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I smooth out the papers, squinting my eyes to make out the neat scrawl on the first one.
I did what I was told to do. Because if I didn’t, I know I’d be next. So this is my confession. I helped him cover up her murder. I’m so sorry.
My heart quickens as I read the note over and over. Whoever wrote this, they’re speaking of Gigi's murder. They must be. Who helped him cover up the murder? Who is him?
Switching to the other note, it takes only a second to realize it’s the page ripped out of her diary. I smile triumphantly, but the smile quickly drops as I read the messy words.
I have to be quick, he said he’s on his way and I’m terrified. If I run, he’ll catch me so I’m writing this note down in hopes someone will find it. If something happens to me, John, it wa
The note ends there, not even finishing the last word. My mouth drops open in shock as I stare down at it in utter disbelief.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Gigi! You leave it off there? That’s what you wanted to show me? A note where you’re about to say who it is BUT DON’T?” I finish my rant on a loud shout, stomping my foot and flaring my arms wide.
Of course, she doesn’t answer me.
Growling dramatically, I stomp my way into the bedroom and slam the door shut.
I’m mad at her now. She better not come in here, or I’m kicking her right back out.
He’s outside again. Watching me, a bright red cherry blaring in the moonlight.
I stare back at him. The familiar tendrils of fear have me tightly in their grip. But also, the bricks are settled in my stomach, sinking lower…
I chew my lip, contemplating if I should confront him again or not. Picking up my phone and reporting him would be the logical thing to do.
But the police won’t be able to do anything. By the time they get here, he’ll be gone again.
And what good will a police report do when they come up missing like last time? With his apparent breaking and entering skills, not to mention hacking skills, he’s obviously tampering with shit. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Sheriff Walters knows I have a stalker, despite him saying they had no record of it.
Maybe that’s all the more reason to call.
He’s probably planning on murdering me right now, just like Gigi’s stalker murdered her. I’ve read over that note and combed through her diaries for the past three nights, but I haven’t seen any evidence of her stalker being the murderer yet.
But I’m sure I’m right.
Eyeing him, I pick up my phone, stand directly in front of the window, and put the phone to my ear. I haven’t even dialed the police yet; I just want to see what he’ll do.
Because evidently, there’s something wrong with me.
I’m playing with fire. The more I provoke him, the more likely he is to come after me. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the sharp thrill that I get every time I push back.
It’s as addicting as it is stupid.
I can’t see his face under the deep hood, but I know he’s smiling at me. Knowing that doesn’t give me the reaction it should. I should be repulsed. I should be scared. I suppose I am scared, but what I’m really feeling is the urge to smile back.
My phone chimes in my ear. Brow plunging, I hesitantly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the incoming message.
UNKNOWN: Am I supposed to believe that you’re on the phone with the police? I think my little mouse is a liar.
Oh, no, he didn’t.
I angrily type back my message.
ME: Want to find out?
UNKNOWN: Yeah, I do, actually. I’d love to punish you later for it, too.
My thumbs freeze over the letters. The last punishment was gruesome and sickening.
