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Pure terror.
I felt unsafe in my own skin, in my home, in my room.
I thought about renting a cabin in the woods somewhere far, far away, but even that made me feel uncomfortable. He was locked up, and will get executed soon, but as long as I knew that he was alive and breathing, I couldn’t feel safe.
Suddenly, I paused.
I stopped looking at the bright screen in front of me and focused my eyes on the wall. A chill spread down my spine as the realization finally hit me, and that made me nauseous.
He directly responded to my letter.
That means that he was the one who received mine.
And that was why he looked at me like he was ready to eat me alive.
How the hell did that happen? How was it possible for him to get the letter instead? They were in the same prison, and judging by the information I managed to find, they shared a name. But, Micah, the serial killer, isn’t eligible for any sort of letters.
Did Sierra do this on purpose?
No.
I stopped that train of thought before it fully came crashing down on me. She wouldn’t do that. Even if she liked to prank me from time to time, sending my picture, a letter and my book to a serial killer wasn’t something she would do. She was not that kind of person.
Instead of mentally torturing myself with theories, I called Sierra and told her to come to my apartment and that it was an emergency.
She showed up soon after, with a wine bottle in her hands. She was unsure of what type of emergency it was, but alcohol solved almost all of them. Her joke was something I would’ve laughed at, but not today.
‘‘You’re creeping me out, Storm,’’ she said, reluctantly dropping her things on my couch. Her eyes darted throughout the place, noticing that every blind was closed and that sunlight was nowhere in sight. ‘‘What happened?’’
I contemplated for a moment about how to tell her this. But I got the courage from the bottle she brought with her. Opening it, I took a massive swing and winced at the taste.
‘‘That letter that you sent,’’ I slowly approached her and sat down on the couch next to her, ‘‘who did you send it to?’’
Sierra had a puzzled look on her face. Since it’d been two weeks, and I hadn’t gotten a response to tell her about, she likely forgot it happened in the first place. She tended to forget things easily, so I gave her a moment or two to recall the events.
‘‘Micah Black,’’ she said. ‘‘Why? What happened?’’
I took a deep breath. ‘‘Yesterday, while I was in prison doing that tour thing, they took us to see the floor that is only for prisoners on death row, the most vicious people that are imprisoned.’’
Sierra blinked. ‘‘Okay?’’
‘‘We had a few rules to follow, and one of them was not to look at the prisoners since it can provoke them. It was for our safety.’’
She groaned. ‘‘You looked, didn’t you?’’
‘‘Yeah, and then I fainted. I can’t describe it, Sierra, but the amount of fear that I felt in my body made me want to vomit. It was surreal. I never experienced anything like that.’’
‘‘Are you okay?’’ She scooted over to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes displayed pure worry, and that made me certain — she didn’t fuck it up on purpose.
‘‘I’m not sure,’’ I said, then stood up. I left the letter I received in the drawer of my work desk and went to retrieve it.
‘‘I found this on my doorstep.’’ I handed her the letter.
Her eyes scanned the words. It took her a while, and I assumed she read it a couple of times. I stood in front of her, watching as she dropped the paper and glanced up at me, confused, eyebrows knitted together.
‘‘What am I looking at, exactly?’’
I sighed. ‘‘I didn’t get a response from Micah for two weeks, then all of a sudden, I get a letter the day after I visit the prison? And, just to be clear, I didn’t see that Micah anywhere in the facility.’’
