, and that I've even put myself in a position where I'm entertaining the notion I could be pregnant. As remote as the chance is, I still can't fucking believe it. How did I get here? How did this happen to me?
Or more specifically, how did I let this happen?
I let myself be overwhelmed by him, that's how. I fell under his magic spell, his charm, or whatever the hell it is. Aidan has this hold over me that I can't deny. I feel powerless in the face of it.
I mean, I can't say I didn't want what happened. He gave me plenty of outs. But, it was too late at that point. I was hooked and wanted more. It was my fault that I let my feelings get in the way. I let my heart override my head. Or more specifically, let my most intimate parts override my head. I wanted it. I would never say otherwise.
And now, I may be paying a big price for that temporary weakness. For that temporary insanity.
Fuck.
As I think back to that day, I can't help but remember how amazing it had been to be with him. To have him inside of me. The memories make my entire body tingle and hum with erotic electricity.
Until I remember how everything went after we were done, at least. It was like he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Aidan got what he wanted, and he was done. It was time for me to go.
It made me feel so utterly cheap and used. So dirty. When I was getting to know him at the bar – and even sitting out in his backyard – I let myself believe he was different. That he wasn't the kind of guy who would treat a woman like a piece of tissue – to use, then throw them away.
It's been about a month since that day, and Aidan hasn't tried to contact me once. Not once. Not a phone call, letter on a carrier pigeon, no smoke signal – nothing. Nothing but a big freeze. The coward hasn't even set foot in the bar in a month. Which makes it pretty damn clear where his head is at, and where I fit in the grand scheme of things in his head – I don't. Obviously.
It makes me feel even worse that I opened up to him. Shared what I've been through, and some of my most intimate details. And then he ghosts me. Straight ghosts me.
I feel like an idiot for actually letting myself believe he could be different. Letting myself believe that he was different. I've never felt as low, and as stupid, as I do right now.
“I'm such an idiot,” I groan. “Such a damn fool.”
Still praying it's nothing more than the flu, I look down at the stick in my hand – the stick that will determine the course of my life from now on. And when I see the result of the pregnancy test, my heart sinks. A gaping pit opens up in my stomach, and the tears begin to fall.
I’m pregnant. I'm pregnant with Aidan Anderson's child.
Jesus Christ. What am I going to do?
* * *
Later on, I'm relaxing on the couch – or at least, trying to – with a little mindless television. It's tuned to something I’m not actually interested in because it's only on for background noise. I'm trying my best to distract myself.
My mind is elsewhere. Obviously, I'm a little consumed and preoccupied with my pregnancy. I'm doing my best to ignore the situation while simultaneously trying to figure out what to do about it. It's a neat trick, but I'm not pulling it off very well. I want to hate Aidan. I want to despise him. But, I can't. Not even afte
r everything he's done. My heart will not allow me to do it. Am I angry? Absolutely. But, I can't hate him, no matter how hard I try. I see him for what he is – damaged, just like me.
Perhaps that's why I'm more forgiving and tolerant of him. Aidan's wounded and carries his hurts buried deep down inside, just like me. We relate to each other so well in that respect, and I'm not going to question it.
I know I shouldn't let myself have these feelings for Aidan. Not only am I not in a good place, but he also didn't seem interested in me at all. At least, not after he fucked me. The way that whole scene ended, as mind-blowing as the sex was, showed me that he's more interested in getting off than an actual relationship. He just wants to fuck me, not be with me.
I know this, and yet, I can't deny feeling this almost irresistible pull toward him. There is something about him that seems to call to me. Almost like we fit together – like two halves that make up a whole. It's like his darkness matches my own in some way. We're two wounded souls that see something within each other we recognize and are drawn to.
I don't know. Maybe I'm overthinking the whole damn thing. It could be as simple as Jessa being right about me having a crush on the guy, but he sees me as nothing more than a piece of ass. Given the way things ended between us that afternoon, that explanation would make a lot more sense.
Who knows?
All I do know is that I'm pregnant with his child. I need to have a conversation with him about it. Sooner than later. I just don't know how to go about it. I don't even know where to begin. And the mere thought of it terrifies me. It scares me almost as much as Victor did.
I take a sip of my green tea and set the mug down on the coffee table, curling up on my side on the couch as whatever stupid show is on continues playing on the TV. My eyes are growing heavy, and I yawn. It's not long before images of Aidan fill my head once more, and the comforting darkness of sleep beckons me. It pulls me closer and starts to wrap me in its warm embrace as I begin to drift off.
The ringing of my cell phone pulls me back from the brink of sleep, though. I shake my head and sit up, snatching my phone off the table. I connect the call, figuring it's Jessa checking in with me or telling me she's staying out tonight. I stifle a yawn and press the phone to my ear.
“Well it's about time,” I say. “I've been wondering where you are.”
There is nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Nobody speaks. All I can hear is breathing. Immediately, my mind flashes back to the clown in the parking lot, and a chill sweeps through me like Arctic wind out on the tundra. I have no idea how they would have my number, though. I can count the number of people who have it on one hand.
“Who is this?” I say, cringing at the small tremor in my voice.
It's then I hear a whispered voice, and it nearly stops my heart. Whoever it is, whispers my name in a dry, scratchy voice I don't recognize. They just whisper my name over and over, “Katie, Katie, Katie...”
I disconnect the call quickly and feel twin threads of revulsion and fear winding themselves around my heart. It's just a prank, right? Nothing more than a stupid practical joke, taken too far. Like the guy in the parking lot. It's just a stupid prank.
