14. Alik

14

ALIK

M y eyes burn with an intensity that has me blinking every other second, so I pause looking at my screen to rub my eyes.

Every time I think I’m getting somewhere I come to a dead end. My brain feels like it’s been put through a food processor and turned to mush, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

I raise my brows, stretching the skin of my face in an attempt to wake up, but all it does is make me yawn.

“Fuck!” I growl, picking up the glass on my desk and hurling it against the wall as I stand in one motion. It shatters into bits on my living room carpet.

I roll my neck and shake out my hands, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind, but all I can think about is sleep. And Olive. Sleeping with Olive in my bed, my arm wrapped around her tranquilized form.

I don’t know how I’ll ever find Vitaly without going to Russia. But going to Russia means leaving Olive, and I don’t know how I could do that either. Not knowing the danger she’s in, the danger I’m in, if she’s caught.

Yanking open the top drawer of my desk, I seek out my cigarettes and grab the pack, slamming the drawer closed before stomping to the window. I’m a few feet away when a knock sounds on my door.

I glance down at my bare wrist, remembering my abandoned watch on my dresser, then look out the window to gauge the time instead. The first hint of a sunrise casts a low light over the street below, but the stars still twinkle in the sky.

My guard is up when I go to my door, and I half consider getting my gun but am too concerned with being suspicious. If it’s Sergey or another brother, I shouldn’t appear bothered to see them, especially with the news they’re bringing.

I glance at my bedroom with hesitation before opening my front door, my hand casually planting on the jamb to block the visitor’s path inside.

It isn’t Sergey.

Or another brother.

Purple Lipstick Lady from down the hall glares at me with her now pale lip curled in a sneer that drips with hatred. Her blonde hair is wound into rollers that sit on top of her head. Those, along with the pink, long-sleeved pajama set, somehow make her appear angrier instead of ridiculous.

“Yes?” I ask, peering down the hall as if someone more noteworthy might appear behind her.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Her face reddens brighter than her pajamas while my head rears back.

“I—”

“It’s six in the morning, you…” She growls, and when I look down, her fists are shaking. “You have neighbors! We don’t want to hear your sinful behavior in the middle of the night or you breaking things in the early morning! Whatever fight you and your… your, heathen girlfriend are having, have it during a respectable time! Or in a counseling office! What is wrong with your generation?”

My hand slips from the doorjamb. “You’re right. I apologize.” I go to shut the door, but she slaps her hand against it to stop me.

“You apologize ?” she seethes. “You’ve woken me up multiple times tonight, and you apologize ?”

“Look, I’m sorry about the crash on the wall. It won’t happen again. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“That’s only a fraction of it.” She huffs. “Your girlfriend’s moaning is the worst. Find someone who isn’t a slut. Then you can apologize to me.”

“What did you just call her?” I ask, my jaw tightening.

Her feet seem to dig into the floor, like she’s literally standing her ground. “You heard me. That tramp?—”

Her words stop in her throat as she sucks in a gravelly inhale, her eyes bugging as we both peer down at the knife protruding from her gut.

It happened in an instant, just a blur at my right, so for a moment, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My eyes find Olive’s just as she viciously yanks the knife from the woman’s gut and drives it back in, causing a strangled cry to come from Purple Lipstick’s throat.

My eyes must be as wide as the woman’s now. When Olive goes to stab her a third time, I shove her backward and yank the woman inside where she falls in a heap on the tile. My heart racing, I check the hallway for any witnesses before quickly shutting the door and spinning to face Olive. She’s crouched on the floor with the knife tipped at Purple Lip’s nose as the woman struggles for breath.

“What was it you called me?” Olive asks her. “A slut?”

“Olive, what the fuck?” I go to take the knife away but stop as she raises a hand to me, never taking her eyes off the woman. My feet shuffle backward a few steps as I watch in shock Olive trailing the knife down to the woman’s throat.

What is happening?

She whispers something to the woman that I don’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. It’s her face that has my attention, and I squint at it now. The nervous expression she wears like her own brand of makeup is washed off, revealing something stone-like. Confident. Cruel .

Me.

Jesus Christ, she looks like me .

