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Drake sipped his own wine and nodded. “She will. He might have been an awful person, but he did have a will. I found that when going through his personal files online.”
“Good,” I said, grimacing in disgust. His wife had been taken advantage of as a child. It was good that she’d be set for life. She’d never have to go back to her parents who let her be sold to the fucker either.
We ate in silence for several minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the food. I was about to ask Drake what he thought our next move should be, but a new shout interrupted my thoughts.
A man stood, pointing at the TV, shouting something I couldn’t understand. He sounded panicked. Soon the rest of the restaurant was shouting as well. I turned to see what was so bad about the game, that they’d all sound so freaked out. What I saw made me freeze in terror, eyes widening in shock.
On the screen of both televisions the game had been replaced. Instead of soccer, the murder of Marco played out on fifty-inch screens.
“Drake,” I hissed, voice choking.
“Hmm?” he looked up, saw what I saw, and let out a gasp.
On the screen, the bloody display was playing out, and the people in the restaurant were growing more confused and upset as it went. The angle of the video was taken from the hallway behind us, close to the ground. Jesus Christ, Sam had been there. He’d been in that fucking house and had videoed us. The thought made my stomach drop and nausea swelled within me.
“Let’s go,” Drake said, throwing a wad of Euros on the table, and pushing his chair out.
I took his hand and rose as well. The shouts of the patrons turned into screams of horror and disgust. Despite myself, I glanced up to see what was happening. Drake had me bent over, fucking my brains out while Marco choked on his own severed cock. My face was clearly visible, mouth open in ecstasy, blood smeared across my face. All I could think of was getting away, before anyone turned to look at us. As we hurried out the door, I thought I could hear someone inside vomiting.
Rushing behind Drake, I glanced around the area, searching for anyone. They had to have been close. To have patched into the restaurant’s cable or internet, and show that video, meant they’d have had to have been inside or behind the restaurant. They’d followed us there. I imagined Sam sliding out of the darkness and sliding a knife between my ribs.
Drake double checked the car before hurrying me into the passenger seat and running around the driver’s side and getting in. The tires barked on the pavement as he pulled out, gunning the engine until it screamed.
“How the fuck is he doing this?” I asked. My heart hammered like crazy in my chest as we flew down the road.
“I don’t know,” Drake said through gritted teeth. He looked both pissed off, terrified, and confused.
The drive back to our place was much less relaxing. I stared out the window, horrified by the thought that there was nowhere to run. No place to hide. Sam had become a boogeyman, hiding under every bed and inside every closet. A preternatural stalker that we’d never be rid of. I chewed at the inside of my cheek, an old habit, and a few seconds later, tasted the copper tang of blood on my tongue.
Chapter 10
Dahlia
The door to our hotel room clicked shut behind us, the sound like a blade chopping down on a throat. Final, echoing the closure we desperately sought but could never truly find. My body hummed with the remnants of adrenaline, each cell of my flesh screaming for rest after running from the restaurant, unsure if Sam was right behind us. The old frantic prey animal emotions that had lived within me as a child had come back full force. I needed to hide. To disappear.
“Christ,” Drake muttered beside me, his voice as worn down as the leather of his boots. I turned my head to catch the glint of the lamp light on his sweat slicked skin. “I don’t see how this is possible.”
We staggered farther into the house, both of us sending furtive glances at the windows and doors, our limbs leaden with fatigue and our minds fogged by the terror of the night.
“He was there, Drake,” I said, my voice hissing out as though we were in a library, scared to speak up. “He watched us. He watched us kill Marco, he watched us fuck, hell, he may have watched us shower.”
“I know,” Drake said as he double checked the window locks. “We’ll figure it out, though. I’ll figure it out.”
He gritted his teeth in rage. I could see by the look on his face that he’d rarely ever been on the opposite side of this. He was the stalker, he was the hunter, not Sam. This change of position had confused and angered him. I wouldn’t want to be Sam if Drake ever got ahold of him. It would indeed be a bloody and painful day for that man. The thought, even through my fear, was exciting.
I grunted, my voice nothing more than a husk of sound. “Do we run again?”
Drake shook his head. “No running. Not yet anyway. If we keep running, we’ll never be able to figure this out. We stay, at least for a bit.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Shit. Turn the TV on. See if there’s anything on the news. Someone at the restaurant may have called the cops. Fuck. Sam probably even left the jump drive or whatever he used. The cops could have it right now, analyzing our faces. If that’s the case, running won’t work anyway.”
A leaden weight dropped into my stomach as I grabbed the remote and turned the television on. He was right. For once, I had to hope and wish that Sam was one step ahead of us and the authorities.
The television clicked on and the languid sound of Italian newscasters filled the room, a stream of foreign syllables that didn’t require understanding. It was all background noise, a drone of incomprehensible gibberish. I didn’t give a damn about what they were saying anyway. All I could do was stare, open mouthed as our faces flashed onto the screen. My heart jerked, a frantic beat against my ribs, as I lowered myself to a chair to stare at the all too familiar contours of our likenesses broadcasted across the room.
“Fucking hell,” Drake cursed under his breath. “I was worried about this.”
We didn’t need to comprehend the language to grasp the gravity of our visages being paraded before us. There was something perverse about seeing ourselves framed by the sleek graphics of the news channel, something obscene in its normalcy. Like it was every day that you were being talked about on a European TV channel, the news anchors describing all the awful things you’d done.
“Is there anything in English?” Drake asked.
