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“Fuck! Call the police! Send them to his address.”
“Already did it. Take care and see you there. I’m on my way.”
Looking at the rearview mirror and seeing no other cars trailing me, I press down on the accelerator. My engine’s roar intensifies as the truck surges forward.
Calling the cops isn’t for me.
It’s for Blaine. I’ll need someone to pull me off that motherfucker because once I get my hands on him, I might not stop until he’s lying bloody and lifeless.
8
ANDREA
Iwake up with a start. This doesn’t feel like my bed. The smell is different. I try to get up, only to realize my hands and feet are bound together.
A wave of emotions comes crashing down on me and a bullet of panic rises in my throat as I remember what happened. I was just in the library, trying to run back to the dorm, excited to see Andrew and planning to talk to Dad. Someone grabbed me and I blindly fought. But he covered my mouth with something and that’s the last thing I can recall.
I can’t get up, and I briefly wonder if I’m blindfolded or if it’s pitch dark. I realize it’s the former.
Dread crawls over my body, prickling my skin. Who is it? My stalker? What is he planning to do to me? Where did he bring me? I can still hear the rain, so it might not be too far from campus. Will someone look for me? Andrew might think I got tired, slept, and forgot about meeting him.
What about Kara, my roommate? Will she realize I won’t be home? Will she call my dad, Andrew, or the cops? And my dad. Is he calling me right now? Does he think I’m not picking up because I’m angry at him?
Oh, God.
My heart races in my chest, its erratic beats echoing in my ears. Sweat beads on my forehead, hands trembling uncontrollably.
I don’t want to die. Not like this. I still want to grow old with Andrew. Have babies with him. I still want to help fix his relationship with Dad. My dad who only ever looks out for me. Who never made me feel like I was missing something just because I didn’t have a mom.
My breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Fear grips me like icy tendrils, paralyzing my every movement.
As the echoes of my own heartbeat pound in my ears, a new sound pierces through the silence—faint, ominous footsteps. My throat squeezes shut, and I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. My nerves are on fire, insides tightening.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the footsteps grow louder, now unmistakably closer. Each reverberation sending chills down my spine.
Whoever it is stops just a few steps away from me. “Good. You’re awake.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I know that voice.
Professor Derek Blaine.
Terror freezes me, rendering my muscles weak and unsteady. I scoot backward, my movements quick and clumsy, until my shoulder hits the wall.
I’m trapped.
He touches my cheek and I let out a strangled sound. I want to throw up. He grazes my cheek with his knuckle and takes out my blindfold.
I blink slowly, still trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden influx of light behind him. My professor steps back. He’s still wearing his work clothes—black dress pants and a gray shirt.
The smile that creeps across his face is an unsettling sight to behold. Manic. Sinister. But it’s his eyes that force me to swallow a scream. His eyes glint with unsettling intensity, wide but empty. They dart and flicker with frenzied energy. He looks menacing, predatory.
This will forever haunt the recesses of my memory.
“What? No hi or hello?” he teases. As if we’re casually seeing each other in a cafe. As if I’m not tied up, lying helplessly in his bed.
I’m mute with horror so I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to set him off, and everything I want to say might only trigger his madness. Because there’s no way this man is sane.