She drives the knife into the woman’s throat, making her body spasm before her gurgles silence and she stills. Rolling her neck, Olive stands, and only now does she look at me, utter amusement tilting her lips when she must see the confusion stunting me.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She chuckles and wipes blood on her sweater. “ Relax , Alik. No one saw.”

I narrow my eyes at her but don’t say anything.

Is this a dream?

Did I pass out at my desk?

I look over at it as if I’ll see myself there, but the page is pulled up on the same dead-end financial sheet it was on when I got up to smoke.

Is this … real?

It can’t be.

“You heard her.” Olive bends to jerk the knife from the woman’s throat. She twirls it in the air and catches it with a smile. “She knew I was here. That puts us at risk.”

“She…” I shake my head, thinking maybe that will make Olive’s image disappear.

It’s a hallucination. Not a dream. I’m hallucinating.

I need sleep.

“She was a disgruntled neighbor,” I say, looking around for more clues that I’ve gone insane. “You don’t kill your neighbors.”

“Why?”

“Because you can easily be connected to them. Why would…” I let my mouth hang open, not even sure why I’m talking. Closing my mouth, I shake my head and walk to my bedroom, intent on climbing into bed and hoping to wake up believing my psychosis was a dream.

This is insane.

I’m literally going insane.

“See how much I’m learning from you already? This is going to be great.” She skips behind me to the bedroom, and when I open the door, my hand tightens on the knob.

The bed is empty.

“Look, I know I made a mess, but are you really not going to help me clean it up? I’m pretty sure you know this already, but when people die, they sometimes shit themselves. It’s best we get moving on it, you know what I mean?”

Her voice is so … cheerful. Amused.

Insane .

It isn’t me… It’s her.

“I’m not hallucinating,” I whisper the realization to the empty bedroom.

Olive snorts. “ Hallucinating ? Please tell me you don’t have a history of psychosis. I don’t date psychos.”

When I turn to peer at her, her lips spread into a Cheshire smile, and she winks. It’s casual enough that the hairs on the back of my neck raise, the knife in her hand catching my attention.

From the moment I laid eyes on Olive, I’ve seen her as a sweet, innocent, vulnerable doe.

This woman looks like a hunter.

And she’s got a weapon.

My posture straightens, but I take a step back while I try for the umpteenth time to make sense of this.

“I’m kidding,” she says, her smile falling with a weak chuckle. “Come on, baby. Lighten up.” She looks over at the woman and sighs. “Are you pissed about her? Because I’m sorry. Seriously, I didn’t know about the whole no killing the neighbors thing. She just really pissed me off, and I didn’t see you jumping at my defense.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, the knife dangling from her hand.

“Put the knife down, Olive.”

She lowers her eyes to the blade then gives me a challenging stare. “Why?”

When I don’t answer, she laughs. “Am I scaring you, baby?”

“Yes, you are. I’m afraid for you. As invested as I’ve been in keeping you safe, you’re acting crazy enough to be a problem. I don’t want to have to hurt you…”

“Would you kill me?” she asks, her lips parting as she uncrosses her arms, the knife secured in her grasp. She doesn’t look afraid or hurt or even intimidated. Only intrigued. “Do you think you have it in you?”

My eyes constrict at the challenge. When I go toward her to retrieve the knife, she wields it over her shoulder and stabs it at my chest. I catch her wrist easily and squeeze until she lets go.

She doesn’t scream or beg or apologize.

She laughs.

The bitch laughs .

Fire spreads over my ears as I take her neck and slam her into the wall, squeezing until her laughter dies. She lifts her hands to mine but doesn’t claw or yank. She wraps her palms around my hand in a gentle way that is horribly unfitting, which I suppose is this woman’s style.

The smile at her lips eases into a loving plea that matches the shine in her eyes.

Please , she mouths.

She could try to knee me in the balls. Claw at my hands. Kick me, fight me, something to show me the predator she showed me moments ago, but instead, she does this. And I hate her for it. Every time I think I have her next move pegged, every time I think I have her figured out and can put an end to this dangerous game I’m playing, she shoves her fist into my chest and clenches.

My molars grinding, I allow my hold on her neck to loosen and watch her carefully as she sucks in breaths.

“Thank you,” she croaks.

