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Taking a deep breath, I creep forward, watching intently for any sign of movement. My fingers hover over the spot on Brad’s neck. “What if I touch him and it wakes him up?”
“He’s not sleeping or unconscious. If he was, his eyes would be closed. But if the man has no pulse, he’s most definitely dead. Check and then you can know for sure too.”
I nod. Logically, I know he’s right, but fear has its icy grip clamped around my heart. All rational thought and reason seem to have left me. I fumble with his collar, exposing the skin I need to touch, and press two fingers against his throat. He’s still warm, still feels alive. But his body remains motionless. Applying more pressure, I stare at Brad’s face and wait. Nothing.
“You okay, sunshine?” Lorenzo asks softly.
“Yeah.” I wait for a faint pulse to thrum against my fingertips. Still nothing.
“You feel anything?”
Relief rushes through me, and I close my eyes at last. “No. Nothing at all.”
“That’s my good girl.”
My heart finally begins to calm down. I lean back against the cupboard and hug my knees to my chest once more, feeling safe now that I know he’s gone but still unable to find the courage to get up and leave him here alone.
“I have to make a few more calls. Will you be okay while I’m on my way to you?”
“I-I’m fine,” I lie.
“I’ll be there soon. Call me back if you need anything at all. Don’t answer your phone unless it’s me calling. And don’t answer the door until I get there. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I whisper.
He hangs up and I press the phone to my chest. Right now it feels like my lifeline. My only link to the real world outside this nightmare in my kitchen. Brad goes on staring at me with his cold, dead eyes. It’s a look I’m used to from him.
A slideshow of images from earlier flicker through my mind, and goosebumps break out along my arms.Please hurry, Lorenzo.
* * *
Wrappingmy hands around my mug of chamomile tea, I smile at the view from the window overlooking my little yard. A feeling of contentment settles over me. I love it here. It’s still dark out, but a string of fairy lights illuminates the cluster of exquisite rose bushes grown by the previous owner. They’ve started to bloom alongside the jasmine I planted a week after I moved here.
My phone lights up beside me, the flashing battery indicator reminding me that I forgot to charge it last night. Putting it in my pocket with a mental reminder to plug it in while I get showered and dressed for work, I open the back door and step outside. The gentle morning breeze dances over my skin, and the sweet scent of jasmine drifts through the air. My stomach growls, so I return to the kitchen, take a large knife from the drawer, and place it on the counter. I open the refrigerator, searching for the strawberries I bought yesterday. Darn it! I got home late and was so exhausted that I ate them for dinner. A banana it is, then.
I close the refrigerator door.
My heart stops.
He’s here. His face.
Right outside my window.
I scream.
He smiles.
My heart starts beating again. No, it gallops.
He’s closer to the back door than I am. I’ll never make it. I run for it anyway, desperate to close it before he can make his way inside. It’s like I’m running through molasses in wintertime. He’s inside before I can even reach the doorway. He closes the door behind him. The deadbolt clicking into place echoes around my small kitchen like a death knell.
I scramble backward and bump into the kitchen counter.
“Hey, honey, I’m home,” he sing-songs, like he just came home from a shift.
“B-Brad?” My blood freezes in my veins and my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.
He licks his lips, leering at me like I’m his last meal. There’s a crazed look in his eyes. “You really thought you could hide from me, Mia?”
