MONSTERS

by Melissa Jane

“What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come stay with me, Lucas Carter.”

  “Okay, Gemma Sinclair.”

  Chapter 6

  The smell of numerous croc-pots loaded with home cooked meals, fresh salty popcorn, and hot dogs wafted through the street on a hot summer’s June night. Children squealed in bouncy castles, and adults cheered when they won shooting challenges at the smaller than fair sized gaming stalls. Long picnic tables were lined down the road’s center, decorated with red and white chequered cloths, and carnival lights zigzagged from one side of the street to the other. A local garage band made up of middle-aged men reinventing their youth played on a makeshift stage singing covers from the seventies. The whole block had turned out in celebratory mode or on amicable terms. Truces about fence disputes were put on hold much like a universal peace treaty for the duration of the Olympics. Mrs. Blackwell even had the neighborhood’s newest arrivals lining up for her chicken casserole.

  “Mom,” I said, touching her shoulder gently while lifting my leg over the picnic seat. “I’m going to find Lucas.”

  She stopped mid-conversation with the Forests who lived across the street. “Okay. But…” she warned, “… I know we know most of these people but be careful, and…” my mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, her voice lowered, “… don’t get yourself too close to that Peterson man. I caught him lewdly looking at young Joanie in the convenience store this afternoon.”

  “Got it. I’ll be home by ten,” I reassured, before setting off through the maze of people and food stalls.

  The sweet smell of cotton candy drifted by as children ran past with thick wads of it wrapped around a stick. I hadn’t seen the Carters’ all afternoon, but after what my mother said, I was fixed on finding Joanie. While Lucas and I were best friends, Joanie and I were also tight. We attended the same school together since kindergarten. It didn’t take me long to find her. Joanie was beginning to find a new group of friends who were less concerned about their grades and considerably more eager to build up their street cred, for all it was worth in our middle-class suburb. It was also easy to see why Joanie was on the receiving end of unwanted attention. Her denim shorts were riding high, her pale skin midriff was exposed, and her C-cup breasts were more on display than covered. I’d never before seen her dress like this and I was almost certain her parents hadn’t seen her either.

  “Pay up or buzz off,” the stern voice from the sixty-year-old gaming attendant ordered the group milling around.

  “Come on, out the way, old man,” came a familiar mocking voice.

  Mason Carter.

  He stood with the rifle pointed at the moving target, which at this particular stall was a small plastic sailboat with a number on the flag. Mason was flanked by three other boys his age who I didn’t know, and Joanie who was giggling while twirling pink cotton candy around her finger. “I get one more shot,” he insisted, arrogantly.

  “You’ve already had your last—” The man ducked for cover as Mason fired, aiming only inches from the attendant’s face. The soft bullet hit a target square on, with a force strong enough it should have fallen. But it didn’t.

  “See, you’ve got weights holding them down,” Mason jeered, and Joanie swooned at the bad-boy behavior. “You’re robbing me of my prize because you’re a cheat.”

  When the man straightened from the almost hit, his reddened face was furious. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” he roared.

  Mason smirked. “A lot.”

  The group of youths, amused by his reaction, laughed mockingly before moving to the next stall but Mason remained taking aim, refusing defeat.

  “Joanie,” I called gently, reaching out to touch her arm. She knew Mason was a loose cannon and I was horrified she seemed so taken by him. Still admiring her bad-boy crush, she cast a sideward glance but then seeing it was me, pivoted until we were face on. There was a glimmer of both guilt and defiance in her eyes.

  “What are you doing, Joanie?” I asked. She knew precisely what I was talking about.

  “I’m fine, Gemma,” she replied in a hushed voice but shifted uncomfortably. She knew what she was doing was only asking for trouble, but she wasn’t going to stop.

  “I didn’t know you were hanging out with him.”

  “Well, I am. And I said I’m fine.”