My hand stays wrapped around her throat, but I don’t squeeze. My nerves are on high alert, and any moment I expect the fight in her to come out.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? Tie her up? Keep her a prisoner here forever?

I can’t trust her.

She’s fucking insane.

But… Fuck.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, frustration thick in my voice. “Why are you acting like this?”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Of all the times I’ve been asked that, this is the only time I’ve been surprised. I thought you of all people would understand that nothing is wrong with me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My grip on her neck tightens enough for me to shake her, knocking her head against the wall. “Gooddamn it, I don’t want to hurt you. Make this make sense. Please .” The desperation in my voice is so heavy, it would disgust me if I wasn’t already dealing with the war inside my head.

It’d be pointless to tie her up. Not when there’s no way I could ever let her go.

She is a walking timebomb.

I’m going to have to kill her.

But my grip on her neck won’t tighten.

Not yet.

I swallow. “Last chance, Olive.”

Her eyes snap open as her lip curls. “I’m not Olive .”

My body stiffens. Even my brain seems to stiffen as I stare at her, my mind feeling blank.

What?

“Let go of me,” she demands, pushing at my hands. She isn’t aggressive about it, and she doesn’t seem afraid. It’s like she can see the determination leave my body.

I lower my hand to my side and take a step back while she rubs at her neck, her glare aimed at me.

“Do you honestly think Olive would do something like that?” She waves her hand at the corpse. “I mean, honestly.”

“Considering I watched you do it, yes.”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the kitchen, her hips swaying deeper than I’ve seen. Her back is straight, her chin is up. She’s carrying herself in a completely different manner. Almost as if … she truly is a completely different person.

Olive… I think… goes to a cabinet and grabs a glass before filling it with water while I creep to the kitchen.

“I think I’ll be pouring my own drinks while we’re together, by the way. Olive may be an idiot, but I’m not.”

I watch her take a sip, and when her eyes meet mine, she smiles, amused again.

“You don’t seem groggy.”

Her head tilts. “Oh, did you drug her again ? You naughty boy. I was talking about the night you came to her apartment.”

I wander closer to her. “Why would you think I drugged her?”

She gives me a knowing smirk. So similar to the one I saw today on the sidewalk after I took the sketchbook. She went from panicked to smirking so abruptly and seemed to look straight at me…

What is going on?

“She’s convinced I’m the one who put her at that house,” Olive? goes on. “When her memory lapses, she automatically blames me. But I, more than anyone, know I had no part in what happened that night. I have no memory beyond your lips pressed against mine, handsome. Which means…”

“You think I put her there?” I ask, my tone skeptical.

“I think you drugged her,” she corrects. “And then I think you fucked her. And when you left, that piece of shit dealer did something. He’s been wanting to get a piece of her since she left those losers a year ago, and thanks to you, he managed.”

I stay quiet, keeping my eyes trained on her while she fills in the blanks for herself. I think she’s like me. She likes to solve puzzles. Who am I to tell her she’s wrong?

“But,” she runs her finger around the rim of her glass, “you found out what happened and felt so guilty that when you got the chance to help her, you took it. And for that, I forgive you.”

Seconds pass as we stare at each other, her with a slight smile tilting her lips.

“Who are you?” I finally ask.

Her smile widens. “Everything Olive wishes she could be.”

Everything Olive wishes she could be… No. I have a hard time believing Olive wishes she could be insane.

As her words drift into my mind, I angle my head toward the bedroom, recalling her strange refusal to go to sleep.

“I sleepwalk. Trust me, it would freak you out.”

I could tell she was lying then. Now I see why.

This really isn’t her talking to me.

“You don’t seem convinced,” the… I don’t know—demon?—says.

I turn back to her to see her arms crossing over her chest. She looks genuinely disappointed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Her lips pinch as she inches toward me, and I get the urge to step back. We’re two killers in a room, and one of us is unhinged. This is a recipe for death.

But I stay still anyway, watching her carefully as she stops a foot away.

“Do you think I would hurt you, Alik? Is that what’s wrong?”

“Five minutes ago you tried to stab me with the same knife you butchered my neighbor with. Yes, if I turned my back, I think you’d give it your best shot. Twice now, I believe Olive has tried to warn me about you, so I think she’s convinced you’d hurt me too.”

