Stalker

by Clarissa Wild

  She’s asking for the reason of my hunt, but she already knows why I’m here.

  “Don’t ask me that,” I spit, turning around. “You know damn well why I’m here.”

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she says, her lips quivering. I love looking at them; I love the sight of her losing the fight with hope.

  “Eventually,” I say. “But first, I’ll take my time to punish you thoroughly for what you’ve done.”

  “So you’re going to keep me here? Blind and bound to a chair?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, but I might have to make some … improvements to this attic in order to keep you here.”

  “Keep me here?” she says with a high-pitched voice as if she’s insulted.

  I walk toward her and rip a hole in the bag near her ear, causing her to squeal. “Can’t hear me? Now you can. I will keep you here for as long as I want,” I muse. “And that totally depends on how much you manage to amuse me.”

  “You’re sick,” she says.

  I laugh. “Oh, you’ve only caught a glimpse of how sick things can get.” I twist my knife between my fingers, eager to start. I’m not even sure what I want to do first, so I’ll have to think hard about it. “But I’ll show you … all in due time.”

  “Why? What do you want?” she asks.

  “Revenge, Princess.” I lean in so close that I can whisper into her ear. “I want revenge.”

  “What do you plan to do with me?” she says with a croaky voice.

  “Anything and everything I want.” I touch her neck, which makes her flinch, and let my finger slide down her shoulder. The goosebumps that follow look so appetizing; I could take a bite out of her right now.

  “I’ll give you money. I can give you anything you want,” she says, sounding more desperate with every passing second.

  I laugh, standing up straight as I place a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, dear. No, Vanessa. I don’t want your fucking money. I want your pain,” I growl, my nails digging into her skin. She tries to move, but I won’t let her. I want her to feel my wrath. “The same pain you caused me.”

  “Because you went to jail?”

  “Among other things, but mostly the fact that you fucking screw me over every goddamn time.”

  I let go of her shoulder because I’m having a difficult time controlling myself, and I don’t want this to end just yet. I want to hurt her slowly, painfully, to the point of her breaking apart in front of me.

  “Screw that; you did that all by yourself,” she says. “You made yourself the bad guy.”

  “And that’s where you’re wrong.” I walk to her front and go to my knees. I watch her lips as she searches for me in the room, almost going insane when she doesn’t know where I am. I place my hand on her knee, which makes her push her legs together to avoid me touching her in certain places … I’ll make sure to thoroughly touch her there later.

  “I am not the bad guy here, but I know you want to tell yourself that. You seem to forget about the fact that you framed me, multiple times. In your warped and twisted mind, I must have deserved that, but let me tell you that now … you aren’t going to get away with this. I know that’s a first for you, but retribution has to start somewhere.” I tap my knife on her leg, and each time I do, she jumps a little in her seat. I love it.

  “No matter how much you pretend that you’re an angel, I’ll make you show your true self. You just wait and see, Princess. You just wait and see.”

  And then I get up and walk out of the room.

  “Where are you going?” Her screaming is like music to my ears.

  I don’t respond. I just love to hear her lose her shit. After all these years of bottling that shit up, it’s finally coming out. So nice. It’s like putting an old vinyl record on a gramophone and discovering it sounds exactly as it did in the old days …

  Oh well, time to go buy some nice things I can use on her. First thing’s first, I want her to feel what it’s like to be trapped in a tiny space with no way out … and I know exactly how to get it.

  CHAPTER 7

  PHOENIX

  Age 11

  I’ve always had a fascination with death, but when Vanessa showed me what life can do, I realized there are more ways to have fun than just hurting everything that crosses my path.

  I admit, I’m sick, but it’s not my fault. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t want to cause animals or people pain. It’s my way to feel powerful. To matter in this world and to be able to change something.

  I couldn’t change the way they treated me back in the orphanage or the way my parents left me there, but I could change how people treated me now. They fear me because of what I do. Maybe it’s better that way. At least they won’t come close enough to ever hurt me again.

  Except her … Vanessa … I still don’t understand why she likes me, but it makes me feel good inside, so I won’t complain. Especially not when she talks to me and shows me there are different things I can do, like keeping that bug in a jar.

  I turn my head and gaze at the butterfly fluttering around in the jar that’s sitting on my makeshift desk. Looking at it reminds me of her. It has the same pinkish red glow that she has—like a fairy, only better. A princess, almost. Princess of the bugs.

  Smiling, I turn the jar, grab a permanent marker, and write ‘Princess’ on the side.

  Much better than Miles the Second.

  Then I turn around and look through my binoculars at her house like I do every other day when I’m in my treehouse. She has a few books stacked on top of her head, and her mother is pointing in a direction to which she has to walk. She’s learning how to walk with her back straight, I guess. But then she drops the books, and from the looks of it, her mother is pissed off. Her mother’s lips part and she frowns. I can hear her scream from across the street, and then she slaps Vanessa.

