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“He’s gone,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m safe.”
Matheson nods. “We have no reason to believe she’s in danger at this time, but we didn’t think it was a good idea for her to be alone.”
In a haze, I let Mom whisk me upstairs to my old bedroom. It’s still painted Pepto-Bismol pink with the same daisy comforter on my bed. A ragged teddy bear sits on the pillow, missing an eye. Mom always nagged me to let her fix it, but I like him imperfect and tattered. He’s more like me that way.
“Let’s get you a nice hot bath and I’ll make you some hot cocoa. Your favorite. You’ll feel better—”
“No, thanks.” I sigh, so tired I can hardly get my brain to send the words to my mouth. “I just want to sleep.”
“Are you sure? A bath will help relax you.”
I sit on the edge of my bed and almost slip to the floor. “I can hardly keep my eyes open as it is.”
Mom sits beside me and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never thought—”
“It’s not true.” I drop onto the mattress, unable and unwilling to stay upright a moment longer. “It’s not. I don’t believe them.”
“Okay, honey.” She pulls my shoes off and stands, lifting my legs up so I can lie down. “Rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Curled on my side, surrounded by all the girlie things I grew up with, I try to connect myself to that child. She had so many hopes and dreams. She planned to go to college and have a successful career. Though how I could pull that off, considering I had no idea what I wanted to major in, I have no idea.
Where did I go so wrong? Am I just blind? Did I miss my turn somewhere and detour down this miserable half-life road where no one understands anything about me? I might as well be an alien in this family. And then the one man who finally gets me, who makes me feel alive and whole…
Mom cries softly, her hand stroking my hair. “Did he hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, smiling at the memory. “It was so good.”
A broken sob escapes her throat. “Oh.”
She never understood. We had the sex talk and she tried to be a good, modern mother who discussed anything under the sun with her children. But evidently the kinds of questions I asked aren’t in the basic sex education manuals they hand out to parents.
Why does it feel so much better if he holds me down?
Why do I want his hand on my throat?
Why do I dream about him hitting me? Nothing major. Just a few bruises to look at later.
“I love him.” I think I get the words out, but I’m slipping fast. Maybe he would find me in my dreams. “Still.”
* * *
Opening my eyes,I stare up at the white netting draped over my bed. Weak winter sunlight streams in, managing to turn the pink walls from merely putrid to blazing florid. At least I slept—a long time, judging by the sunlight. The house is quiet. Is it the weekend? I honestly can’t remember what day of the week it is. Hopefully I’m not supposed to be at work. Charlie will punish me if I miss a day.
My brain flinches away from that thought. It takes me a moment to remember why.
He’s gone.
Lying here in my childhood bed, I run through everything the FBI told me. His old partner was able to fill in a few holes, but they hadn’t convinced me that Charlie would have killed me. That the only reason he found me was to kill me. That doesn’t ring true. Why would he promise to come back for me, then? To finally finish me off?
I push up enough to find my bag Mom left by the side of the bed. Rummaging around, I find my laptop and start it up. I want to talk to my friends, but if that’s how Charlie supposedly found me…
I never interacted with him there, at least not to my knowledge. Sure, people can read the channels on our server without making themselves known, but I never had any personal conversation or interaction with a stranger, let alone someone who could have been Charlie. I never used our Discord server to hook up after Josh. Other than that one weird note I had the other day, I never even had anyone contact me off-list that I didn’t already know.
I check my email and see another message fromMasterOfAll.Miss me yet? Can’t wait to bite you again, pet.
My heart pounds. It’s not Charlie. It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense.
I check my trash folder and find the other note he sent me. I restore it, determined to keep the evidence. Then I dig Matheson’s card out of my pocket and call her.
