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He reaches a hand up, peeling back what looks to be a thick plastic mask from the right side of his face. With the other, he forces the palm of his hand against his jaw, cracking it to the side to release some of the tension before placing the joint between his lips. After taking a long drag, he fits the hard plastic back in place and turns his head to the side ever so slightly, allowing the light to illuminate the metallic mask covering his features.
I stumble back from the window, my ass hitting the floor with a loud thunk as the room spins around me.
It’s him. The scarred man. He came for me.
Panic claws its way up my throat as I try to regain my bearings. Okay, Lillith, calm the fuck down. It’s probably just some random creep in a mask. It wouldn’t be the first time someone sketchy loitered out on the sidewalk.
With my best attempt at breathing normally, I stand and step up to the window. I reach toward the curtain and stop, not sure what my plan is if he’s still down there. Do I call the police? Would they even send someone out at this time of night?
Steeling my shoulders, I pull the fabric back and look toward the streetlamp. He’s gone. Dropping the curtain like it burst into flames, I take a step back with a hand to my chest. Shaking my head, I let out a maniacal little laugh. It was nothing. I got all worked up for some random guy smoking a doobie.
Letting out a breath, I turn and make my way into the bathroom. Just before I step past the threshold, I stop, whipping my head to the front door. I could have sworn I heard something. I shake my head, my fingernail digging into the skin of my cuticle. You’re being crazy. It’s an old building. Sometimes it creaks.
But then I hear it again. Louder. Like someone is tampering with the lock on my front door.
Click… click… click…
The blood drains from my face as the door flies open, revealing the hooded stranger from my nightmares. Calmly, the man steps inside, ducking his head under the frame to accommodate his height. I stand frozen in terror as he locks the door behind him, fixing me with a terrifying silver eye.
Icy malice lights his gaze as he reaches up to his face, removing the metallic mask in one swift movement. The deformity is just as horrifying as the first time I laid eyes on him, and I can’t help but gasp as I take in the features that have haunted my every waking thought for the past week.
“Hello, flower,” he breathes. “I’ve been waiting so long.”
His voice pours over me like hot honey, and I stumble backward as the room spins out from under me. My eyes go wide as my back presses against the far wall, helpless to do anything but watch as he stalks closer to me.
“M-my friend is going to be here any minute! You better leave before he gets here!” I order, hoping my voice comes out braver than I feel.
He cocks his head as he pulls out a silver phone from his pocket. Even though it’s smeared with dried blood, I still recognize it as Drew’s from the tiny stethoscope sticker on the corner of the screen.
“What did you do to him?” I whisper, bile rising in my throat at the blood caked under his fingernails.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“No,” I breathe, my sight tunneling as he takes a step closer.
“Yes,” he says. “And you should be thanking me. There are a lot of terrible men in this city, Lillith. You shouldn’t invite them to your home.”
He takes another step. “I’m going to take you now, Lillith,” he coos, his silver eye glinting with the opportunity to make good on the promise.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, looking around wildly for something to defend myself with. If he’s going to kill me, I should at least put up a fight. Maybe add another scar or two to his collection.
He watches me for a moment, his face lighting up with something akin to amusement. The fucker. He thinks this is some kind of joke. I glare up at him, my palms tightening into fists. I’ll just have to use what the good lord gave me.
Eyeing me carefully, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a long silver dagger. I freeze, terror swallowing all the fight I possessed a moment earlier. Oh God, this is it. This is how I’m going to die—stabbed to death in my bunny pajamas. His hand moves toward me, and I flinch backward, waiting for the searing pain of the knife entering my ribs. It never comes.
I open my eyes and see him crouched in front of me, the silver dagger glinting menacingly in his outstretched palm.
“Take it,” he murmurs. “Go on.”
Warily, I reach out toward the offering. Rolling his eye, he snatches my hand in one of his, the calloused skin like sandpaper against mine as he guides my fingers around the hilt.
“Here. Grip it like this,” he orders, flipping my wrist so the back of my hand is closest to the blade. “Never hold the blade upright. You want it down like this, see? Gives you more leverage.”
When he’s satisfied with the position, he drops my hand and stands back, spreading his arms wide out to his sides. With the increased wingspan, he looks even more formidable than before, and I wonder whether the weapon will even leave a dent.
“Well?” The scar tissue on the right side of his face tugs strangely compared to the expression on the left, and I almost wish he would put the mask back on. He was somehow less terrifying like that.
With shaking knees, I find my footing, gripping the dagger tightly at my side like he showed me. Before my resolve can weaken, I charge toward him, shoving the blade deep into the flesh on his thigh. It makes a god-awful sucking noise as it pierces the tattooed skin, and bile rises in my throat.
