4. FIRST CONTACT

4

FIRST CONTACT

B y the time she reached her apartment, she didn't even feel fear at the roses lying in front of her door. Didn't even question why there was a second delivery in the same week.

Irritation prickled her skin, trying to worm its way inside her body like an uninvited guest. What was it about today that made it harder to keep her emotions in check?

She picked up the bundle and moved into her apartment, locking the door behind her. Setting the bouquet on the kitchen counter, she opened her bag and pulled out her phone and put it on the counter.

She groaned.

In the bottom of her backpack lay a squished banana and her tiny pill organizer. The little white pill mocked her forgetfulness through the see-through lid. That explained a lot.

"Medicine doesn't work if you don't take it, Charlotte," she chastised herself, now understanding why her mood had soured as the day progressed. Her previous dose from last night wore off as the day pressed on.

She'd not only forgotten her medicine but didn't even eat her breakfast. Her medicine burned through her system fast, so missing even a single dose left her feeling off-kilter and moody. Maybe her doctor could switch her to the extended-release dose. Those worked for her when she took medicine in her early teens.

Would it be too late to take her pill?

She sucked in her cheek, pursing her lips. If she didn't, she'd feel like crap for the rest of the day.

She swallowed the pill with a glass of water and stared at the roses on the counter. No note this time.

She wanted to throw them away, but when her frustration at having a secret admirer got the better of her last week, and she took the bag to the community trash, she received a fresh bouquet on her doorstep and a note taped to her door telling her how it wasn't nice to throw away gifts. It freaked her out enough that she decided from then on to keep the roses until they died.

There wasn't a threat on the note, but for some reason, she felt threatened by it.

She had contemplated going to the police, but without an actual threat, and no proof anyone was following her, she didn't have much to give them. Though this week escalated things with the note and actually seeing someone following her. Maybe it was time to seek help.

Whoever kept sending roses only sent a bouquet when she threw out the dead ones once a week. It still made little sense how they knew. No one could watch her twenty-four-seven. Did they have access to the security cameras at the apartments?

She shook her head.

It wasn't a possibility she wanted to entertain. She didn't want to think about what could be. If she went down that hole, she would be worse off than she already felt.

She was so lost in her thoughts that her cell phone ringing on the counter startled her, and she almost dropped the water glass. Sitting the empty glass on the counter, she grabbed her phone and swiped the screen without looking at it, hoping to catch the call before the ringing stopped.

"Hello?"

Silence greeted her.

She looked at the screen: "unknown caller." She lifted the phone to her ear again.

"Who is this?" She pressed the phone to her ear tightly, listening to the sound of breathing on the other end. "This isn't funny."

"Did you like the roses?"

The deep timbre coming through the phone caught her off-guard, and she stepped back in surprise, bumping into the counter. She reached back with her empty hand to grip the edge to steady herself.

A dark chuckle filtered through the receiver. "No? Would another color suit your tastes better?"

She tried to get her breathing under control so the man on the other end of the call didn't hear how panicked she felt.

"You know," he drawled, "I chose pink to suit that lovely blush your cheeks get that make your freckles stand out. I so love those sweet little freckles, Cherry."

She cringed. She hated that nickname.

Too often, handsy men at the diner she used to work at would call her Cherry and make lewd jokes about her "pie" being on the menu. Or worse, how they would love to "pop her cherry" as if she were a young virgin girl. For one, she wasn't. For two, she was underage when it started. All those men saw were large breasts, and they turned into animals.

Was this creep one of her old customers from Rosebrook Valley?

Her old boss, Ricky, encouraged the behavior by making the waitresses wear tight mini dresses as uniforms. He did nothing whenever his employees complained about the harassment. The memory angered her.

"That's not my name," she forced through clenched teeth. Her hair wasn't even cherry-red anymore. It had faded back to its natural ginger shade. She found the upkeep of the unnatural red too much to handle.

"Mm, but I think it suits you."

She said nothing to that. What could she say? Thank you? Curse at him and tell him to stop calling her? Yeah, that's exactly what you should do.

Gritting her teeth, she summoned up the irritable feeling from before and said, "I don't care what you think suits me. Don't call me anymore. Stop sending me roses. I'm not interested. Goodbye."

The growl that filtered through the phone sounded tinny and distorted, but it was enough to make her pause with her finger hovering over the end call button.

