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ETHAN
Finlay stares at her hands for a long couple of minutes, and I give Sheriff Miller a look, silently asking him to be patient.
I feel wound tight with everything that’s happening, every muscle in my body tense.
Finlay lets out a shuddering breath, and I swear I feel every particle of air leaving her.
“It was after nine. I had just checked the front door and windows, making sure they were locked. When I went to switch off the light in the living room, I felt something… weird… spooky. The basement door was open.” Her voice is empty, as if all life has been drained from it, while I get a visual of Finlay alone at home, making my body wind even tighter.
“I went to shut the door, but…” she pauses for a moment, cringing at the memory, “he grabbed hold of my wrist and yanked me inside. It was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. I heard him close the door before he forced me down the stairs.”
Christ, it sounds like the start of a fucking horror movie. Instead of speeding up, my heartbeat slows down with apprehension.
“He cuffed my hands behind my back and gagged me, then he switched on the light. He wore a white mask, a black hairnet, a long sleeve shirt, pants, and boots. It was all black.”
Finlay blinks slowly as if she’s stuck there, and I almost say her name to bring her back to me. I stop myself, knowing the sooner she tells the sheriff everything, the better.
“He wore surgical gloves. White ones.”
Sheriff Miller doesn’t look up, his pen moving fast over the page as he writes everything down.
“I tried to run, but he grabbed me from behind and carried me deeper into the basement.”
I clench my teeth, knowing it’s going to kill me to listen.
“He forced me down onto a mattress he brought with him. One of those thin ones you can use for camping. Th-then… he forced my legs apart, strapping a steel rod, or something similar to it, between my ankles so I couldn’t close my legs.”
Jesus H. Christ.
I almost shoot to my feet, my body jerking as I fight to stay seated next to Finlay.
My heart cracks right down the middle, the image of Finlay restrained, vulnerable, and terrified out of her fucking mind branding itself into my mind.
Stay quiet. Don’t move.
This is not about you.
Finlay needs you.
Fuck.
Breathe.
Fuck.
“Oh… when he yanked me into the basement, he said; finally, I’ve been looking forward to our date all week.” She frowns. “He knew my name. He had brown eyes… they actually looked warm, as if he cared about me.”
Finlay’s eyes drift closed, her body shudders as she sucks in a strangled breath.
Unable to stop myself, I lean into her. “You’re safe.”
My voice seems to get through to her, and she grabs hold of my sweater, her knuckles turning white from the tight grip. I place my hand over hers. “I’m here, Finlay.”
She nods, sucking in a couple of desperate breaths.
I can’t stand this. God, I can’t.
“H-he said he loved me, then he pulled a pair of scissors from a black bag. It had no label or words on it.”
“The bag?” Sheriff Miller asks softly.
“Yes. It was just black.”
She pales horribly, and it looks like she’s going to be sick. It makes my own stomach lurch, the bile starting to churn.
“He cut my clothes off. I wore a blue tank top and white shorts. He placed it in bags, like the kind they use for evidence.”
I close my eyes, my body starting to tremble, and then destruction rages through me.
“H-he… took a condom from the bag.”
Christ. This is too hard.
My eyes snap open, and the first thing I see is the tear rolling over her cheek. Instinctively I reach up, wiping the drop away.
I haven’t cried much in my life, at least not since I was a kid, but there’s no way to stop the tears pushing up inside me.
“W-when he p-pushed his pants d-down, he was clean-s-shaven.”
A sob sputters from Finlay, and I press a kiss to her hair. She turns her face into my chest as if she’s trying to hide, and at this point, I don’t know who’s trembling harder, her or me.
“H-he smelled like antiseptic fluid.”
There’s a loaded pause, the air almost buzzing with the tension rolling off me. My arms cramp around her slender body, and I press my mouth to her hair, my breaths coming faster.
“Th-then… he crawled over me… and r-raped me. I-I passed out w-when he orgasmed and woke in my b-bed, dressed in a pink t-tank top and white shorts. I immediately ran outside and c-called nine-one-one,” she stammers, her breaths nothing but panicked bursts.
God, baby.
My fucking God.
A growl builds in my chest as Sheriff Miller asks, “Did he say anything else to you?”
“He called me ‘my love.’ That I had no idea how much it meant to him.”