  “Joanie, this is a bad—”

  “Gemma Sinclair…” The voice saying my name caused a cold shiver up my spine. Mason swiveled on his heel, the rifle pointed at my chest, his eye still looking through the scope. I took a step back, some color draining from my face while looking down at the weapon. Getting peppered with soft bullets didn’t scare me as much as the underlying threat glinting from Mason’s eye. My palms grew sweaty, and my heart began to race. My gaze turned to Joanie who was wide-eyed and horrified. She swallowed nervously, hopefully realizing her choice of acquaintances had been a misguided one.

  “Get me a soda,” Mason ordered Joanie, who without debate turned and left. The gaming attendant was barking orders that were going unheard.

  “Gemma Sinclair,” he stated again like my name was honey on his tongue. “Look at you… all scared and frightened of me. That’s not how you look at Lucas.” He paused momentarily. “You look at him differently to how you do me.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t try to intimidate people, Mason Carter, you wouldn’t have such a bad reputation.”

  The corners of his lips twitched like he seemed pleased with my assessment of him.

  “Do I intimidate you, Gemma?”

  I squared my shoulders refusing to reveal my true fear. “No, you don’t. I’ve known you for too long.”

  “Wrong answer.” This time his lips morphed into a wide smile, sinister and wicked. A smile that chilled me to the bone. With the rifle still pointed at my chest, he mouthed ‘boom, boom, boom’ while feigning the recoil of each shot.

  “That’s enough!” The gaming assistant snatched at the rifle, yet Mason seemed unfazed.

  “I saw a flicker of fear in those pretty green eyes of yours, Gem. I like that.” Mason Carter winked while taking steps in the direction his friends had run off to. “I like you best when you’re scared.”

  Chapter 7

  NOW

  The smell of ammonia filled my nostrils.

  It was a familiar almost comforting smell. When I entered the foyer of my apartment building, it was already dark outside. It had been a long, stressful day dealing with the break-in and vandalism. David still had no case-solving answers, and I could only hope he remained in the dark about its personal nature. If and when he did find out, I’d surely lose my job.

  “Evening, Miss,” Gerald from maintenance greeted, moving the mop side to side across the parquetry floor.

  “Hi, Gerald. How are you?” I stopped at the mail wall and opened my box. Nothing.

  “Fine, Miss. Doing just fine.” Gerald was always fine. You’d never know if he’d had a bad day. “I hear the shower is working better now, Miss.”

  “The shower?” I asked, closing the mailbox and locking it.

  “Your shower. It was fixed today. Just what you want after a hard day at the office.”

  I swiveled to face him, brows furrowed in question. “Was there a leak while I was gone?”

  Gerald paused, mop still in hand. “I don’t know, Miss. But whatever it was I could have fixed it for you, and you could have saved a few dollars. All you gotta do is let me know.”

  “And I always would. I never called a plumber, Gerald, and I certainly never paid for one.” I immediately felt a sense of unease. The same unease that had been plaguing me since my birthday. This admission had Gerald questioning himself.

  “Maybe I’ve got you mixed up with next door.” Gerald flashed me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Miss. The head hasn’t been quite right for a few years now.” He chuckled to himself as he tapped his temple.

  “That’s okay,” I assured, stifling a yawn. I was drained
. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Night, Miss,” Gerald called as I took to the stairs. I had four flights to walk up, and my legs protested with each step.

  When I reached my floor, the dim hall light barely illuminated the area. The problem, however, was obvious. My apartment door was ajar.

  I approached cautiously, uncertain of what I would find on the other side. There was no light shining between the partial gap. Stopping just shy of the threshold, I listened for any hint of noise. Nothing.

  With the tip of my fingers, I pushed the heavy door open and reached around the wall for the switch. The open-floor living, dining, and kitchen lit up to reveal nothing out of place.

