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However, I do think this should remain a secret between the two of us. We wouldn’t want something happening to Sierra.
Until we meet, Bambi.
V
STORM
I moved out.
And moved in with Sierra.
Her apartment wasn’t as far as I’d like it to be at this moment, but it was better than being alone with my thoughts. Especially, since I started getting new letters daily. It was becoming very hard for me to ignore the feeling in my stomach.
Sierra advised against it — but I couldn’t help it.
I found every single article on Terror of the Night, every single true crime podcast episode on him, even some YouTube videos that people had made since his arrest. It took me down a rabbit hole I wasn’t capable of handling on my own.
I saw everything.
I saw how he handpicked his victims, how he tortured them sometimes, how messy his killings were. Some of the pictures were very disturbing, and for once in my life, I was grateful that I chose criminology. I was used to seeing gory things, but these ones felt more personal.
It made my entire body tremble. I vomited four times in an hour since I started the research on him. Luckily, Sierra wasn’t home to witness it. I didn’t want to worry her more, especially since she has been sleeping in my bed for the past month.
Yes.
A month since he escaped, and no one was able to even lay their eyes on him.
He was a ghost, and it seemed like he had a plan.
If he was truly that intelligent, he wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place.
It became an obsession quickly.
All I could do was think about him, while wrapped in a warm blanket. I barely left the apartment, only to grab some necessities from my home and bring them, but even then, Sierra was with me. I couldn’t do it alone. I was too afraid.
All I did was search up his name, keep up with the investigation, praying that they caught him while I was asleep. My prayers were never answered, and I lived in constant paranoia and fear.
I didn’t go to the police. I was way too concerned about Sierra’s wellbeing.
One of the letters I’d received from him stated that it was in Sierra’s best interest not to even approach a police station, let alone walk into one. At first glance, it wasn’t a threat, but I read between the lines. He wanted something from me, and he wouldn’t be caught until he accomplished his mission.
I stopped opening some of his letters.
The more I read them, the less I was connected to reality.
When Sierra was absent, I locked myself in my room and even had a knife on me, at all times. As stupid as it sounded, I turned off any electronic device I owned. I told my family I’d be going off the radar for a while, and because it wasn’t my first time, they just brushed it off.
And when she was at home, she’d escort me to the bathroom, and stay inside with me while I took a bath. She had to force water and food down my throat, otherwise I would’ve died of starvation.
The letters compiled. It was no longer one letter a day; it was multiple. Each one was in a pitch-black envelope, with a red heart in the left corner. It was his mark, letting me know that he was watching.
Yet, a part of me was drawn to the letters.
The most vile thing that popped into my head was a small bit of hope that he would find me.
I shut that thought down immediately, even slapping myself for allowing such a terrible thing to appear in the first place. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the look he’d given me, the way I felt and, most importantly, it served as a reminder that until he decides it was over, I couldn’t escape him.
I dreamed of him–every single night.