  Rage boils up inside me, causing my fingers to clench. But I know that I can’t do anything about the way her parents treat her, so I try to calm myself down by breathing out slowly.

  I never understood why they’re so hard on her. I guess they want her to be perfect. I think she’s perfect the way she is. Too bad they don’t see it that way.

  Why do they want her to be like that? Is it because they want something, too? Is it because they think it would make her life better, or theirs?

  This is why I don’t get along with my own foster parents. I don’t let them decide anything for me because they don’t control me, and they don’t own me. They sure as hell aren’t my real parents, so they’d better stop now if they think they can change me. It isn’t going to happen.

  But I worry about Vanessa. I can see her parents’ demands tearing her down a little more each day. Act proper. Greet everyone. Get straight A’s. Always excel. It’s never enough, and I can see it breaking her down bit by bit.

  I hate seeing it.

  It makes me want to go down there and console her because she’s crying, but I can’t. Her parents won’t let me near her when they’re around. They think I’m a bad influence.

  All I can do is watch her from a distance and hope things will be okay until I see her again.

  Sometimes I wish she were the butterfly instead of the one I have now. That way I could stuff her in a jar and keep her safe and away from her parents, forever.

  Too bad cages don’t work for human beings.

  All they want to do is break out.

  I guess I’ll have to think of another way to make it work.

  ***

  VANESSA

  Present

  The silence in this room is overwhelming me. The beating of my heart sounds like a drum banging in my head. Sweat drops gather on my forehead as the bag grows damper and damper from my shallow breaths. Even though there is a hole near my mouth, it’s not nearly enough to take deep breaths. The longer I sit here, tied to a chair, the more I’m starting to lose it. I don’t know how long it’s been, how many minutes have passed since he’s left, but it’s too many to
count. My brain is losing track of the here and now, as I’m lost in a delirious trance from the fear coursing through my veins.

  Then, hard taps are audible outside.

  My head immediately turns toward the sound, wondering if it’s coming from downstairs or if I only imagined it. When the noise becomes louder, I suddenly regain the urge to fight.

  Jerking, I try to free myself from my restraints, tugging on the belt wrapped around my wrists. The more I pull, the tighter it gets, straining my muscles. The leather is cutting into my skin, leaving a painful mark as I hiss during any movement. It’s no use; I can’t get out, and someone’s coming. It must be him, which is why I’m so desperate to get out.

  The stomps grow louder and louder, and then the door slams open.

  “I’m back!” he says with a happy voice as if it’s feeding time for the dogs.

  “Get away,” I yell, pulling harder on the belt than ever. The fucking thing just won’t come loose.

  “Are you still trying to get out?” He makes a disapproving sound. “I told you not to try anything.”

  His boots sound like trucks as they come closer. I try to move away from him, leaning back in the chair, but nothing stops him from touching my face. “Poor girl. All strapped up, trying to free herself. Did you miss me that much while I was gone?”

  “Take your hands off me,” I say, trying to bite him, but of course, I miss.

  He pulls the bag toward him, gagging me in the process. “Keep talking like that and I’ll slit your throat.”

  “Do it,” I say, when he releases me from his grip. “I dare you.”

  He laughs as if I’m pathetic. “Oh, Vanessa. Do you honestly want to die that quickly? Has your life been that miserable?”

  “I’d rather die than spend one more second in this room with you.”

  “Aw … you hurt my heart,” he jests. “If I had one.”

  He walks away, and for a second, I wonder where in the hell he’s gone. Then I hear a screeching noise. It comes closer. It sounds like he’s dragging something made of metal toward me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, nervously awaiting my fate.

  I was expecting him to kill me now. I mean, he’s wanted to do it for ages. I’ve known for a long time that he’d come for me one day. I just didn’t expect it to be this soon. Guess I underestimated his escape methods.

  The moment that he found me, I knew this would be a struggle for life and death. He swore to take his revenge out on me, so that’s what I’ve been expecting, which is why it’s distressful for him to leave me in this attic alone. I don’t know why, and I don’t understand. If this is his idea of how to torture me, then I’d rather have it end now than to endure it one more second.

  I know I have it coming for me anyway. It was only a matter of time before death came to claim me. And now he’s at my doorstep, staring at me without making a move.

  What is he doing?

  “There,” I hear him mumble as he places the metallic thing behind me. “Perfect.”

  “What?”

  “I suppose you’d like to see what I’m doing, but you’ll know soon enough.”

  Shuddering, I ask, “How are you going to kill me?”

  He laughs again, as if I’m making a joke or something. “Jesus, you really wanna die, don’t you?”

  “You want to kill me, Phoenix. It’s what you came here for, isn’t it?”

  “I did.” He places his hand on my shoulder, which makes me flinch. “And I do.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Because you’re asking for it.” Suddenly, I feel something sharp near my neck, and I immediately hold my breath. It must be his knife. “And I’m not going to give you what you want. Ever. You see, I’m not an enabler like all those other guys. I don’t just give you what you want and hope that you’ll be merciful enough to give me what I want as well.” I can hear him smile from the breaths he’s taking so close to me. “No, I’m going to take what I want, when I want it, without your permission. And you’re just going to have to accept that.”

