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There’s a predator in the midst.
I stand up straight and feel cramped in her small, overcrowded room, where at every turn there’s a heap of clothes or her furniture crammed inside. This sets off my tendency for organization and order. Even glancing around the chaotic mess makes me itch.
For the time being, I ignore my disgust and press on. I move through her room like a deadly shadow, placing the cameras and mics I’ve retrieved from the trunk of my Tesla. Necessary if I’m to keep a close surveil of her.
She moans and then rolls onto her back. Her robe slips further open.
I stop when I take notice. My gaze slides over her form. Dark as it may be in the room, I can still make out every tempting curve of hers. Every naked inch of skin. I step toward her bed, my violent urges awakened, and I stand over her.
Her worst nightmare has come into her life.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
7Lyra
Nobody Gets Me - SZA
Ihad expected Jael to ditch me at the party she took me to. I didn’t expect for it to be the last time I saw her. Her absence the morning after is a given. But, in the days that follow what turned out to be the worst party I’ve ever been to, she doesn’t return home.
The first morning, as I woke sweaty in my bed, questioning if my night at the Winchester was a fever dream, Jael was nowhere to be found.
She must have spent the night with Paolo.
I tried to wait out her return—she must’ve known the party organizers so I could attempt to get my phone back.
On the second morning, I give in and resort to my old cracked phone I’ve held onto and keep stuffed in my drawer. Jael must be spending the weekend with him. She’s mentioned he has a super yacht that he frequently takes for sails along the Atlantic coast whenever he’s in the country. It makes sense he’d suggest she come with him, especially if their time together at the Midnight Society party went well.
I half consider being bold enough to reach out to the club itself, but when I do an internet search for contact info, nothing comes up. Almost as if the club doesn’t exist in the light of day.
After a week goes by and still no Jael, a pang of worry hits me. We’re not the closest, but I care if she’s disappeared into thin air. I check in by texting her several times. When that produces no results, I break her cardinal rule of texts only and call her.
“We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please hang up and try again.”
I frown at my phone and then redial her number. The same automated woman answers and tells me the number’s no longer in service.
Jael, please tell me you didn’t do anything crazy?! Please tell me you’re not… at the bottom of the ocean with cinderblocks tied to your ankles! Do murderers do that in real life?
My panicked thoughts spiral from there. I send off several more text messages despite knowing the number’s apparently not working. Then I resort to pulling up social media to message her privately.
Only, every account of hers that I know about is gone.
Her Instapix. Her MyFace.
Her Cyber Fans.
Jael makes double the money I do on Cyber Fans.
There’s no way she would delete her account unless she had a damn good reason to. Unless Paolo had asked her to marry him and have twenty of his babies (no prenup included).
“Jael, what the fuck?” I mutter, typing her email address in the ‘to’ box. I’ll have to resort to sending an email and hope she sees it.
Her absence only fuels my confusion about the night at the Winchester. I had been herded off by some member of security to the second floor, where I was essentially forced into performing in a sex show.
Where I bit a guy’s dick off.
I went running into the night. I was crazed and hysterical upon escaping.
Barefoot, breathless, my dress torn, I ran for at least a mile before I stopped and hid away in a coffee shop open late into the night. The waitress took one pitying look at me and gave me a free coffee on the house.
