Keep Me

by Leah Holt

  He didn't blink as he stared down on me blank and empty. The orbs bounced and danced inside the sockets, searching for words and excuses to whatever action caused this sudden manifestation of guilt on his face.

  My chest grew heavy, forcing my muscles to tense, and making it hard to breathe. This wasn't the same man I had met, this was someone new. I wasn't sure if I should get up and run or stay still and let him explain the secret eating away at him.

  “What are you talking about? Just tell me what the hell you're trying to say.” Pushing up in the bed, my eyes pleaded with him to just spit it out and tell me what the fuck was going on.

  I didn't like this, I didn't like the way he was able to suddenly manifest from one man to another.

  “I need you to know that I'm doing this all for you.” Taking a long stride, Cole reached the door and held it in his hands. “All of this is to keep you safe, Locke. All of it.”

  “Cole, what the hell is going on? What are you talking about? I don't understand.” My stomach began to twist, curling up tight and making me want to throw up.

  Keep me safe from what? From him? From something else?

  Why would he talk like that? Why would he even insinuate that he needed to keep me safe?

  Hanging his head, he walked out into the hall. “Forgive me for this.”

  The door slammed shut, and I heard the clank of metal. Was that. . . A lock?

  Jumping to my feet, I ran to the door and tried to tear it open. It wouldn't budge.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Twisting the handle frantically, I jerked my body backwards, trying to force it open with my weight.

  Fuck! No. No, no, no.

  Fuck!

  My chest was tight, suffocating my lungs and refusing to let the air inside. This isn't happening, this can't be happening!

  “Cole! Cole! Open the door, Cole!” Slapping the door, I kept jiggling the handle.

  He didn't respond.

  Pounding my fist against the wood, I screamed louder. “Fuck, Cole, let me out!”

  Silence.

  What is happening?

  What the hell is he doing this for?

  Pressing my ear against the door, I listened. I wasn't sure if he was still standing there or not, there were no other sounds.

  Speaking softly, I asked, “Cole, are you still there?” The treble in my voice wavered with fear and shock. My eyes welled up, tears glazing the surface, threatening to take me down with them.

  I tried so hard not to cry, I hated crying. Tears didn't change anything, they didn't make anything better or worse. Crying only kept the emotions there, tears only solidified the feeling that was taking over inside you.

  I had promised myself years ago I would never cry again.

  Taking in a deep breath, I wiped my eyes. “Cole! Don't fucking do this! Let me out of here!”

  “This is how it needs to be. I'm sorry, Locke, I really am.” His voice was low, balancing between threat and desperation.

  “Why? Tell me why?”

  “Because I can't let you go, Hanna.”

  Hanna?

  How did he know?

  How the fuck did he know my real name?

  With my ear to the door, I heard his feet thump off into the distance. He was gone.

  And I was locked away, taken by a creature that had just shed the skin of a man before my eyes.

  Evil wore a cloak, and I was standing at its feet when it came down.

  No one was going to find me here.

  No one was going to look for me.

  No one knew who I was—except he did.

  Chapter One

  Locke

  Three weeks earlier

  Resting the coffee mug on the counter, I ripped open a couple of sugar packets and dumped them inside. Steam off the liquid swirled up across my face and I inhaled a deep breath.

  The smell of coffee did things to me, it woke me up, it made my body come to life when all I really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and let the noon sun be my wake up call.

  No. . . Remember the past is in the past.

  I'm not there, not anymore.

  Picking up a spoon, I stirred in the sugar and listened to the news on the television in the background. I wasn't really much of a 'sit down and watch it' type of person, I honestly didn't even know why I had that ritual to begin with.

  But every morning, like clockwork, I would turn on the news and make my coffee. I guess I was a creature of habit. It was the same thing my mother used to do for years, and deep down I didn't want to give up on the small things that still made me who I was.

  It grounded me, helping me to keep my feet moving forward the best I could. I hated that my mind would circle around the same fucking thought day after day. The pitted black eyes and soulless smile carved through my thoughts and never left.

  He's always there.

  I couldn't outrun the past, I only learned to live with it. It was a part of me, no matter how much I hated it.

  The news anchor in the background was rattling off a list of first birthdays to children in the area, all of which I was certain weren't actually aware of their small moment in the public eye.

  Why do they even do that segment?

  It's not news, it's only important to the parent who requested it.

  Yes, I know that sounds cruel and emotionless and I know what you're thinking; let them have their moment, you only turn one once, right?

  Try telling that to the fourteen year old version of myself, who has yet to release her cold dead grip on my soul.

  I was cruel and emotionless. But maybe that's because it had been hard as hell to find a glimmer of light in this world when I knew just how dark it could be.

  For every spark that ignited, ten went out, for every smile that erupted, twenty lost hope in the world.

  I was that failed flame, I was that lost girl, suspended on a string and nibbled at by sharks. Even ten years couldn't erase the feelings that still held me hostage.

  Time had done nothing but burn it deeper into my bones. That black hell stole everything from me.

  And yet, I somehow kept going.

