Page 92 of Sullivan

Alan’s face appeared before mine, his grin wide and scary.

“Get used to it,” he said in a singsong voice. “You’re all mine now.”

Then he frowned, grabbing at my necklace that peeked out between the zipper of Sully’s hoodie.

“What the fuck is this? A gift from your lover?” He twisted it, yanking hard.

“No!” I cried out, knowing I needed it to get help. I slapped at his hands, trying to reach the central knot in order to press it.

He pinned my hands down with one of his, then using the other, he tore the necklace away, not caring about my gasp of pain as the metal dug into my skin when he ripped it off and tossed it over my head. “Not anymore.”

Then a needle plunged into my neck, and as much as I tried to fight it, darkness descended.

And I woke up here.

Except I didn’t know where here was.

“Hello?” I called out, trying to stay calm. “Is anyone there?”

Heavy footsteps headed toward the door that was shut. It opened wide, Alan standing in the doorframe, a beer in one hand and a gun in the other.

Simply the sight of him made me shudder. The gun in his hand and the crazed look on his face turned my fear into pure terror.

“So you’re awake. Finally. You keep making me wait for you. I fucking hate being kept waiting.”

“A-Alan,” I sputtered. “What are you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine.”

I blinked at his words.

“We agreed to be friends,” I said, trying to think.

“No, you decided. After I picked you. Followed you for weeks. Made friends with the idiots at that bar so you’d think I was just a guy hanging with his pals. Normal. I acted exactly the way you wanted. I did everything right this time.”

I gaped at him, then swallowed heavily.

This time?

“I don’t understand.”

He began to pace, using the gun to scratch his head. He was erratic and upset, muttering to himself. His jerky movements made me even more anxious. Then he looked at me. “I heard you tell your friends you just wanted a nice, simple guy. Someone to spend time with. I did that.”

He stopped, staring at me, suddenly furious. “I made myself into that guy, and you still fucking rejected me!” he yelled.

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”

“Alan, please.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Calvin.”

“Okay,” I replied, dazed.

“How did you know about my aunt? Where she lived?” I asked, curious and trying to stall—to think of a plan.

“Because I fucking listened. I heard you talk to your friends. I listened when you were on the phone with her on your lunch.” He shook his head. “You are so fucking stupid, you never even noticed me until I wanted you to. I knew all about you.”