by Angie Martin
No fear.
The kiss slowly comes to its inevitable end, and I find I’m already missing the taste of him. Somehow, his eyes seem greener, more soulful, than before. And, for the first time, I can see myself in them.
“Thank you for coming to dinner with me,” he says, his persistent smile teasing me. “Do you mind if I come in?”
My eyes grow large before I can stop the subconscious move.
“Not, um,” he starts, “not for that. Not that I wouldn’t like to, but I don’t want to rush things with you. I was asking so I can come check your house for you. Since it’s your first time out, I want to make sure you feel safe once I leave.”
My limbs lose their rigid form as I melt all over the front porch. All night, he has made me feel safe, and now he wants to ensure that continues after he leaves. I could not have asked for a more perfect man in my life.
“Of course,” I say, turning to unlock my front door. “I really appreciate it.”
“Anything for you.”
His words prickle my skin, and happiness and joy crawl through my body. I fling the door open and step over the threshold without so much of a thought as to what might be waiting for me inside. I flip on the light switches in the foyer, and Wyatt takes the lead into the living room. I listen to his footsteps trail the hardwood floors in my home, and each one sends a sense of safety combined with respect and longing through my veins.
“You’re all set. The place is clear.”
“Thank you.” I turn my eyes to the tips of my toes, shyness spreading over my face with my smile.
“How about I call you when I get back to my place? We can both get comfortable in bed and just lay there and talk?”
How can he be so perfect?
Taking me by the arms, he draws me into a hug and holds me there for a moment that seems to last forever. When he lets go of me, a little part of my heart aches to be that close to his chest again. To hear the steady beat of his heart. I look up into his jade eyes and sigh.
With the same soft lips whose impression lingers on mine, he pecks my forehead.
“Call you in about fifteen minutes?”
I nod, unable to tuck away the grin stretching my lips.
When he steps out the door, my fear returns uninvited, but not to the extreme I usually experience when left alone. I hurry to bolt the locks. Falling against the front door, I fight with myself over begging him to come back. I know he’s right, we shouldn’t rush things, especially with my disorders, but I can’t help wishing for more of him. I have fifteen minutes to prepare for bed before he calls. Before I step away from the door, I listen for the roar of his car’s engine and hear it hum down the street.
Looking around my living room, I survey the mess I left behind from lunch and set about gathering my dishes. I can’t keep our conversation or the smile on Wyatt’s face from my mind as I busy myself with my nightly checks. Even though he secured my home, I can’t rest peacefully without checking the house myself. Stepping back into my kitchen, I tug on the door that leads to my backyard. Just as I take a second pull, I hear the trashcan on the side of the house crash to the ground. I yelp and jump, then smile to myself when I listen to it rattle more.
“Darn raccoon.”
Another crash has me less on edge as I walk by the switch for the light and flick it off. I could get used to the new me. The me that doesn’t freak out by every bump in the night. The me that accompanies a handsome young man to dinner and maybe… someday, even a movie.
I feel wistful as I climb the stairs, heading for my room. Hope is infectious, and it feels good soaring through my body. I can change. I can leave my house, and nothing bad will happen. Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk to my mailbox… alone.
Sweet mint infuses my taste buds as I stare at myself in the mirror, scrubbing my teeth with a smirk on my face. “Everything is okay,” I say, after spilling the contents of my mouth into the sink. “Everything is okay.”
I look at the clock before turning down my bedding, and my heartbeat quickens with the anticipation of Wyatt’s goodnight call. Walking to my dresser, I slip off each of my shoes before removing my clothing. It felt nice to doll up, and, for once in a very long time, I actually felt beautiful, in part from all the compliments Wyatt gave me throughout the evening, and in part from the boost of self-confidence surging through me. I should’ve taken a chance years ago. If I had, maybe I would’ve lived less of my life in fear.
