43. O Fortuna

43

O FORTUNA

LESTER

I down a glass of water from the fridge as I try to find some ground beneath me. It's like the world around me is shaking, an earthquake taking place right below my feet.

I know it's just inside my head. None of it is real.

I was let go from the university this afternoon, on leave until further notice. Copies of a picture of Daisy and me together were spread all throughout the school. Something I have been afraid of since the start has happened, and there's nothing I can do about it at this point.

The damage is done.

And that's not even the worst thing. No, the worst thing is that there is a psychopathic murderer trying to make contact with me. Trying to catch my attention by terrorizing me in my own habitat.

There's a constant battle inside my head. If this copycat is watching me, he needs to think that I'm alone. If Daisy is here, she will be in danger. But every second she's not with me could be even more perilous, if the killer already knows about her.

I run upstairs to my bathroom to freshen up and wash all the sweat off my face. Walking through the doorway in a hurry, my heart stops when my eyes look right at my mirror.

Which is covered with words.

Written in blood.

I know your secret, Sculptor of Death.

The blood drips down from every letter, leaking into the sink. It's bright red, so I know that it's fresh.

It's the copycat. He's inside the house.

Is this his own blood? Or has he killed someone and used theirs?

I need to get out of here.

Stumbling backward out of the bathroom, I fall against the hallway wall, my whole body seeming to have lost its function. Why are my limbs so heavy? I've been panicked before, but it has never felt like this.

I grab the wooden rail of the stairs tight with every step I take on my way downstairs, but my feet seem to go in slow motion. It feels like my blood has been replaced with cement and it's hardening inside my limbs until my body is so heavy, I'll collapse and never get up.

My eyes flash to a life-size sculpture of a woman that stands below the stairs, her face unclear in my dazed confusion. There's a hole in her chest, and an arm reaches out in front of herself, exposing a realistic red heart.

I collapse and fall down the steps, landing right before it. My vision locks with the sculpture's feet, and I find a small note attached to the ankle. I reach for it and unfold it, exposing one short sentence.

My heart is yours.

I try to get up and crawl away, but I'm numb, with no way to escape this peril. Blackness takes over my eyes, slowly coloring the edges of my vision like moisture of a teabag sinking into a napkin.

And then there's nothing. Only blackness, soon to be followed by my impending death, I'm sure of it.

This is my end.

"Wake up," a soft voice whispers in my ear, tickling my skin. "It's time…"

My eyes slowly open, the world around me a blur with blotches of red, white, and gold, flickers of light flashing all around me. I blink rapidly, forcing my vision to clear.

"Wake uuuup ," the voice sings now. It sounds distorted, like a bad radio signal. It sounds high, then extremely low, so I can't make out who is in the room with me.

"For such a smart and scary predator, you're surprisingly unaware of your surroundings, Professor…" The signal becomes clearer now, the distortions smoothing over. "You didn't even notice me watching you once , when I have had my eyes on you for years."

That's when it hits me. I know this voice.

"Daisy?" I ask in shock as I meet eyes with my little nymph's face right above me. I try to reach for her, but then another burst of unrelenting panic slams into me like a train.

I can't move.

Bending my head to look at my own body, I find myself wrapped in bright red rope, all of my limbs tied. I'm also completely naked.

Looking around me, things slowly become clearer. We're inside my Red Room, and I'm tied to the leather bench that Daisy and I have used together before. The ropes that bind my limbs are tied with expert knots, seemingly done so well I could've done them myself. They're the same Kinbaku techniques that I've been using on her for the past few weeks. She must've not only been watching me with admiration, but also making note of how to tie them herself.

"What is going on?" I choke out, my eyes switching between her and all the flickering candles around us on the ground and furniture.

"I'm sorry for spiking your water," she says sweetly, trailing a fingernail over my bare chest. "But it needed to be done. You might've run away before I could show you."

"What the fuck…" I shake my head in disbelief. "Show me what?" I demand, trying to yank my arms free.

"Show you that I know. I've been telling you, Professor. I know who you are…" she trails off as she walks around me in circles. "Lester Gilbert, so untouchable. So closed off. Always hiding and lurking in the shadows…" She hovers above my face, her lips just a few inches from mine. Her eyes penetrate mine almost painfully when she says, "I see you. You can't hide from me, Sculptor of Death."

"No…" I gasp out, my mouth dryer than cotton. "No. You don't know what you're talking about. Daisy, let me go. Now. Let's talk. Untie me."

Liquid fire consumes me as more consternation rises.

She knows who I am.

And she has me tied up, when she also knows that I can't bear the loss of control. She knows that it hurts me―that it makes me feel like I'm being consumed by fire.

"Daisy, please," I plea, every single muscle in my body tensing as I try to break out of the ropes, but it only results in them cutting deeper into my skin.

The trepidation is excruciating, and I'm quickly moving on to complete and utter hysteria as I watch a silver blade glimmer in the light above me.

She climbs on top of my body with the knife in her hand, bending her head as she trails her tongue over my bare chest. Her lips wrap around my nipples, softly sucking them one before the other, and the gentleness of it makes me feel like I'm dying.