  If indeed Gerald was correct about the plumber, I would need to have a serious discussion with security in the morning about access requirements. A simple phone call and relocking the door would have sufficed. Stepping inside, I closed and locked the door behind me and scanned my surroundings once more. It had been damn lucky I hadn’t been burgled the time I was gone. Moving my head side to side to ease the day’s pressure, I placed my handbag on the kitchen counter and then reached down to remove my heels. My actions, however, were cut short.

  Something had stopped me.

  Something I’d missed earlier.

  Something that was indeed out of place.

  The flowers.

  They were still in the vase and exactly where I’d left them in the middle of the counter, but with one distinct difference. The beautiful bouquet Peter had bought for my birthday had the flower buds cut clean off leaving only the green stems. I blinked hard, a part of me feeling like sleep deprivation was playing tricks on me. The flower buds were definitely removed and nowhere to be seen.

  “What in the hell?” I whispered to no one.

  I rounded the counter searching the ground for any discarded flora. But there was nothing. Whoever had hacked off the flowers had taken the buds with them. Retrieving my house keys, I ran out the door and back down the flights of stairs. I was no longer tired. Curiosity and a healthy dose of adrenalin were kicking in. When I reached the foyer, I saw Gerald packing away his mop and bucket.

  “Careful, Miss, the floor is still wet.”

  “Gerald, I need you to tell me about this plumber who went into my apartment.”

  “So, it was yours?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Well…” Gerald looked away, drawing on his short memory for answers. “He was wearing a cap, you see, so I didn’t get a great look at his face.”

  “Was he tall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Broad-shouldered, maybe Mr. Anderson’s build from 202?”

  “Well, yes.” Gerald shook his head, frustrated with himself. “I’m sorry, Miss, I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  I suppressed my frustration. The building was old and heritage listed. Any major changes needed often meant lengthy meetings and delays that saw little result. Hence the lack of security of the technical kind. And Gerald, as sweet as he was, had a mind like a sieve and barely retained anything of importance.

  “How did he get access to my apartment?”

  His eyes lit up happy, he finally had an answer for me. “Well, he had your key, of course.”

  “I’ve never given my key to anyone,” I muttered in frustration, raking a hand through my hair.

  “Thanks, Gerald. If anyone else comes through and says they’re accessing my apartment, call 911 immediately.”

  His brows furrowed in confusion, still not registering the severity of the situation. “Is everything okay, Miss?”

  “No, but it’s too late now.”

  It became too late ten years ago.

  I started my journey back up the stairs when Gerald continued. “Oh, Miss? There is something I remember.”

  I turned on my heel, gripping the balustrade. “Oh?”

  “Yes, I remember…” he tapped his forehead with his index finger, “… the man wore a fragrance. I smelled it before I even saw him.”

  My heart thudded.

  “Can you describe it?”

  “Well, ah—”

  “Was it sweet but spicy all at the same time?”

  “Yes. Yes, I guess that would be a fine description of it.”

  Thud.

  He had been here.

  What was promised ten years ago was coming to fruition.

  Mason Carter was hunting me down.

  Chapter 8

  You’ve reached Peter Stanovich. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.

  Shit!

  I threw my cell on the chaise after the third time going through to the answering machine. My nerves were shattered, and my resolve was quickly following suit. I was wearing a hole in the wooden floorboards from all the pacing, and Peter was unreachable. After returning to my apartment, I went through every dark spot of every room, and once satisfied I was alone, I slid the waist-high bookshelf in front of the door. There was no deadbolt, so the piece of furniture was the next best option.

  I was left with little choice but to speak with Detectives Walsh and Kinross. Mason Carter simply was not convinced that I had kept my word. No matter how long I maintained my silence, he would always come after me.

  He thrived on intimidation, he always had.

  Nothing was about to change now.

  ~

  Sweat coated my neck and trickled through my hair. In my semi-conscious state, I could feel dampness coating my skin. My mind warred with a nightmare, begging me to wake, yet trapping me in a chase I couldn’t escape. My legs thrashed at the sheets begging for fresh air. The short silk negligee, suffocating.