All that is behind you now, I think, as I slip on a pair of sweat shorts and a tank top. Wyatt has changed my life. He’s changed me. There’s nothing more infectious than good vibes, and I’m infected with the power he has over me.
I turn off the main light and crawl into bed, clutching my phone close to my chest. It’s been sixteen minutes and no call yet. I figure Wyatt is just reaching his apartment and probably still getting ready for bed. My eyes grow heavy as I fight to keep them open. I jolt awake and remember I forgot to take my nightly meds. Although Wyatt has given me a sense of renewal, I don’t want to screw up any of my progress by not properly medicating myself.
Hopping out of bed, I head to my medicine cabinet and retrieve my pills. With a quick swig, they’re down the hatch and I’m back in bed.
Eighteen minutes.
Cuddling into my pillows, I stare at my phone, waiting for Wyatt to call. I try not to blink, worried I might miss the flash of a text message or the phone lighting up with his name. I check my ringer several times; it is fully functional. Glancing at my clock, I realize more than thirty minutes have now passed.
My fingers caress my lips, reminding me of his loving kiss. He must be running late. The man has given me the past two years of his life. Delivering my groceries, spending time with me at my home, comforting me, being my friend, and now something more. I think I can forgive him ten minutes.
A soft noise permeates my bedroom door. My head shoots up, fixated on the shadowed, white wood separating me from the rest of the house. The raccoon couldn’t possibly have gotten in, could it? If not, it sure is causing a stir outside.
I slide out of bed with renewed frustration at that damned critter. Thank goodness trash day is on Monday so he’ll have nothing for his nightly feasts. I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen. After I unlock the backdoor, I decide to grab the broom as backup. My heart thumps through my favorite sleeping tank top, but I know I can go outside to shoo the raccoon away. I just need to summon some courage. The kind that Wyatt gave me on our date.
One step at a time, I tell myself. Step by step. It’s easy enough. My tongue rakes over my lips as I inch toward the door. Reaching for the handle, I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth, just as Aubrie taught me. My fingers wrap around the handle, and I twist the knob.
I let go at the sound of a squeaking floor behind me. Whipping around, I almost drop the broom as well. The kitchen is empty. I realize that before tonight, I probably would have crawled right back under the table and had a nervous breakdown. Now, a creaking house doesn’t mean as much, not since Wyatt helped me take that first step back into the world.
Deciding to deal with the raccoon tomorrow morning, I relock the back door. Another creak behind me freezes my feet to the floor. Trembling, I slowly turn again, afraid of what I might see. Nothing. My mind is really getting the best of me. I had so much hope for change when I got home from my date tonight, and it’s slipping through my hands like sand, now that every noise is freaking me out, as usual.
With a huff, I place the broom back on the side of the refrigerator and head back across the kitchen. I’ve had enough of being scared for one night and just want to go back to bed to wait on Wyatt’s call.
I flick the kitchen light off and take two steps into the living room before I hear it. The sound fills the entire living room. Dread washes over me and my feet cement where I am. Halfway to the middle of the dark front room. Tears well in my eyes when the cackling is all I hear. It can’t be. My hands fly over my ears as I attempt to blo
ck it out… and it works. Covering my ears works!
I remove my hands, but the menacing laughter is louder. Oh my god. Panic races through my veins while my eyes dart around the shadowed room, searching for who or what makes the sound. My head whirls, and I can’t move my feet. In the corner, near the nook under the stairway, a tall, bulky shadow moves. Finally, able to move my feet, I sprint for the front door. Just before I reach my escape, it steps in front of me, still cackling. Moonlight from the bay window reflects off the long, thick blade it holds in its hand. With an agile move, I leap to my right and flee up the stairs. I hear it behind me as I skip steps, chortling and brushing the back of my heel with its hand.
I dart down the hall, hearing thick, heavy footsteps behind me mixed with the sheer evil contained within its screeching snicker. This can’t be happening.