"I'm not gonna do that, Professor." Her tone is defiant, uncaring about scaring me.

Even knowing that there is nothing I can do to get out of these ropes, it doesn't stop me from trying. My body is still numb and weak from whatever drug she gave me, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins seems to overpower it.

I fight with all I've got. That only seems to stir her on, because the manic look inside her eyes is something I've only ever seen in my own. It's the same look I get when I witness my reflection in the mirror right before getting ready for a kill.

She crawls further up my body, until she plants one foot down beside my head on the leather bench, the other on the ground. She's naked just like I am, and her dripping pussy is hovering right above my face as she slides her knife over my carotid artery.

"I've trained with my father since I was a little girl. I can shoot someone in the face with my eyes closed. I can make someone choke on their own blood in mere seconds. Time's up, Mr. Gilbert. I know the truth."

I swallow up my words as the tip of the blade trails all over my throat. She doesn't use enough force to nick the skin, but I can tell that it's all about the force of her threats right now.

I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, each beat a haunting tick, like the seconds of my life running out on the clock.

Why is she doing this?

As if she can read my mind, she says, "There's just one thing I want from you."

I can do nothing but watch the psychotic expressions slip over her face, playing out like a demented horror movie right above me.

"Tell me I'm yours."

My eyes shoot open so wide that it feels like my eyeballs are going to pop out of my skull. I don't answer, because I don't know what to make of her words. None of this whole ordeal is clicking inside my head. I don't understand anything―all I know is that my gut is telling me that I'm wholly fucked, and if there's one thing that I've always trusted, it's my gut.

"Tell me I'm yours," she repeats, shifting above me until her thigh is hanging over my face, leaving enough room between for me to see everything―her hauntingly beautiful face and the way her dark hair frames it, and her entire nude body with every shape and contour that makes her so vexatiously her .

She repeats the sentence over and over, her voice revolving into a desperate whimper each time she says it. "Tell me I'm yours, Lester."

Knife still in her hand, she moves the sharp tip of it to her inner thigh, mere inches away from her pussy, and digs it into her flesh. The skin breaks instantly, blood bubbling from the shallow cut.

"Daisy," I choke out, once again flexing my muscles to get some shred of control back. More alarm and fear fill my body and I can't seem to breathe. "Stop this. You're going to hurt yourself."

She ignores me as she digs the knife deeper into her flesh. I blink rapidly, squeezing them tight to regain touch with reality. This scene feels like one bad acid trip.

Droplets of blood tickle my face as they drip down, and I taste them on my tongue each time I try to open my mouth to speak.

She's not letting my helpless pleas stop herself, so I follow the movements of the knife instead. "Daisy…" she hums, baring her teeth as the pain hits her. When she gives herself a few seconds to breathe, I find the letter D carved into her thigh.

Blood keeps dripping down onto my cheeks, my nose, and my lips. The taste of copper is a terrifying reminder that this is real.

She has lost it entirely.

The last time I was as scared as I am right now, I was in that dark room with Rosemary, waiting for the demons to come for us.

"Open your mouth, Professor. Taste me. Taste my pain," she moans before she moves the knife back to her thigh, right next to the first letter of her name.

I do as she says, opening wider as I let the blood drip down on my tongue. The fear is still a harrowing reminder in my head, but now that my body is waking up from the drug, I can feel blood pumping to my cock as my body betrays me.

"Plus…" she softly chokes out, flashing her teeth as the pain intensifies. She carves a plus sign, and I realize what she's doing. She's digging our joined initials into her flesh, something that kids or teenagers do in tree trunks to make their love eternal.

Right beside the plus sign, the letter L forms as blood rapidly flows out of the cuts. "Lester…" she moans, her breaths erratic. Her entire upper thigh is covered in blood now, and she smooths her palm over it to make the letters more visible.

"Daisy plus Lester," she says aloud for good measure, though the message was already clear. A sudden loud laugh escapes her throat before she starts singing. "Daisy and Lester, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

A tear slips out of the corner of my eye, and I feel it tickle as it trails down my face.

I'm at a loss for words. She is entirely insane .

"If you want to get rid of me, you're gonna have to kill me. Because there is no way in fucking hell that I'm ever going to leave you alone." Her cackle is a demented melody that echoes through the room, bouncing off the walls. "You're so fucked."

She hovers further over my face, letting the blood drip directly into my mouth. "Drink from me, Sculptor of Death. Drink up my pain and my love. Do you see now? Do you finally see?"

When I don't answer, she moves the tip of the knife over my throat again. "You're wearing my blood like a mask. It coats your face like a second skin," she murmurs. "But you no longer need to wear a mask around me, Lester Gilbert. Because I know the truth. I know that you are the Sculptor and I have known since before you ever even met me. The whole reason I taught myself sculpture was because of you. The entire reason I wanted to get into the academy was because you worked there."

She reaches for something behind my head with the knife still in her hand, and as she does, her breasts dangle right in my face. She's back before I can do so much as look, holding a book in her hands.