  My eyes opened, and I found myself staring out the window. A soft, warm breeze floated through causing the thin curtain to move in an almost ghostly manner. I needed a cold shower and one of Peter’s sleeping pills, but the red digits on the alarm told me I only had another four hours before I had to be up and ready for work.

  Sleep had evaded me for one reason.

  My stomach churned.

  My sweat-soaked skin tingled with unease.

  My nightmare had followed me into reality.

  I sat up against the headboard, and as my eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the streetlamp filtering in, I looked into the eyes of another.

  I went to scream but made no sound, sweet spice filling my airways. The lingering scent was one which catapulted me back into a world I longed to escape. Back to a man I tried so desperately to run from.

  The ominous figure stood motionless at the end of the bed, but despite being shrouded in shadows, I knew who he was.

  Mason Carter had found me.

  He watched, observing my fear, caught in a silent standoff with a girl he’d relished in traumatizing for so long.

  “Mason?” I whispered, hoarsely. He wouldn’t have heard. A flicker of light pulled my eyes from his face to his hand.

  A knife. Its blade glinted with his slightest movement.

  He wasn’t going to do this. Not again.

  Lunging into action, I reached for the lamp to my right, fumbling desperately for the switch. The light cut through the darkness in a heartbeat, but by the time I turned back, the dark figure was non-existent. Mason had gone. His cologne remained, the only real evidence to prove I wasn’t going mad. Leaping from the bed and with courage barely mustered, I ran down the hall flicking any and every switch possible until the whole apartment was illuminated. And there in the living room, I stared at the one thing that proved I was, in fact, going stark raving mad—the waist-high bookshelf was still in place covering the door.

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered, still feeling the anxiety gripping my stomach and only slightly foolish.

  Relieved it was only my senses playing a cruel trick on my sanity, I headed to the bathroom switching the lights off as I passed. Entering the bedroom with a moment of foreboding, I glanced at the end of the bed where Mason’s apparition stood only minutes ago, to see nothing but empty space. R
ounding the corner of the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror, but it wasn’t the dark circles under my eyes that stopped me in my tracks. It was the mirror itself. There, in large bold letters with what appeared to be blood, was a message well and truly meant for me.

  It was a message to prove that I wasn’t going mad after all.

  A message left by Mason Carter.

  Little Wren

  Chapter 9

  THEN

  “Truth or dare?”

  I smiled and so did Lucas. He knew I would always choose truth because when you were in the company of two boys, the dares were physical and often impossible for me to accomplish. We paused at a stream before I could answer and watched the heavy flow of water gush down from the nearby mountain. It had been raining fairly consistently at night, and the creek bed was now swelling. The water was now a good yard deep, and the current was strong.

  “Here,” Lucas offered his hand, and I accepted. He took the lead and the three of us, with Mason behind me, felt our way carefully over the raised boulders that acted as stepping stones.

  “Be careful, Gem, the next one is—”

  “Shit!” I squealed feeling my foot slide right over the moss-covered rock. My ankle twisted and Lucas’s grip loosened while my free arm flailed, desperately searching for something. Anything. Behind me, Mason cursed, his arms hooking under mine, cheeks grazing as he attempted to steady me. I inhaled his heady scent. Mason was the only teenager I knew who wore cologne and there wasn’t a time I hadn’t smelled it before I saw him coming. It was sweet, yet masculine.

  “Jesus, Gem,” Mason grunted. “Watch your step.”

  “She knows,” Lucas interjected before I could respond.

  “If she knew, she wouldn’t have almost cracked her head open on the boulder.”

  I was hoisted upright, Lucas pulling while Mason heaved. We all stared down at the angry gushing water surrounding us.

  “Sorry,” was all I could offer.

  “We’re not far away,” Lucas said, eager to change the subject. “We need to keep going before…” he pointed skyward, “… it gets dark.”