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“I’ll leave.” His voice cracks, a broken whisper as trails of tears adorn his face.
“You will.” Pressing a little harder, a second rib cracks and he’s smart enough not to yell. Little whimpers escape his lips and I smile, chest rumbling into a low chuckle. “But you’ll have a chance to say goodbye. This is my promise to you.”
“I’d rather just disappear. You’ll never see me alive again.”
“No one will.” Before his next intake of painful breath, I mount his chest and extend all five fingers. The metal shines in the darkness, the light of the moon glinting off the bloodied tips. “Apologize.”
“Don’t kill me.”
“Apologize.”
Tim swallows hard, eyes shifting from my hand to my face. “I’m sorry.”
“May you never find peace.” He doesn’t get to utter a single syllable, his gurgling scream lasting only but a single second as I slice clear across his neck. It’s a straight line that spurts his life’s essence onto my face and neck, staining my clothes. The feel of it on my face is warm and the cooling night breeze quickly forms the substance into a sticky calling that I lick off.
Those vacant eyes stare back at me with pure horror stretched across his expression as I do, a haunting sight of understanding I revel in before standing up, undoing his bindings, and dragging his frail corpse toward her back door.
He’ll greet her in the morning. I promised a final goodbye.
Eerie silence follows as two beady eyes slither into the backyard, passing me as I exit the back of her yard. There’s a secret door behind a large overgrowth of tall cedar trees that makes the back end look more like a tree farm and not a residential area. And yet, they’re well taken care of, covering the metal exit at the center of the brick fence with iron trim that leads to a back alley and side street.
“Not a trace.” At my command, the backyard’s newest guest gives a nod, its white skin glistening in the moonlight while I’m cloaked in darkness. And while I’ll forgo my goodnight kiss tonight, I’ll take her soon enough and savor her sweetness.
My pretty girl is worth the wait.
14
Gabriella
I miss you, pretty girl.
My eyes snap open at those words coming from a voice that tonight doesn’t elicit fear, but familiarity. I’m not shaking or sweating, and the room around me isn’t the one from my dreams where blood touches every single corner as if caressing a fond memory.
Instead, I’m left panting inside my home and on my bed as I recall the heavy feel of eyes on me—watching me—while I dared to finger the edge of a bed which felt familiar, yet I know I’d never seen it much less touched it before. There was also the warmth of secrets shared between those walls and the dream version of myself, because tonight I wasn’t a visitor looking around in fright, but instead a willing participant reminiscing with an old friend.
Maybe I fell and hit my head months back, and this is the insane dreaming of someone trapped in a coma? I muse right before a familiar grunt pulls me away from my thoughts and I look over at my companion of choice. Mr. Pickles is looking up at me from my right, and it’s an expression I’m all too familiar with on his chubby little scrunched-up face: hunger and the need to potty.
“You want to go out?” His response doesn’t come from a verbal cue, but a boop to my arm with his cold nose. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, chubby.”
Another noise of complaint before I can throw my legs over the edge of the bed, he jumps off and sits in front of the door. Mr. Pickles eyes me while I stand and stretch, little grumbles of annoyance passing through his lips while I shimmy my sleep shorts off and toss them aside before grabbing a comfy pair of sweats. I leave the plain grey tank top on with the built-in bra and rush to the bathroom after grabbing my cell, brushing my teeth in a haste while the impatient pup grumbles outside the door.
He eyes me from the threshold the entire time until we’re heading downstairs. Now, he wiggles from beside me with an extra pep in his trot until we reach the bottom step and I lose him as he runs out before me.
The back of my home sits on a decent-sized lot with no neighbor to my left and two large open yards at the side and back of the property. It’s overrun by trees planted by my uncle, and I haven’t had the heart to clear them out because they also protect me from the occasional nosy neighbor or passerby strolling down the sidewalk.
However, the closer to the door we get, my dog starts to shiver. There’s also a bit of warning in his bark. The low growl comes out, and he ignores the leash I picked up from the hook on the wall for our possible walk down the block. He’s not looking at me, but staring at the wooden door as if waiting for something to appear.
“Quit being silly and sit.” Mr. Pickles looks back but doesn’t listen. “Sit, buddy.” Again, he barks and this time bares his teeth, an action that is very uncommon for him, which puts me on edge. I don’t hear anything or see past the small shade on the windowpane so I pull it up, and everything seems as it does every day: green and more green with a hint of brown from the wooden deck. With him not listening, it’s hard to open the door so I pick him up, squirming and fighting in my hold, and walk us into the laundry room where I keep the travel dog crate. “Sorry, little guy. Let me check everything out, and I’ll be back to release you.”
In reply, his lips curl over his teeth and his eyes shift around. What the hell?
Closing the door to his crate, I step back into the kitchen and head straight for the back door without pause. My hand is on the knob and I turn it, pulling it open, and then let out a loud shriek.
Something falls back with a heavy thud. Its hair grazes my shin and when I look down, every cell in my body vibrates and a scream lodges itself in my throat, yet this time no sound comes out. Fear and shock overtake my senses and my anxiety spikes as wide, dead eyes look up at me from the floor.
His eyes are vacant. His face is a swollen, bloodied mess. The sole identifier on him is a small plastic name tag on his uniform shirt.
I take a step back and then another.