Olive 2.0 shakes her head, her lips sagging with a frown. “That’s because she’s confused. She doesn’t know you the way I do. And I wasn’t really trying to stab you earlier. I only wanted to see if I could trust you.”

“Mmm. Did I pass?”

She shrugs. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“And what good does it do for me to have your trust? You are fucking insane. I’ve never even met you, and you’re talking to me like we have some connection that Olive and I don’t.”

“ Alik .” Her arms uncross, and she goes to take my hand, but I pull it away, taking a step back. She lets her hands fall to her sides and heaves out a breath. “Don’t you get it? Olive was stalking you. For months .” She points to the window. “You saw the drawings, didn’t you? She sat inside the laundromat every night watching you through your windows. She watched you through her peephole when you came and went. She imagined every little detail about you for the last six months.”

“What is your point?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. Her stalking seemed cute before. From the psychopath's mouth, it’s starting to creep me out.

She shakes her head like she can’t believe I don’t understand. “Did you really think a view through your window would be enough for her?”

My eyes stay narrowed until meaning starts to register, and I find myself standing straighter.

It wasn’t just Olive stalking me.

It was … this.

“She created me a long time ago to do things she couldn’t.” Olive steps toward me, her hands reaching for me when I step back. “And I try to give her what she wants most of the time. I don’t hate her, despite what she may think of me.”

My heel hits the dead woman on my floor, and I nearly trip over her, my gaze flying to the pink slipper hanging off her foot.

“I followed you because I knew it’s what she would have wanted. I planned to write to her what I saw, even knowing she’d just try to get rid of me, but when I watched you murder that man off Sixth Street and tuck his body into your trunk, I saw your face, and I knew…” She puts her hand on my arm and sighs. “It wasn’t me doing Olive’s work this time. It was her doing mine… Alik, you and I could be something unstoppable .”

“Why?” I scoff. “Because we’ve each murdered someone?” I gesture to the neighbor. “Is that what you were trying to prove to me? That you?—”

“No.” She shakes her head as wrinkles shoot out from the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t know I needed to prove anything to you. But if I did, I wouldn’t do it by killing. I told you, I know who you are. How you think. You’re more than a killer, and so am I.” She waves her hands between us. “We’re problem solvers. Whether you see that now or not, we’re the same.”

Jesus Christ.

“How many times have you followed me?” I seethe.

She smiles. “Baby, come on, you know the answer to that.”

“How many times?” I repeat, barely controlling the urge to shove her backward. When Olive did it, it was cute. She’s my sweet doe. My awkward, nervous little wreck.

This woman is not cute. She’s a predator.

If she wasn’t also Olive, I’d kill her.

I should still kill her.

I’m so fucking confused.

“I follow you all the time.” She pulls her gaze off me to roam it around my apartment. “I know every nook and cranny of this place and every hidey-hole in it. I know the password to your computer, what kind of porn you watch, the victims you look into, the money you stash beneath your mattress, the knife collection under your floorboard, along with photos which I’d love to talk about. The gun in the shoebox on your closet shelf. The bottles of poison and tranquilizer, including what you gave Olive. There’s some of that in one of your vodka bottles by the way, if you’re wondering why you got especially sleepy last Thursday night.”

My eyes widen, which makes her laugh.

She raises her hands. “Hey, I just took a page from your playbook.”

“Are you saying you…?”

“Fucked you while you were asleep?” Biting back a smirk, she nods.

I blink at her, shock stiffening my muscles yet again. I try to remember where the knife fell without looking that direction. I could strangle her easily, but a knife is quicker. There’s no going back, no soft touch to convince me Olive is inside that crazy head.

She might be in there… But I’ve killed less deserving people for worse reasons.

“I guess that’s fair,” I say, forcing a laugh as I run my hand through my hair and step around the dead woman, searching for the knife with my foot.

“I’m glad you understand.”

“How have you been getting into my apartment?” I feign interest, holding eye contact as I try to slyly sweep my foot.

She raises a brow. “Is that a serious question?”

I shrug. “I’m curious.”

“I blew the maintenance guy. He gave me a key. It isn’t the most impressive thing on my resume.”

With one more step backward, I find the knife, my heel clamping on the blade. “And what is the most impressive thing on your resume?”

