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Whoisthis person? Why are they doing this to me? What the hell did I ever do to them?
Nails bite my palms as I curl my fingers into tight fists. “Mommy and Daddy not love you enough?” I bite out and gnash my teeth together.
I tear open the box, rip away the tissue paper, and yank out the silky material inside. Similar to the nightie in the other gift box, the lingerie is pale pink. Unlike the other piece, this negligee is much more revealing. More sheer and lacy and provocative.
Holding up the offensive garment, I shout, “I’m not putting this on, pervert.”
Bright light fills the room and I hiss as I drop the box and lingerie to cover my eyes. This time, the heat and lights stay cranked up longer, as if proving a point. Minutes tick by, my skin heating up like I’ve been sunbathing for hours. The wound on the back of my skull throbs. The stabbing behind my eyes grows more intense. I can’t think, can’t process, can’t see. My breaths come in short sips as I crumple to the floor. My muscles contract, shriveling against my frame. A dull ache settles in my bones.
On a strained inhale, I hold up my hand. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
The lights glow hotter, brighter.
I curl my fingers into the rug, muster every ounce of strength, and shout, “I’ll put it on. Just turn off the lights.”
Just as the last word leaves my lips, the room turns pitch black and the air cools.
With the shield of darkness, I peel off my clothes with shaky hands. Leaving my bra and panties on, I pull the repulsive lingerie over my head and tug it over as much skin as possible.
A creak followed by a deep thud echoes throughout the room. A sliver of light shines less than ten feet away.Behind the bookcase.
I straighten to my full height and tiptoe toward my only shred of hope. Time to get the hell out of here.
THIRTY-THREE
TRAVIS
Pepper has walkedin circles for nearly an hour. As if she smells hints of Kirsten’s scent but can’t pinpoint where it originates from. The more aimless her search is, the more my gut twists with unease.
Hours have passed since Kirsten stepped outside the cabin for fresh air. It’s been hours since Ben and I bickered over Kirsten while some sick motherfucker abducted her and disappeared into the woods.
Did he nab her the second she left my line of sight? Or did she sit at the bottom of the steps, where Pepper picked up her scent, for several minutes?
Is she hurt? Scared?
Nausea rolls in my belly and bubbles up my throat.
Is shealive?
I inhale a shaky breath and shove away the last thought. Instead, I focus on what I know. I focus on the facts.
The notes and the gifts… this person is obsessed with Kirsten.
In most stalker cases, the victim is kept alive for nefarious reasons. The perpetrator gets some sick sense of pleasure seeing the victim distraught or frightened. Gets their jollies by watching the target squirm under their scrutiny or touch. In most cases, the stalker wants to live out some perverse fantasy more than harm the victim. By the time they capture their victim, they’ve lived so long in their delusion, they don’t know reality from fantasy.
More than anything, it’s the instability of this person that bothers me most. Because if this person killed the woman in the woods, we are on borrowed time.
Aside from their looks, what did the woman in the woods and Kirsten have in common?
Recently, we identified the woman in the woods. Spoke with her family and learned she’d moved to Stone Bay six months ago to start over. After years of substance abuse, she broke up with her boyfriend—who was also her dealer—and left everything behind. She’d told her sister she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life high or drunk and oblivious to the world.
She’d been in Stone Bay four months before she went missing. At first, her sister thought she’d gone back to her old life. A week later, the news of the woman in the woods spread like wildfire in town. With a hectic schedule, the news hadn’t reached her right away. Once it did, we were able to finally name the woman in the woods. Julia Quinn.
Still, other than their uncanny resemblance, there were no other common factors between Julia and Kirsten. Different job types, different family dynamics, different lifestyles. Their dissimilarities are what kill me more than anything. Because finding that missing link is key to solving this case, to putting this sick fuck behind bars.
In the hands of their stalker, especially those with control and anger issues, abductees have a small window to get out alive. If we don’t get to Kirsten in time, she may be the next woman in the woods.
A hand hits my arm and I blink out of my mental spiral to look at Ben. Sad smile on his lips, he zips his jacket higher. “We’ll find her,” he states with zero confidence.