  Taking a small sip of coffee, I flipped through a pile of mail I had set down the night before. Junk, junk, bill, bill, junk. Pushing it aside, I leaned back against the counter and gripped the mug in both hands.

  And the cycle continues. . .

  “The body found yesterday in Prairie Creek has been identified as twenty-two year old, Bethany Doone. She's the fifth victim in a series of homicides since May of this year. Police are not releasing any details at this time, but have stated that they do believe the cases are linked.”

  Turning to face the television, I stared at the screen of the young girl whose life was cut short way too soon. A piece of my heart tore off as sadness flooded through my veins.

  She's almost my age.

  Resting the cup down, I gripped the edge of the counter and continued to stare at the picture of the girl on the screen. Her hair was black—just like mine, her eyes were green—just like mine, even the shape of her face reminded me of my own.

  I wasn't looking at my reflection, but sure as hell, the similarities were unnerving. Swallowing the lump that formed in my throat, I couldn't shake the thought that it could have just as easily had been me in that picture.

  My heart picked up speed as her image faded away and the anchor moved on to the next line the teleprompter rolled out. But I wanted to know more.

  Where was she from?

  What was she doing the last time anyone saw her?

  Why her?

  A gentle purr cut through my thoughts as my cat brushed his face over my arm. “Morning, Frito, you hungry?”

  Purring again, he stuck his ass up in the air and flipped onto his side, stretching his tiny paws in my direction.

  “Alright, give me a minute.” Scratching the top of his head, I grabbed a can of his favorite liver and cod food and held my breath as I spooned it into his bowl. “The
re, now you're all set, I'll see you tonight.”

  Grabbing the remote off the counter, I turned the TV off. The screen snapped to black, and I stood for a second still seeing that girl's face. I fucking hate this world.

  Snatching my purse off the small stand by the door, I locked my apartment up tight and headed to my shitty waitressing job downtown at Golden's Bar.

  I shouldn't say I hated it, that was a bad choice of words. . . I loathed it.

  No one wanted to be ogled at by early bird drunks or college boys who were looking to erase the hangover from the night before by accruing another one.

  For now, it was a job, and I didn't have the luxury of being picky.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I grabbed the collar of my jacket and hiked it up my neck. It was chilly out. The wind was blowing harder than normal, and even though the weather man said it was going to be in the mid seventies today, it felt like winter had arrived early.

  Tucking my head down, I started towards the bus stop. I shouldn't have been looking down, I should have kept my head up, watching where I was going. But the wind stung as it hit my cheeks and made my eyes water like tiny needles were getting thrown at my face.

  A heavy shoulder slammed into mine, causing me to jerk sideways and stumble over my feet. “Ah, shit!” I yelled, reaching for my arm and rubbing it vigorously.

  Looking up to see who I hit, a tall, broad-shouldered man was glaring down at me. A hooded jacket covered most of his head, but his eyes stood out. They were dark, black as night—empty.

  His lip twitched in the corner as his brows furrowed deep into the bridge of his nose. “Watch it,” he snapped, as his stare hollowed and venomous lines painted what I could see of his face.

  “I—I'm sorry, I didn't—”

  Cutting me off, he shook his head. “Save it, I don't give a shit.”

  Turning away, the man stalked off, anger working his muscles in a fury as he stormed away.

  “Dick.” Whispering under my breath, I watch him for a moment until he disappeared into the crowded sidewalk.

  Taking a seat on the icy cold bench, I pushed my earbuds in place and started scrolling through the music on my phone. Giving up on choosing one, I hit random and let my phone decide for me.

  I can already tell today is going to suck.

  Curling my legs up, I scrunched into myself to keep warm. Drums beat inside my head as the music drowned out the outside clutter of the city. Through the noise in my ears and the wind raking across my face, a feeling pressed down on my shoulders, smothering my chest and making it hard to breathe.

  I felt uneasy, like I wasn't alone, like someone else was watching me.

  Pulling out one speaker, I glanced around. People were passing by, some on their phones, others were staring straight ahead and walking with a mission.

  No one seemed to be looking at me, but I could feel it. The eyes were there, piercing my body like sharp knives. It was a sensation, one I had felt before. Instantly, the hair on my neck stood up, goosebumps speckled my skin and my stomach twirled like a violent cyclone.

  There was no denying the curdle in my gut or the fire on my flesh. I could never forget that feeling.

  Searching the sidewalk around me, I expected to see someone close by, examining me, maybe even eyeing me in a, 'I think I know you,' kind of way. Only there was nothing.

  The squeal of brakes startled me, forcing me to jump to my feet. Rolling to a stop, the bus doors opened. Taking one last look around, I gripped the metal bar and stepped inside.

  No one was out there. No eyes, no face searching from a distance. Shaking my head, I smiled at the driver and found a seat.

  It had been years since I allowed that feeling to truly work its way in. It was always there, never really disappearing, but dulling into an ache like arthritis from an old injury.

  Time had only given me one power. . . The power to stuff it down, to lock it up and force it into submission.

  Years had come and gone; years since I lost myself, years since I decided that my gut wasn't always right. I cried wolf one too many times, I screamed in terror when no one was actually out there at all.