She wanders closer with her hands clasped behind her back. “That’s tough. Like I said, I’m not an idiot, and I’ve been around for a while. But since you’ve put me on the spot, I guess I’ll have to go with framing my neighbor across the hall for my murder.”

My knees have been poised to bend for the knife, but at her words, they lock.

“Well,” She tilts her head and laughs. “I guess it isn’t framing if it’s the truth. Or is it if the evidence is still planted?” She twists her lips like she’s considering it. “Hmmm.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

When she brings her hands in front of her, she’s holding a knife from my stash she spoke of. “I’m going to tell you this one more time . After this, no more chances. I like you, kid. You’re cute. But you’re pissing me off… I am not an idiot .”

“I never said?—”

“Get your foot off that fucking knife, Alik. Kick it away. Now.”

My face hardens at the command, but her threat of planting evidence somewhere, having the foresight to frame me, keeps my hands still. She’s crazy enough to be telling the truth.

Blood rushing in my ears, I kick the knife backward.

Her glare doesn’t ease. “Good. Do not do that shit again.”

“What evidence? What the hell are you talking about?”

She lets the knife hang at her side and raises her chin. “Well, I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary, but… In my apartment is a heartfelt letter addressed to my mother explaining my relationship with my new boyfriend. I dated it for months ago because, of course, Olive would never get around to sending that or the other five I wrote and scattered at various places so you’ll never find all of them. Same with the diary entries chronicling the steady ascent into your abuse or the entries where I find out you're a killer. I took photos of you to take to the police, being the good citizen I’ve proven I am, but you threatened to kill me. That’s the last entry, hidden somewhere you will never find it, but I promise, Daddy will. Along with the pictures of you killing people, of course.”

She looks around the apartment while I seethe. “And somewhere around here are several pairs of my panties with blood on them. I bet you’ll find a couple. Maybe even all of them. But when the police come, can you imagine how badly you’ll sweat, not knowing if you missed one?”

“Why would you do that? If you’re so interested in being with me, why fucking frame me? Do you think this makes me want you?”

She rears back with her brows arched. “Of course not. I’m not crazy .”

My head tips back with a laugh so exasperated, I’m the one who sounds manic.

“What did you think I was going to do when I found out you drugged Olive?” She steps up to me with the knife gripped in her hand. I peer down at it, waiting for it to twitch. “Just… Let it go? You went six months without tossing the girl a glance, and all of a sudden, you wanted to date rape her?” She takes a breath and puts a hand to my chest. “Please don’t misunderstand. I forgive you. I know you don’t belong with Olive. You belong with me . We can easily move past this, but I’m not going to lock myself in a cage with a tiger without holding the key… Do you understand?”

Do I understand ?

Sure. I understand.

I also understand that I’m a fool.

A goddamn fool.

This girl is not a puzzle. She’s a trap.

My phone rings before I can respond, and when I look at the caller ID, I see Sergey’s name. I don’t even know what problem to prioritize right now.

“Go,” Olive’s evil twin tells me. When I look up at her, she winks and points at the corpse. “I can take care of this.”

“ Do not leave this apartment.”

She raises a hand. “You don’t have to worry about me. I swear.”

“I’m not worried about you; I’m worried about me. If you get?—”

“Yeah, you know what? Save it.” She scoffs. “If you want to boss Olive around, be my guest, but get this through your head right now. You are not in charge of me . I can take care of myself. So…” She waves to the door. “Go. Stop worrying. It’s all good.”

I stare at her with my jaw locked while I wonder how she’d retaliate if I handcuffed her to my bed. Stuffed a gag in her mouth.

Could I find all those letters? The photos?

Even knowing they exist, the Bratva will kill me. Knowing she’s here, they’ll kill me.

There are many scenarios of what could happen, and in most of them, I’m dead.

What have I done?

With a frustrated shake of my head, I shove her out of my way and head to the door, pressing my phone to my ear.

“Sergey,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

“Hey man.” He sighs. “I have bad news.”

I shut the door to my apartment, the irony not lost on me when I gain a sense of control again. Shutting myself in with Olive last night gave me a surge of power. Now it’s only leaving that gives me a sliver of it back.

“I’m on my way.”