  “So, you’re not going to kill me?”

  “Yet,” he adds as he gets up.

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  Suddenly, my chair leaves the floor, and I squeal from the weightless feeling. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says. “I want you to suffer.”

  “Fuck you!” I spit through the bag.

  I can’t do much, but this I can do.

  It’s not as if I have anything to lose, being tied up. He’s probably going to kill me anyway, so I might as well speed the process. I don’t want to be in this situation any longer. I’d rather die than have him torture me any longer.

  “Call me whatever you want; it’s not going to help you. In fact, it’ll only worsen your punishment,” he says, hauling back my chair with me on it.

  “Just kill me! Just get it over with already.”

  “And that was why, while I was gone, I decided that I’m not going to kill you.”

  I gasp, but I have no time to respond because my chair suddenly spins around with me still on it, causing me to almost drop off. The only thing keeping me from falling is the belt wrapped around my wrists.

  “Killing you now would be a huge waste of all the potential suffering I could give to you. Oh no, I’m not going to let you go that easily. Why would I, if there are so many more ways that I can give you what you gave to me?”

  “What are you doing?” I squeal, as he pushes my chair forward, my head tilting to the ground.

  “Giving you exactly what you deserve. The same thing you put me through.” He shoves the chair until my head is pushed against the floor, and then he lets it go. God, it hurts for my entire body to rest on my head. What in the hell is he thinking? Is this is his way of punishing me?

  Suddenly, something pokes between my wrists and the belt is loose. The sudden release makes me drop to the floor. The chair is hauled away quickly. Another screeching sound is audible and then a chain, and the metal clings together. It almost sounds … like a cage.

  I groan as he rips the bag from my head.

  What I face is my ultimate fear.

  My demise.

  Not just a figurative prison, like the one I’ve endured for many years while being chained to that tyrant called Phillip.

  It’s a real, metal barred cage.

  I’m a prisoner in my own home with Phoenix Sullivan as my captor. Trapped inside with no way out.

  CHAPTER 8

  PHOENIX

  She looks so pretty when she cries.

  Mascara stains her cheeks, her eyes are watery, make-up lathering down her face, and there’s a delicious pout on her lips. I grab her face and squeeze, increasing the pout. Love the sight. Smiling, I ask, “How do you like your new surroundings?”

  “Let me out,” she sputters.

  I release her from my grip. “No can do.”

  “You put me in a cage. A freaking cage!”

  “Indeed.” I cock my head. “What a great observation you’ve made.”

  She grabs the bars tight. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe.” I put my hands on my knees and bend so I can look into her eyes. “But I have you to thank for all of that.”

  She makes a face. “I hate you.”

  My lips curl up into a smile. “Aw, I hate you, too.”

  She growls, tugging at the bars, but of course, it won’t help her. The cage shuts tight with a chain that only bolt cutters can snap. The metal doesn’t yield to human hands. It’s made specifically to hold a strong pet, except mine is a very specific kind of pet that needs to be constrained.

  “I’m going to have so much fun with you,” I say, a grin spreading on my cheeks. “So many things and plenty of time to try them all out.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” she says.

  “I already have.”

  She growls again, almost like a witch screeching for revenge. “Everyone will realize I’m gone, and when they do, the police
will be at this doorstep in no time. And when they catch you, I’ll make sure you won’t get out ever again.”

  “You forgot the part where they don’t know you’re stuck in this house.”

  She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  “If they don’t have a reason for coming here, they won’t,” I say, as I turn around and rummage in my bag. I take out the laptop we stole back when I was still with the guys. I thought it would come in handy, and now it will. “And you’re going to make that happen.”

  “Why?” She chuckles, almost as if she thinks I’m joking, but I’m not. “Why on earth would I help you keep me here as a prisoner in my own home?”

  I smile at her as I start up the laptop and open a browser. “Because if you don’t, I’ll starve you, cut you, and keep your life within an inch of dying, only for you to have to experience it all over again.”

  She swallows, visibly shaken as I bring the laptop close enough to the cage so she can type. “And if I do?”

  “I’m still going to make you suffer,” I say. “Just a little less.”

  The way I smile makes her cringe, and then she brings her fingers to the keyboard. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go to Facebook and log in. I’ll do the rest.”

  I keep an eye on the things she types, so she won’t start making a post without my consent. After she logs in, I turn the laptop toward me and type a post about her going on vacation. I add some pictures that I pluck from the internet and post it. We then repeat the process for Twitter, Instagram, and even her email. Now that she’s set an ‘I’m on vacation, don’t expect a response’ auto-reply, I can be sure there won’t be anyone snooping around her house in the coming weeks.

  “You can’t keep this up forever,” she says.

  “I know, but for now, it’ll do.”