  Except for that night, that one night that changed everything.

  But I couldn't shake the feeling this time. . .

  Someone was watching me.

  And that voice, it made itself known.

  Chapter Two

  Cole

  Wind whipped across my face as leaves crunched beneath my sneakers. I could hear her, she was somewhere in the trees around me, but I couldn't see her. Stepping slowly, I touched the thick trunk of a tall redwood, and let my fingers drag over the deep seams and cracks in the bark.

  I know she's here. . . But where?

  Turning my head, I leaned forward and pointed my ear into the wind. I was waiting for her to make a noise, some sort of sound so I could find my way to her. I needed to make sure she was alright.

  Each time I saw her, it was a little different. The first time she was sitting on the bank of the river, swirling her slender fingers lightly over the surface. I wasn't able to see her face, but I could tell something wasn't right.

  Her posture was stiff and weak, her arms were rigid and limp. It was as if she was battling a silent demon inside herself, a voice that was telling her to jump, but her conscious mind wasn't allowing that voice to speak with full volume.

  By the time I made my way down to her, she was gone. Impressions of her knees were in the mud, light footprints trailed off then vanished. She was just a memory, fossiled into the sand.

  No matter how hard I tried to find her, no matter how much I searched and waited and scoured the forest, she always got away.

  And that's what happened every single time I would get so close to her. I could smell the soft lilac of perfume, I could hear her breathing and her heart beat. I could see the pulse under her skin and the sheen of sweat that had coated her flesh. Then she would just disappear in the blink of an eye.

  Not this time, not today.

  There was no way I was going to let her pass through my fingers like a ghost in the night.

  I heard her loud screech just once, it knifed my heart and turned my stomach inside out. I couldn't tell if she was injured or being hurt, but the sound she made was barely human.

  Her voice flowed out strong and strained, hitting the treetops and cascading down around my head, slicing my heart in two. I followed her voice the best I could, but I lost her.

  And as I stood listening, there was absolutely no sounds; not a bird or scuffle from a small animal, no buzzing of mosquitoes or chirping of a cricket. There were no falling leaves or cracks of limbs from the wind. Nothing.

  The silence created a void in my head, it made me wonder if the woods knew exactly what she was running from. And maybe. . . Maybe they were trying to tell me that I should run too. But I couldn't—I wouldn't, not if she needed me, not if there was something I could do to help her.

  She's out here, I know I heard her. She's somewhere and I have to find her.

  The sun's arms wriggled in thin streams, lighting up small ferns and tiny saplings. The short sprouts clawed up to the rays, sucking in every last drop they could before the sun went down and they were left in darkness.

  Walking forward, I passed a few more giant trees before stopping again to listen. Standing still, I cupped my ear and turned my head side to side. I didn't want to miss anything. If she didn't make an audible sound, I wanted to be sure the crack of a stick or crunch of leaves from her feet didn't go unnoticed.

  A second loud scream forced its way into my ears, causing my head to jerk up. Tender feet pounded the earth as I caught a glimpse of her small frame threading through the forest. Weaving in and out, she was running full force, leaping and jumping like a gazelle trying to escape a predator.

  Waving my arms, I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Hey! Over here! Stop!”

  She didn't stop. Her tattered dress lingered behind her, waving a sad hand in the wind.

/>   Charging forward, I tried to chase her. I didn't want to scare her, but I couldn't help her if she didn't stop and tell me what the fuck she was running from. And right then the thought of bringing more fear into her body seemed impossible.

  She already looked terrified.

  “Stop! Stop running! I just want to help!” Screaming, I drove my feet into the hard dirt, doing my best to reach her.

  Her back was to me, but her head kept twisting frantically over her shoulder. Her long black hair was messy and knotted, spotted with debris from the forest floor. Her eyes were huge, with long dried up streaks carving trenches through the dirt on her face from the tears I knew she had been crying.

  What the hell is going on?

  What is she running from?

  Her eyes buzzed inside the sockets as she kept checking over her shoulder, only she wasn't looking at me, she was looking right through me. It was as if she couldn't hear me, as if she couldn't see me. But I was right there, a few yards away from being able to touch her with my hand.

  Trying to follow her eyes, I glanced behind my back, expecting to see someone else or some rabid animal that wanted to stake claim on her body for food. But nothing was there.

  Flailing my arms, I kept trying to get her attention. “Why are you running? Just stop! Tell me what's wrong!”

  The woman let out a high-pitched yelp as a branch struck her face and she stumbled forward. Regaining her balance, her feet moved faster, toes clamping into the ground to push her further ahead.

  My chest was heaving hard, trying to breathe and yell, trying to keep oxygen flowing to my muscles and my brain functioning like it should.

  But every step seemed to weigh a ton, giving her time to get further away. My legs felt so heavy, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't run fast enough to catch up with her.

  Darting to her right, she ducked into some thick brush, and the air around me went cold. There was no more loud raspy breathing from her frantic lungs, there was no more soft thud of her feet against the ground. The silence had returned and I was caught in its wake.