I slam my bedroom door, but it won’t shut. With my back against it, I push, but something blocks it. Swiveling around, I peer up and see an arm, covered with a bright rainbow sleeve, wedged between the frame and the door. I’m not imagining this, I think as I shove harder, trying to hurt it so I can shut the door and lock it. The force of its weight is too much, and with one push, I’m on the floor. I fall hard on my butt, knocking the air out of me.
My eyes flutter open, and I gasp for breath. The laughing won’t stop. I can’t scream because I can’t breathe. I can’t move due to the pain in my back from hitting my hard, bedroom floor. It takes steps toward me, a wide, painted grin stretching over a white face. Scooting away on my hands, I move backward. There’s no way I can get away.
This isn’t real. It’s another nightmare.
Tears flow down my eyes when it’s standing over me. Out of nowhere, I lift my leg and kick it directly between the thighs. A low grunt comes from him, and I now know it’s a man buried beneath the clown suit and makeup.
Rolling onto my side, I crawl on my hands and knees as fast as I can and get behind him. When I stand, a sharp pain radiates through my ankle and up my left leg. Limping, I rush out the bedroom door. Hysterical laughter follows me, as I run back down the hallway toward the stairs. The pain in my ankle is so great that I’ve lost the speed I desperately need to get away, to get help.
A hand grips my shoulder, forcing me to land on my back. My eyes shoot above me. He towers over me, still giggling, waving the knife with each taunting giggle. He spins, and I squirm out from under his legs. Turning onto my stomach, I claw at the floor, but he takes hold of my sore ankle and drags me across the floor, as my fingers dig into the wood. One of my freshly painted nails cracks, an audible sound almost as bad as a breaking bone in my haze of fear.
I kick and thrash, but he’s too strong to pry away from. I find my voice and scream, as I lash out, knocking the vinyl, glossy red nose from his face. I can’t make out his features under the mass of makeup as I pummel him with my fists. With one hand, he pins both of my wrists to the floor, grinding my bones against it. Aches of agony shoot up both of my arms, and I yelp.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he says in a singsong voice before restarting his heinous sounds of laughter.
Thrashing around, I try with all my strength to release myself from his grasp. Using my knee, I thrust upward, pushing his body off mine. In a split second, I break away and pull myself to my feet. Grabbing the banister, I run down the stairs, taking two or three at a time. I see the front door. The door acted as my protector for four years, but, now, it is my only refuge from real life terror. A sprout of hope rises in my chest as I make my way to it and reach out for the door handle. With my fingertips inches away from the shiny knob, a tug on my hair rips my escape from my grip.
The clown smashes me, head first, into the wall directly next to the front door. My eyes focus on the alarm system locking me inside with this crazed lunatic. Over and over again he rams my head into the wall. The lights on the alarm glow around blurred numbers. I will myself to fight as my consciousness slips away.
With a sharp, precise movement, I ram my head backward, hoping to hit his face. I feel the grip on my hair loosen and scurry away. My legs go weak, and I crash to the floor, cracking my shoulder. Crawling, my vision distorted, blood leaking into my eyes, I reach up for the door to the nook under the stairs. If I can get inside, I can lock myself in there, and he can’t get me.
I’m temporarily distracted by the crimson liquid running down my hand and dripping from my fingers. I hear him behind me, and the sounds of his heavy breathing echo in my mind, moving me into action. Pulling myself up, I turn the door handle and open the door to the tiny room under the stairs. I slip inside, shooting pain causing me to wince and cry out. When I tug on the door, I’m met with resistance. He’s here. He’s on the other side of the door. I pull, but the handle rips from my palm. I’m trapped. I’ve barricaded myself into a corner I can’t get out of. Scooting into the corner of the tiny closet, I draw my knees up to my chest and sob while I watch him fill the doorframe.
He laughs again, mocking me. “You can run… but you can’t hide.” His hair is damp from sweat, and lines of perspiration fall down his face, erasing the makeup. I squint, attempting to get a better view, but my vision blurs.
