by Matt Juhl
Before Patrick could pull the bag off his head, the stranger lunged at him.
Their fists flew through the air as they scuffled, rolling around the crushed glass and boards.
Then the intruder reached for one of the broken pieces and jabbed a large shard into Patrick’s arm.
He moaned and writhed in pain, feeling the blood run down his elbow.
It gave the madman an opportunity to push Patrick down and wrap his arms around his throat, squeezing his biceps like a boa constrictor, anxiously trying to drain the life out of him.
However, Patrick was tenacious. He winced while pulling the piece of glass from his arm.
Without hesitation, he reached back and stabbed the stranger in his thigh. Almost as quickly, he found another piece and sliced the masked man’s skin from the back of his ear down the side of his neck.
The intruder howled in anguish, reacting by straddling Patrick’s body and slamming him against the wood. The intense, shooting pain and blood shed were exhilarating. Every second was a high, each one greater than the last. The buildup was better than he’d planned, but he wanted more.
After a moment, Patrick blindly punched the man in the jaw and knocked him backwards. Then he used his elbows to pull himself away. He shuddered from the deep pain of the gaping wound in his forearm, relentlessly scrambling to elude the psycho.
However, before Patrick could get away, the man tugged at his feet and pulled him across the shattered glass. Each sharp piece sliced and scratched his skin.
From the staircase, Andrea prudently stepped down and witnessed the masked stranger assaulting her lover. Her chest heaved as she held her breath in fright.
Trying to think quickly, she grabbed a silver music box from the sofa table in the foyer and cautiously tiptoed with her back against the wall. Her movements were swift, but slow enough not to draw attention.
Just as Andrea reached the entryway, the intruder hog tied Patrick face down on the floor.
With her line of sight transfixed on him, she slowly approached and held the music box in her shaking hands, ready to strike.
Suddenly, she lost her footing over the broken glass and tripped to the ground. The box slammed against the wooden floor, causing an unmistakable thud.
At the same moment, the man looked up and spotted Andrea. He stood to his feet and began walking towards her.
“Andi, get outta here!” Patrick yelled, knowing he’d heard his girlfriend. He contorted his body to break free.
“Pat!” she cried. Her fear ignited when she saw the intruder approaching. Andrea screamed at the top of her lungs, helplessly sobbing.
“Get the hell out,” he ordered.
The man pulled a small hand pistol from the crook of his jeans and pointed the barrel at her. In that brief moment, his seething rage gave him false belief that he was superhuman, almost invincible.
Andrea froze as she saw the gun.
“Run, Andi!” Patrick shouted.
Before she made it to her feet, the intruder lined up his shot and fired a bullet into her arm.
Andrea shrieked, collapsing on impact. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Those moments were hazy. All she could do was hope that he’d thought he’d finished her off—and that she wouldn’t be killed.
“Andi!” Patrick sobbed. He fought with every fiber of his being until he found another piece of glass and feverishly sawed the rope that bound him.
The intruder charged towards Andrea and kicked her in the side.
“Get up,” he demanded in his warped voice.
Andrea held her breath through the blow and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he’d back off.
“Leave her the hell alone!” Patrick jumped on the man’s back, fighting for the gun in his hands.
They rolled over each other, scuffling to gain control. Both men had a strong grip and a burning need for the firearm.
The intruder fired a second shot into the wall. The sound of the ricochet caused Andrea to screech.
“Andi, go!”
“I’m not leaving you, Pat.”
“Damn it, I said go!”
Every ounce of reason told her to race out the door, but her faithful heart belonged with Patrick. She couldn’t abandon him.
As the struggle ensued, the man fired a third bullet into the glass door.
“Andi, get the hell out!” Patrick yelled.
Andrea’s confusion paralyzed her. Knowing he was in grave danger made it impossible to leave.
Although Patrick proved to be a formidable opponent, the psychopath overpowered him and maintained possession of the weapon. He pushed Patrick to the ground and pointed the pistol at the back of his head.
“Pat!”
“Run away, Andi!”
“Please don’t hurt him, I’m begging you. We’ve got lots of money and jewelry. We’ll give you whatever the hell you want, I swear.”
Hearing Andrea beseech him was music to the intruder’s ears, a doleful symphony that reaffirmed his power and fed his ego. While pressing the gun against Patrick’s head, he looked Andrea directly in the eye and whispered, “But this is all I want.”
“No!”
Without giving it a second thought, he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. The impact of the blow felt as if he’d released the bullet from his own body. It was intoxicating, beyond thrilling. The reeling pleasure was better than he’d expected. He loved it so much that he wanted to do it again—so he did.
“Pat!” Her shrill scream echoed across the walls of the foyer.
Andrea was in such a state of shock she couldn’t process the senselessness. Patrick, the ideal man, the guy she’d pined for and went through hell for, was dead. She was hysterical.
The murderer glanced at Andrea with a contemptuous look on his face, laughing as he stood to his feet.
Andrea’s lips quivered and tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t think, let alone speak. All she could do was shake her head while her emotions were a tumultuous cluster. Between fear and scorn, she was confused. Instinctually, she needed to run. However, Andrea wanted to take her claws and scratch the life out of the man.