The phone rings in my hand again, and this time, I look at the caller ID and see that it's an unknown number. I know I should let it go to voicemail. I should ignore it and not take the call. So, when I punch the button connecting it – and then hold it to my ear – I want to punch myself in the face repeatedly.
I press the phone to my ear but say nothing. There's silence on the other end of the line again. It's oppressive. Suffocating. Frightening.
“What do you want?” I finally say, unable to take the silence anymore.
The caller says nothing, letting this little game drag on another thirty seconds, which only ratchets my tension up even further. My shoulders are tight, and a yawning chasm in my belly threatening to swallow me whole. I'm starting to feel like I might hyperventilate, and know I need to get off the line to stop it from happening. I'm about to hang up when he finally speaks.
“I've missed you, baby.”
The moment I hear his voice, I feel like I've been dunked in a pool of ice water. My entire body is freezing, and I feel myself start to tremble as my heart thunders in my chest.
“Don't you have anything to say to me?” Victor says smoothly.
“H – h – how did you get this number?” I finally manage to ask.
“Why did you leave me, Katie?” he asks. “We had such a good thing going.”
His voice is calm and smooth. He sounds very in control of himself. Behind his words, however, I can hear the hard, brittle edge. Victor is not a man who likes being shown up. And between what happened at the little impromptu party the night I left, and the violent way I escaped from him, I have no doubt that he's harboring a grudge. Victor isn't one who lets things go. Be it a day, a month, or even a year later, Victor will always seek revenge. He believes in punishing those who have wronged him.
“H - how did you get this number?” I ask, a little more forcefully, though I'm unable to keep the tremor completely out of my voice.
“Aww,” he says, his tone mocking. “Is that all you have to say to me after all this time, baby? After you left me for dead?”
“I knew you weren't dead,” I hiss.
“Tell me you miss me,” he says.
“Go to hell.”
“Sure,” he says. “I'll meet you there.”
Tears well in my eyes, and my heart is gripped with an ice-cold fear unlike anything I've ever known before. I know I should hang up, but I can't seem to do it. It's like his voice has some magical power or hypnotic hold on me. No matter how hard I try, no matter how fiercely my heart races, or how badly my hand trembles, I can't seem to pry the damn phone away from my ear.
“W – what do you want, Victor?”
“Same thing I always wanted, babe. You,” he says. “I want you to come home so we can have a life together. I miss you.”
“No,” I say. “I'm not going back. Ever.”
I have no doubt he wants me to come back home, but I highly doubt it's so we can start over. I can hear it in his voice – something sinister is lurking behind his words.
“Come on, babe,” he says smoothly. “We can start over. Clean slate for the both of us. I'll even forgive you for hitting me with the baseball bat –”
“Wow, how magnanimous of you,” I snap.
“Mag – what?”
“Forget it,” I say, feeling good at the sudden steel in my voice. “Get this through your head, Victor. I'm never coming back. We're over. Done. Have been for a while now. It’s time to move on.”
“Don't be like that, Katie,” he says. “I'm willing to give you another chance here.”
“Give me another cha –” I bite off my words and let out a long breath. “I'm hanging up now. Don't call this number again or I swear to god, I'll have it changed.”
“I'll just get your new one,” he says. “I know people. People who can find you, Katie.”
His words freeze my heart in place. People who can find me? He can't – no – that's not possible. My name isn't on any of the bills here, for obvious reasons. There's no real record of me existing anywhere. How in the hell could they find…
Oh shit. My employment records. Had Victor tracked me down through my employment records? He can barely operate a computer, though. And none of his boys are smart enough to be that computer literate. How could he have possibly hacked the databases necessary to find me through my employment records?
“Leave me alone, Victor.”
“I can't do that,” he says. “You're mine. You belong to me. Come home, Katie.”
“I'm hanging up now.”
“Last chance.”
“Move on with your life,” I say, hopefully sounding more confident than I feel. “Leave me alone.”
“I'll see you soon, babe,” he says with an ominous little chuckle. “Real soon.”
I dis
connect the call and drop the phone on the couch, my heart racing and my head spinning. I jump up and start to pace the front room, doing my best to stave off a panic attack that seems bound and determined to take hold of me. I can't afford that right now. No, right now, I need to think clearly. I need to keep my head on straight and my shit together.
He said he'd see me soon – does that mean he already knows where I live? Is he in Ashton Mill?
I run around the house, turning off all the lights, plunging myself into darkness. My body hums with a panic-fueled energy as I stand beside the windows at the front of the house, searching for some sign of Victor in the darkness outside. I don't see him, but that doesn't mean he's not out there. He knows my phone number. He implied that he knows where to find me.
I can honestly say I've never been this terrified in my life.
Darting into the kitchen, I grab one of the large knives out of the butcher's block and carry it with me as I start to pace again. I walk the house in darkness, straining to hear any sound, racking my brain, and trying to figure out what my next course of action should be. Should I call the police? If I do, what will I tell them? That my abusive ex-boyfriend called and said – what exactly? He didn't explicitly threaten me or anything. I mean, I doubt there's anything they could – or would – do. Hell, I don't even know if he's anywhere near Ashton Mill. He could still be back in Atlanta for all I know and is just calling to screw with me.
I want to believe that, but the paranoid, scared part of my brain tells me that’s not true. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me that Victor is here. That he's coming for me – that he’s going to kill me. And my baby.
The banging on the front door is sharp, and in that small space, it sounds almost like a series of small explosions going off. The sudden noise in the practically silent house makes me shriek and just about drop the knife. My heart is slamming so hard in my chest, I feel lightheaded – like I'm on the verge of passing out.