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Meaning we’ll kill him the second he has the balls to step out of his fucking hiding place.
Chapter 21
FINLAY
Sitting on a step next to Ethan, I stare at a crack in the wood. One moment I’m here, terrified out of my mind, and the next, I’m back in the basement.
“Can you give me the contact details of the officer currently dealing with your case,” Sheriff Miller asks.
I keep staring at the crack. “It’s on my phone.” My voice sounds dead.
Ethan took my phone after sending screenshots of the texts to the sheriff’s phone.
“I’ll get it from David,” Mr. Jackson says, where he’s standing with Nina, Quinn, and Eli. They got here a couple of minutes ago, and I’ve been avoiding Quinn’s eyes, not sure I can keep it together if I look at my cousin.
“You don’t know who this man is?” The sheriff shifts his feet, drawing my eyes away from the crack.
I shake my head, a weird calmness settling over me as if I’m caught in the eye of a storm. I can feel the trauma spinning around me, the terror howling and screeching. The only thing keeping me from breaking is Ethan.
“Have you seen him?”
I nod, my vision growing dark and the space around me stretching until it feels like I’m in the basement.
“Can you give me a description?” The sheriff’s voice is patient as if he’s dealt with my situation a million times before.
The thought only makes me feel sadder.
It takes me a moment to gather enough strength to whisper, “White, faceless mask.” I swallow hard as the image rips through my mind. “B-black hairnet.” I suck in a strangled breath. Black clothes. Smells like antiseptic fluid. Gloves. Shaven pelvis area.
My body jerks.
I feel him crawling over me, the weight heavy and disturbing.
My eyes snap shut, my breath stalling in my throat.
“Give her a second,” Ethan snaps, his arm tightening around my shoulders. “Just breathe.”
I huddle closer to Ethan, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“I’m here,” he murmurs. “Just take deep breaths. You’re safe.”
It takes long seconds before I’m able to calm my breathing, and I duck my head lower against Ethan, trying to hide from the eyes on me.
“Is there anything about the stalker that stood out? A birthmark? Scars?” the sheriff resumes the questioning.
“He smelled like antiseptic liquid,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and fragile.
The sheriff crouches in front of me, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m going to do everything I can to catch this guy. The more information you give me, the better our chances will be of finding him.”
The other policemen in Naperville said the same thing.
“He left no evidence behind,” I tell him.
Sheriff Miller glances at the Jacksons before bringing his sharp gaze back to me. “Would you prefer if we had this conversation alone?”
I quickly shake my head, not wanting to be left alone with a man I know nothing about, even if he’s a sheriff.
“Okay. Tell me again what happened when you got home,” he says, straightening up to his full height.
“Let’s take this inside,” Mr. Jackson says. “The neighbors are out in full force.”
“Right.” Sheriff Miller glances around us.
Ethan pulls me up and guides me into his house. “You okay?” he asks softly.
I can’t lie anymore. I don’t have it in me.
I shake my head, a lost breath drifting over my lips.
Ethan’s arms engulf me against his chest. He presses a kiss to my head then asks, “Are you okay with everyone being here while you talk to Harry?”
After today, nothing will be the same again. The entire town will find out, and I’ll always be that poor girl. My trauma might set Quinn back, and that’s the last thing I want.
For the first time since the attack, shame burns through me like hot coals. But as much as I don’t want the nightmare from tainting the world around me, I know I have to tell Sheriff Miller so he can hopefully catch him.
“Just you,” I whisper. “I can’t talk about it with everyone here. It’s… shameful… too hard.”
Ethan keeps his arm around me as he addresses his family and Quinn. “Finlay needs privacy. Mind waiting outside?”
“We’ll head over to the Drakes’ place to pack her a bag,” Mr. Jackson says, “Is there anything specific you want us to bring, Finlay?”
“My guitar.”
After everyone leaves, Ethan and I take a seat on the couch while Sheriff Miller brings a chair from the kitchen. He flips to a clean page in his notebook, and I wonder how many of those he’s filled with horror stories.
My heart shrivels smaller and smaller until it feels no bigger than a grain of sand.
“Start at the beginning. Any detail, no matter how small you think it is, is important,” Sheriff Miller says, his voice still sounding gentle.
I instinctively burrow closer to Ethan, and looking down at my hands, my sight blurs. Then the darkness creeps around the edges of my vision, sucking me back to the hell I endured in the basement.