Before he had time to harm her, Andrea stretched out her fingers, placed her trembling hand on the heavy music box, and chucked it at the intruder’s face.
The blunt force was so strong it knocked the killer backwards. That blow, along with the loss of blood he’d taken from being sliced behind the ear, left him disoriented.
Andrea tore a swatch of fabric from the bottom of her silk nightgown and tied it like a tourniquet around the bullet hole that had grazed her left arm. She applied pressure while stumbling upright. It took all of her strength to reach the front door and stammer into the torrential storm.
The heavy rain reduced almost all visibility. Andrea covered her mouth to keep from crying and drawing attention. Then she pulled her soaking-wet hair out of her face, frantically looking around for a hiding place.
Lightning flashed across the furious sky and illuminated the ground below as she ran for her life. Although it was hard to see much of anything, she made her way to a small patch of forest at the front of her property.
Andrea leaned against an oak tree and frantically wiped off her bare feet. They were in excruciating pain, bleeding from where she’d walked across the broken glass.
She balanced herself against the tree’s rough bark, whimpering as she pulled the tiny pieces from her flesh.
The sound of her uncontrollable heartbeat amplified in her ears. As each frightening second passed, she incessantly reminded herself to breathe.
Then a loud crash came from the direction of the house.
Andrea cautiously peered around the tree and stared at the front door, but he wasn’t there. It heightened her fear. Could he see her? Was he watching her through the window?
She watched as another bolt of lightning lit up the yard. It made her paranoid. Fearful of being caught, Andrea held her breath and made a dash for safety.
Every
step she took became more grueling than the one before. Andrea wanted to scream for help, but such action would have been an exercise in futility. Not only would it make finding her easier, but no one would’ve been able to hear her.
Andrea lost her footing and landed on her injured arm. The shooting pain was like a hot blade, slicing down the left side of her body.
As the lightning sparked around her, Andrea looked straight through the trees and saw the killer. The sheer horror of seeing his silhouette made her entire body go numb.
The madman stopped directly in front of her with his shoulders hunched over, staring her down through his ski mask.
“Shit!” Andrea rustled through the muddy grass and hobbled towards the shore of the big lake.
The killer relentlessly charged after her. He growled and grunted through his mask. For the maniac, her tenacity made the chase more thrilling.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” she whimpered, exhausted from her wounds. Andrea flailed her uninjured arm and looked over her shoulder, watching him gain ground on her.
As she ran through her backyard, Andrea stared down the steep hill leading to the lake, wondering how she was going to escape.
The man was mere feet behind and closing in quickly. There wasn’t time to think.
Andrea panicked. With nowhere else to go, she sprinted down the long staircase that lead to the beach. She moved with precision, afraid of losing her footing on the soaked boards.
She heard him scurrying behind. Her face felt flushed and she was breathless, expelling all energy she had left to escape his wrath.
Suddenly, the murderer caught up and grabbed her by the arm.
Andrea screamed and pulled away, stumbling down eight steps to the plateaued landing halfway down the staircase.
The killer was so close he could taste her blood. In that moment, he would’ve given anything to hear her scream again. He wanted it more than anything.
“Please stop!” she begged. With no option but to persevere, Andrea grabbed onto the railing and pulled herself up. Splinters sliced her hand as she ran it down the wooden banister, but she couldn’t pay any attention to the sharp pain.
By that time, Andrea had lost so much blood that she’d grown weak.
The madman’s feet stomped against the step, nearing his target.
“Go away!” she pleaded.
The killer reached out and pulled her hair.
Andrea felt his breath on her neck and heard him panting, provoking unbridled fear.
Before she knew it, the stranger had her back in his strong grip.
“No!”
He restrained her arms, squeezing the one he’d shot.
Andrea shrieked in agony. “Let me go!” The scratch of her vocal chords burned her throat like fire.
They stared each other in the eye in the middle of the downpour.
She desperately waited for him to respond, to show some sign of compassion.
Instead, the stranger stared her down and grabbed her by the throat. Then without any remorse, he shoved her down the remaining steps.
Andrea cried, plummeting backwards into uncertainty. She cracked her back against the railing, tumbling over and hitting her head and legs against the boards.
He’d thrown her with such force that Andrea rolled all the way down and landed face first into the wet sand. She couldn’t move.
While the image thrilled him, it also made him jolt. He watched in sadistic pleasure as she lay helplessly on the beach. The man waited only a moment longer before pursuing her.
Andrea could barely open her eyes. She slowly wiped the blood away from her nose and struggled for air. Then she crawled through the sand, pushing through the excruciating pain.
Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled backwards by her feet.
“Stop, no! Get off me!” she sobbed uncontrollably.
The killer flipped Andrea on her back, straddled her body, and growled. Then, he slowly reached back and revealed a bag similar to the one he’d used on Patrick. He knelt down and lowered it over her face.
“No!” she begged, shaking her head side to side.
As tightly as he could, the man fastened the ends around her neck. Then he turned her onto her stomach and stepped back.
