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After that, it was all luck.
I took a nap during the day to gather all the strength I could, since it was bound to get messy–bloody, even.
Luckily for me, I’d mastered the art of killing a person with my bare hands.
I lay in my bed, eyes closed as I waited patiently.
Storm filled my head entirely.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. What she would smell like, what her voice sounded like, how much darkness she truly wished to experience. I’d break all the boundaries she had until she became the person she was destined to be. Mine.
IV
STORM
I started receiving letters.
It was only a day after I visited the prison that the first one came. Instead of being in my mailbox, or even the PO box I’d written as the return address, it waited for me in front of my door. I took the letter and brought it inside with me, and not once did I pause to think. It had no sender name, so I figured it was a family member.
I was so wrong.
As soon as I opened it, and started reading, I could feel my entire body get cold. I barely moved from the spot I’d been standing, hands trembling as I read the words on the paper over and over again.
His handwriting captured my attention. It was neat, cursive, yet it was unlike any other I’d seen before. It looked like a font you’d purchase, but it was definitely handwritten. He even drew me a small heart on the top corner of the paper.
My dearest Storm,
Thank you for taking your sweet time writing to me. It’s an honor to be noticed by a woman of your standard. It made me insanely happy that you liked my work, and that you’re a fan of mine. I thoroughly enjoyed our brief, yet emotional meeting.
Until I see you again,
Micah.
Alarms went off in my head as I shut the door and locked it behind me. Paranoia crept up my neck. I closed all the windows and blinds next, making sure that the curtains covered the windows entirely, until my home was pitch black.
The first thing that captivated me was the first red flag.
Immediately, I googled Micah Caine, and found a lot of information on him. I skipped through his conviction and searched for his author life. His books, even the bookstore he’d opened before he got arrested.
I was looking for a signing event, or a signed book. I could’ve sworn that I’d seen it somewhere, but the handwriting was entirely different.
I checked all his social media, and one fan page that he had, and bingo. I found his books, personally signed at an event just weeks before he got incarcerated.
The ‘M’ was different. The letter I’d received had everything written at an angle, making it look like a letter sent from medieval times; however, the author’s writing was straight and it wasn’t as cursive.
The man who wrote to me prolonged the letters ‘Y’ and ‘J’, whereas Micah Black, the author, kept them as short as possible, his handwriting seeming more like regular font you’d find on every writing device.
And I was terrified.
Because the only man I’d made eye contact with long enough in the past few days was Detective Miller, who was definitely not interested in me in any way. He gave us a tour of the prison, but aside from the things he was obligated to tell us, he seemed rather bored.
I caught him yawning twice when he thought no one was looking and thought it was funny enough.
All of me wished it was Detective Miller behind the letter. I prayed, even though I wasn’t religious at all, that he was just some sort of a sick freak, and that he was enthralled by my idiocy.
Because the other person was none other than Terror of the Night, a notorious serial killer that was sentenced to death row.
The man I made eye contact with during the visit. The man that came into my dreams last night, terrorizing me — just how his name suggested. The man who I simply could not stop thinking about, nor the things he made me feel.