He takes what little steps he needs to reach me, and I know I’m going to die. This is it. My biggest fear has come to life. The fate I should’ve met all those years ago with my friends. I couldn’t escape it after all.
The tip of the blade punctures my side, and a weep barely escapes my lips. He bends over me and stabs again, this time piercing below the first puncture. To my surprise, he stops, rises above me, his tall frame casting a shadow on the walls, and he raises his arm above his head.
Pulling the string, he switches on the light.
I gasp. Every ounce of air leaves my lungs.
He cackles again, that bone-chilling sound I never wanted to hear again outside of my imagination.
“Why?” I breathe the word out.
“You were supposed to die that night with all your friends,” Wyatt says. “They killed my brother because of you.”
I shake my head, my heart breaking at the realization that it’s Wyatt who I’ve been running from.
“I don’t… understand.” My words come in broken fragments.
He bends over me, shoving the tip of the knife under my neck. “You ruined everything, Adele. We planned it for months. You were mine. From the moment you entered that funhouse, you were supposed to be my victim. I had you in my sights, and you got away. Then, because of you, the cops shot my brother, and I had to watch that. Oh, Adele, you know what it’s like to watch someone you love die. You know what that can do to you.”
“You’re sick.”
“Aren’t we all?” he snickers.
Blood pools from my lips with my last words. “Why us? What did we do to you? Why did you wait so long to attack me?”
“You just happened to be the last group that came through the maze. Call it sheer luck.” He throws his head back with a guttural burst of enjoyment.
My mind whirls with the truth as my lifeblood spills onto the floor.
“Poor little Adele… so traumatized. Where’s the fun in killing you when you’re expecting it? When you’re already living in fear? So, I waited. Four long years, I waited. I changed my name, moved to this crap suburbia. Got a job to be near you and reeled you in. Counted the days until I could be here with you, just as we are now, the way it was always meant to be. Then, finally, tonight, I saw a gleam of hope in your eyes.” He smirks. “You stood on your front porch with me for fifteen minutes as I slid my tongue over yours. I saw your future in your eyes. I knew in that moment that now was the perfect time to finally give you what you deserve.” He presses the knife into my throat, rendering me unable to speak. “I’ll finally watch the life drain from this pretty face.”
“Please,” I barely mutter.
“If you think begging me for your life is going to spare you, you’re dead wrong, doll. Dead wrong. I’ve waited years to gut you.”
The cold steel slices
through my neck, and warm liquid runs down onto my chest. I can’t breathe. I’m stunned into silence. With tears in my eyes, I look into the eyes that captivated me for years. My eyes close, and I’m revolted when his painted lips press to mine. I grow cold as his tongue slides between my lips and caresses my dying flesh. Then, laughter serenades me into darkness.
More by Angie Martin
The Boys Club
*Winner ~ Silver Medal for Suspense Fiction in the 2014 Reader’s Favorite International Book Awards*
Growing up a homeless juvenile delinquent left its mark on Gabriel Logan. He lived a throwaway existence until a former FBI agent recruited him for a fringe organization for boys like him, ones who could operate outside the law for the sake of justice. As an adult, he sets an example for the others and is slated to take over their group, until his work results in the murder of his pregnant wife.
Going through the motions of everyday life, Logan does only what’s required of him with one goal in mind: kill Hugh Langston, the man responsible for his wife’s death. When he’s handed the opportunity to bring Langston down, he jumps at the chance, but the job will challenge him more than anything in the past. Not only does he have to save Langston’s daughter from her father’s hit list, but the job seems to have come to them a little too easily. Logan must find a way to not only rescue the one woman who can take down his biggest enemy, but also look into the men he trusts most to discover which one of them is betraying The Boys Club.
Conduit
*Bestseller on Amazon US and Amazon UK*
*Winner ~ Gold Medal for Paranormal Fiction in the 2014 Reader’s Favorite International Book Awards*
How do you hide from a killer when he’s in your mind?