The darkness was absolutely frightening. All she could taste was the blood collecting in her throat and the grains of sand in her mouth.
“Please, don’t do this!” she begged for his mercy.
The man didn’t say a word. His silence was unnerving.
“I don’t deserve to die like this!”
Then, he whispered slowly, “But I think you do.”
“For what?”
He wouldn’t answer.
“What did I ever do to you?”
When he didn’t respond, Andrea went berserk. “Why the hell won’t you answer me? You’re a God damn coward!” she roared.
“No, I’m a hero—ridding the world of trash like you.”
Without wasting another moment, he bent down and pushed the gun against the side of her head.
Andrea freaked out, screaming hysterically.
“Got anything else you wanna say?” he taunted her.
“It doesn’t have to end like this.”
“You’re wrong. Someone’s gotta teach you a lesson.”
Her cries were drowned out by the sounds of the rain and the lake, but ultimately silenced as he pulled the trigger, blasting her skull with the gun.
The explosion was more thrilling than offing her lover. It was primitive, something that was always inside him. He’d never felt more alive and more powerful than he did at that moment.
After admiring his handy work, he walked back to the house. Then he returned to the beach, dragging Patrick’s body with him.
One by one, he pulled their lifeless vessels across the wet sand, dumping them into the deep hole he’d dug earlier that night.
As he covered their corpses with mounds of wet sand from the shovel, his cell phone rang in his pocket.
“Well?” the voice on the other end asked.
“It’s done,” he answered.
“Did they suffer?”
“Yeah,” he smirked, “right ‘til the very end.”
The caller roared in delight and smugly muttered, “Perfect.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“Great,” Harper muttered, seeing her cell phone illuminate with Traci’s name across the caller ID.
She quickly silenced the device and peered through the dark, relieved to see that the call hadn’t woken Nik.
Traci’s relentless pursuit was more than obnoxious, it was bordering on the line of obsessive.
Harper pressed her head against the glass as she sat on Nik’s window seat, watching the storms devour the sky.
She stroked Jack’s silky coat as he stretched his four legs and let out a content purr. Looking at the tiny thing, she was envious of his untroubled existence.
The heavy rains washed against the house and helped ease the unsettling silence, but Harper was restless. Her mind had been so overwhelmed with emotions that she couldn’t find any comfort in slumber.
She put Jack on her shoulder, pulled back the tattered quilt, and walked over to Nik’s bed, watching as he stirred in his sleep.
Seeing him rest was an utter relief, after the difficult time he’d had taking the news of his father’s drowning.
Harper set Jack down beside Nik. He instantly curled up and wrapped his tiny black paws around Nik’s massive arm.
Her empathy for Nik ran as deeply as their love. The amount of pain they’d shared in such a short period of time was immeasurable.
Harper gently pushed back the hair from Nik’s forehead and softly kissed his temples. For all he’d done for her, it felt good to return the favor and take care of him. They were each other’s strength, dim beacons reaching out to each other for comfort through the night.
After realizing another sleepless night was ahead of her, Harper buttoned up the borrowed plaid shir
t from Nik and headed downstairs.
There was a chill in the drafty staircase as she tip-toed down the stairs, heading into the kitchen. The place still seemed unfamiliar to her, and not entirely welcoming, considering Jett’s personal views on heterosexuality.
As she rounded the corner, Harper jumped back, so startled she let out a loud scream.
Sitting with his back to her was Jett, sipping a cup of coffee. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the fact that he was alone in the dark, or that he was indulging in a non-alcoholic beverage.
“My goodness,” she whispered, putting her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry for screamin’ like that, Mr. Roberts. You scared me half to death.”
“I thought you’d both gone to bed.”
“I’m havin’ trouble sleepin’ and wanted a glass of milk, if that’s all right?” she asked apprehensively.
“No one’s stopping you.” He motioned to the refrigerator.
Harper hesitantly opened the door, keeping a watchful eye on Jett. He seemed strange. There was a nefarious absence in his glare like he’d been hypnotized. It was slightly unsettling.
As quickly as she could, Harper took a glass from the cabinet and poured it half full. Then she stood under the faint glow from the kitchen light and nervously sipped.
It was difficult to be in the same room with the man who’d caused so much anguish for Nik, mainly because he’d reluctantly allowed Harper to stay with them.
The worst part was holding her tongue. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but couldn’t as a houseguest. For Harper, not being able to reprimand him for his parental negligence was slightly paralyzing.
Although she’d only been there two days, the maddening hours were filled with so much awkwardness that Harper didn’t know how to conduct herself. Still, the temporary arrangement was better than dealing with Traci and her delusions.
Harper and Jett had barely exchanged glances, let alone many words. Every time she crossed his path, she wondered what spiteful thoughts were stewing in his mind.
Jett Roberts was not the kind of man to do favors, let alone show an ounce of compassion, not even for his family. So Harper didn’t understand why he allowed her to stay. She wasn’t sure if it was pity or an unreached level of inebriation that’d influenced his decision, but either way she was grateful.