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“She should’ve believed me when I said I could do it,” I sassed. “Not my fault she wrote a check she couldn’t cash when she dared me to do better than her.”
“I saw this thing on TikTok where people were sticking bananas down their throats and pulling them out. I mean, I get that the sentiment of ‘hey, I can deepthroat’ is hot, but it looks weird to be giving blowies to bananas on social media.”
“So weird. And dangerous. Dash said he tried it, but the banana broke off right above the peel and it almost got stuck in his throat. There’s a reason sex toys have bases on them.”
“Imagine being the person who croaked because they were deepthroating a banana? And there being video evidence of it?”
“I’d die, then come back to life just to die again.” The cinnamon sticks had been calling my name since before I even started on pizza, and I finally snagged one and bit into it. Deliciousness warmed my mouth. “Do you think ghosts can be embarrassed?” I asked.
Aiden pointed the remote at the TV and started the first episode.
“Maybe that’s why ghosts stick around,” I continued, tucking my feet under me as I faced the TV. “Maybe it’s not unfinished business or being vengeful that traps them here. Maybe it’s people who died in embarrassing ways and their spirits get stuck while they ruminate about that moment for all of eternity. Just reliving it over and over again until the end of time…”
“That’s dark, my guy.” Aiden side-eyed me. “New fear unlocked.”
“Sorry not sorry.” I sipped my soda and turned my attention to the screen, ready to be immersed in the world of my favorite ladies and hanging out with my BFF.
8
EVAN
“Ev.”
I looked up and finished buttoning my pants. “Yes?”
Vlado stood in the doorway to my dressing room, his expression grim. “We got another one.”
“What did it say?”
“Same as the others. But the language was more personal.”
“How so?” I worked my way down the buttons on my shirt, undoing them with more force than was necessary.
“The other letters made it seem like it was a group targeting you.We’rewatching you.Wedemand. That sort of thing. This one was singular.I’mnot going to ask again. Don’t ignoreme.”
Stripping off my shirt, I tossed it aside. “Do you think they slipped up, or are we dealing with two different threats?”
He handed me a clean shirt from my closet. “It’s definitely the same threat. Everything about the letter and delivery was identical except for that.”
“Why would they change it?” I slipped the shirt on. “A group is more threatening than an individual person. Do you think they did it so it makes them sound like they’re splintering and one of them is going rogue?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it really is just one person and they’re getting sloppy.”
“That could be. But it’s been months of these letters and no action. How dangerous do you think they are?”
“Just because they haven’t acted doesn’t mean they won’t. It’s a common tactic to scare a victim with threats before attacking them. The psychological effects of knowing you’re being stalked or threatened is an effective way to get in someone’s head and mess with them. Stalkers love the mental trauma their actions cause their victims as much as the endgame of actually hurting them.”
I hummed and finished buttoning my shirt.
One of the reasons Vlado was so good at his job were his instincts. He had a sixth sense about incoming danger and always seemed to be a step ahead of every threat that came my way.
He’d saved my life more than once in the past, and he’d also handled multiple stalkers, wannabe blackmailers, and thwarted a few kidnapping attempts.
Three months ago a letter arrived at my Seattle apartment, and like clockwork, another had shown up every week since.
Whoever was sending them had done everything possible to conceal their identity. They were printed on a common brand of copy paper using a printer that had been modified to not leave any identifying information or tracking codes. The envelopes were standard sized and a generic brand that was available everywhere, and there were never any prints or DNA on the letter, stamp, or inside of the envelope.
The deliveries were sent through regular mail and were processed through different post offices around the city.