Opening it somewhere in the middle, she turns it around so I can see what's inside. "I've been obsessed with you before I even knew who you were. The moment that I discovered the two men I've admired for so long were the same person, I felt like my heart was going to explode inside my ribcage." She turns the page, showing me a drawing. "Just like this man you killed a few months ago. I could only go off the details the news stations and papers provided, but this is what I imagined it looked like. Did I get it right?"

It takes me a while to realize what I'm looking at. Did she… did she draw the murder scene of Archibald Caddell? The ropes, the way he's suspended from the ceiling… the flaps of skin, and the exploded pieces of guts and plasma everywhere.

I can only splutter unintelligible words before she moves on to the next page, which contains another one of my murders. Every page that comes after that has me gasping out for air. It's a scrapbook full of death and the most depraved of horrors, something only a psychopath could draw.

Though the thing that's even scarier than the way she drew my murders with explicit detail is the fact that the book is full of pictures of me. Articles, photographs, and drawn portraits of me without my mask. Pieces about my work in art galleries, about the shows I hosted for my students, even a copy of my university ID… My face stares at me from almost every page, a lot of them with hearts drawn around them.

I should be revolted, absolutely abhorred by the fact that she's been stalking me, fucking obsessing over me for years.

But I'm not.

I'm maddeningly fascinated.

Her book of horrors is a love letter to my craft, to the art I've spent years upon years working on.

It's a love letter to me .

In all this time I thought that I was the one watching her from the darkness, she was always a few steps ahead. She was the one who did it way before I ever saw her.

A diabolical mastermind, that's what she is.

I have been so goddamn blind. I fell right into her trap, and I don't want to come back out.

"Enough of this for now," she huffs, shutting the book closed and softly placing it onto the ground beside us. I blink at her in utter disbelief and that makes her grin.

Blowing me an air kiss, she holds up the bloodied knife to get a reaction out of me. Then she shoves the handle inside her pussy with one hard thrust while she holds on to the sharp edge with her hand, uncaring about cutting herself.

"It's all for you, Lester…" Her moans rapidly evolve into the most beautiful symphony I've ever heard, as those words hit me deep inside my soul.

Deep inside a place that's never been touched before.

I didn't even know it existed.

Something final flips inside my head like a light switch.

I shouldn't fear her. I should embrace her. Take her for all that she is, because she is the only person who has ever discovered the real me―discovered the monster that resides deep inside the dark crevices of my bones.

She's not afraid of the monster. She wants to love the monster.

I drink her hot blood eagerly, letting the coppery liquid burn my throat as it goes down. She keeps fucking herself with the knife, forcing it in and out as she brings herself to the edge, all the while more truths spill from her beautiful lips.

"You see yourself in me, Lester. We're made for each other. We're fucking soulmates."

I'm no longer submerged in anxiety, but in a feeling of freedom instead. Someone finding out the truth about me has been the biggest fear of my lifetime. I always thought that it would end my life, would put an end to me .

But now I see that it has only set me free.

The predator I had to contain and hide for years and years on end has been freed, and she is the woman who has let it out of its cage.

She bucks her hips with a crazed mania, riding the knife at the same time she pushes it deeper inside of her wet cunt. "What a mindfuck, huh? I'm crazier than you," she pants, her head hanging back as she loses herself in the euphoria.

When her eyes lock back with mine, she gives me a sinister smile. "We belong together, Lester. I'm in love with you. I have loved you for what seems like an eternity. You're all I've ever wanted and needed. And I know you feel it, too. I know you haven't felt anything close to the things I make you feel whenever we're together."

She's right.

Could it be true? Could my soulmate be hidden in the body of this crazy eighteen-year-old girl? The one who knows the truth about me and has the power to end me?

Her eyes burn a hole inside my soul when she looks down at me with furrowed eyebrows, right before she comes apart. And in that exact moment, the questions and doubts all fall away.

It is true.

She's the one for me.

"You're mine," I finally admit, a feeling of relief flowing though my veins as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Liquid cum squirts out of her perfect pussy when she climaxes. She throws the knife away from us, the silver clattering against the wall with a loud smack. Moving her bloodied fingers over her clit with a faster speed than my eyes can keep up with, she lets her cum splatter everywhere, letting it rain down upon my face.

"Drink from me, Lester. I'm your life source now," she cries out, bending her head in my direction to get a good view of the show. "I'm what you need. You'll never feel alive without me again." My eager mouth opens wide, and she tastes like the most cloying thing I've ever tasted.

I believe her. Because craving her is never going to end. The famine for her body, for her taste, and the vision of her coming apart for me are endless. The hunger for her smile is a thing that can never be satiated. The way her soul entangles with mine when we connect is immeasurable.

I'll never be able to get enough.

Once she rides out her orgasm, she leans down over me and plants a soft kiss on my lips. "On the bed you'll find one of your beautifully carved masks. The one from '68, specifically. That one is my favorite. Put it on and come find me in the forest. I'll take the head start and hide. The drugs will wear off in a bit. Regain your strength first." She jumps off me and reaches for the knife from the ground.

The last thing she says to me before she cuts the ropes is, "I want you to chase me like the predator you are, Lester. Tonight, I want to experience the Sculptor of Death in the flesh."