Page 4 of Your Masked Haunting

“Oh, well, yes. I can absolutely do that. How sweet.”

“Thank you so much.” I pull another two hundred-dollar bills out and hand them to her, grabbing her name from her badge. “This is for you. Thanks, Paula.”

Immediately, she’s flustered, her fingers frozen for a moment before reaching tentatively forward again. “Are you … sure? Oh my gosh. I probably shouldn’t.”

I push the money into her hand and release it. “Don’t make me fight you, Paula. You seem like a nice lady.”

This earns me a genuine laugh from her and snaps her from her stupor. Watery blue eyes flick up to mine, and she reaches for my hand.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she says, a slight crack in her sweet voice.

“Of course. Thanks for your help.” I wink at her, and she shoos me away with the backs of her hands before tucking the money in her apron.

It takes me a short walk across the store to find the guys with a stock of supplies lining the bottom few inches of the cart.

“Oh good. I was worried you guys wouldn’t find anything.”

“Some of us are actually committed to this project and not busy flirting with older ladies at the registers.” Bates chuckles, turning to face me with a devilish smirk. “What was that about anyway?”

If there’s anyone in the world who won’t make me feel guilty or crazy for my actions, it’s these two fuckers. We’re the three psycho musketeers—we have been since forever.

“I was just giving my friend Paula some money to cover the firecracker’s purchase. And then I gave her a tip. Nothing crazy.” I grin. “Warning: Watch your mouth about my friend, Paula. She’s a sweet gal.”

“Did you get the girl’s name at least? Or do anything productive in learning who she is?” Kol challenges, dropping a pack of puffy Halloween stickers into the cart.

I swear that man only knows how to be a dick most days.

“No. I’m playing the long game. First, I’m mending the bridge and offering her money.”

“Like a prostitute,” Kol adds, straight-faced.

My eyes slam shut, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No. Fucking no.” My heart drops, and I gasp, my wide gaze finding Kol’s again. “Oh God, is that what she’s going to think?”

Kol nods with a mock saddened expression. “Probably, yeah. That’s how I’d feel. Bates?”

Bates is already nodding, siding with him. “A really nice prostitute. If it were me, I’d be flattered that you were trying to buy my time.”

“Fuck both of you.” Closing the distance to them, I grab the handle of the cart with both hands so that I don’t strangle them to death.

Thankfully, they offer me a slight reprieve as they finish picking out stickers before moving on to ribbons. I never would’ve imagined that we’d have craft nights together, and I can’t help but laugh at the image of us big guys making handmade cards. But we do, and we did, especially to help Bates out when he was pursuing Serena. And just like how we’re going to do when I finally figure out the love of my life’s name.

But sadly, that day isn’t today because she’s gone when we finally check out, as is the Honda Civic, which I can now assume is hers. At least her license plate is easy to remember and very fitting.

Unfortunately, that glorious day also isn’t tomorrow or the rest of this week.

By the time the next week rolls around without seeing her again, I start to worry that I never will, until I meet with Clara, The Schrader House Manager, at the house and spot a car parked on the property. Which is surprising, given how well it’s hidden.

It’s tucked in the back bushes, and it must have been sitting here for a while. The vines are growing around it, offering an additional layer of camouflage. Every inch of it is shielded from view, all but a corner of a license plate that reads BIT3.

I guess I didn’t have to find her after all. She came right to me, and now there’s no way in hell I’m letting her slip away again.

There have been a lot of moments in my twenty-four years where I thought I’d hit rock bottom, yet I somehow keep finding new layers to peel back and slip inside like a cold, dark, and lonely sleeping bag. For a long time, I waited for a hand to find mine in the shadows and help me up, but it never came. Not when I was ten years old and not now.

There’s only one person I’ve ever been able to rely on—myself. I don’t mind it. I love hanging out with my lonesome. Occasionally, it’d be nice to have someone to share life with, even a friend. But that's something I’ve always struggled to maintain. My self-sabotaging isolation from genuine connection when it gets to feel a little too real, has consequences, like losing the people I let in for fear of them hurting me first.

I’ve always been an overachiever when it comes to my own self-destruction. It’s a skill, really. But I learned from the best.

My parents were the prime example of people who should never have children. Selfish to the bone. Narcissistic. Downright terrible, irredeemable people.