Did he seriously just growl at me?

Surely, she heard wrong. Maybe his pet dog was too close to the phone. Though it didn't sound like any animal she'd heard before.

"Now, now, Sweet Cherry." He paused, and she knew he was waiting to see if she would bite back at the stupid addition he made to the nickname.

He could wait forever.

It frustrated her she couldn't place his voice to anyone familiar, but she spoke little on the phone except with those back home, so it made sense. People sometimes sounded different on the phone .

The only locals she spoke with on the phone were UGA faculty members and Rachel—and that was mostly about school.

When she still said nothing to his stupid nickname, he said, "You should be grateful for receiving such a lovely gift. I even take such great care to ensure a steady supply to decorate your kitchen counter."

She jerked, spinning to look at the vase on her kitchen counter filled with bright pink roses with the newly wrapped bundle resting beside it. How did he know where she kept them? She rushed from the kitchen into the living room and closed the blinds on her sliding glass doors that led to the balcony. The balcony was visible from the kitchen, so maybe someone else could see it too from farther away.

"I didn't plan on sending roses today after sending a bouquet two days ago, but I saw you were having a bad day."

That brought her up short. She stood in the center of her living room, brows pulled low. "What are you talking about?" She didn't want to give this guy her time; she worked hard to hide her internal mess.

It seemed he agreed, because he said, "You can smile and act for the rest of them, but not for me. I see you. I know you."

This needed to stop. She wanted to hang up, but after the note left when she threw away the dead flowers, she could only imagine his response if she disrespected him by hanging up the phone.

"You don't know me."

He chuckled. "Oh, but I do. I know you want to go home. I know you're not happy here." That wasn't a secret. She'd shared that with others already. It made her angry he insisted he knew her. "I also know the things you hide from others."

"Oh, real cryptic." She rolled her eyes. "You're starting to sound like a try-hard." In fact, his hubris made her relax. He sounded like a joke. She walked to the loveseat, kicked off her shoes, and sat .

"I wonder what Blaire would think if she knew you resented her."

Come again?

Charlotte didn't resent Blaire. She was the sister she never got the chance to have. Sure, she felt jealousy because she wanted things to be different for herself, but she would never hold contempt for her best friend.

After Blaire quit working at the diner and joined Blackthorn Academy, she didn't keep in touch despite being right there in town. Every time Charlotte left work, she would look up and see the beautiful academy at the top of the hill overlooking the town, and every time she wondered why her friend didn't call her, or even visit.

Charlotte couldn't visit Blaire either. Only those who worked for the academy and the students were allowed beyond the tall, black gates separating Blackthorn Academy from the rest of the town.

At her silence, he said, "I know you resent her for getting into Blackthorn Academy and leaving you, forcing you to leave town for college."

She sat upright and stared straight ahead, her eyebrows meeting.

"Not such a try-hard now, am I?"

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to make a snappy comeback.

She looked at the pill bottle on her kitchen counter. The depression she thought she had finally recovered from in her early teens set in again shortly after Blaire left for Blackthorn Academy, but she'd tried to ignore it for the most part over the last year. She had wanted to handle it without pills.

The jerk on the phone wasn't helping her cope at all.

"Are you there, Cherry?"

The taunt in his tone practically gave away the satisfied grin he wore—even if she had no idea what he looked like .

Her hand fisted on the cushion at her side. No matter how much she reflected on home and the things that happened before she left, she couldn't avoid the here and now. Her hand tightened on the phone.

"I'm here."

"I told you. I know you."

"You're wrong."

"Is that so?"

He had no idea what he was talking about.

When she found out about the crazed student that kidnapped Blaire, keeping her away from everyone for a couple of months, followed by all the testing the school required her to complete after the ordeal, Charlotte rationalized the separation as not her friend ghosting her but unfortunate circumstances. Blaire reconnected with her more often after that until Charlotte left for Athens.

"That's so. I'm happy for her."

"But you want the same thing. You feel alone. Isolated. Like an outcast."

"Stop it," she whispered, barely able to muster up a rebuttal. He spoke the truth.

The separation from her family made the depression she struggled with threaten to drown her. Then the flower deliveries started. Coupled with the uncomfortable feeling of being followed, the depression gnawed at her, and it all became too much, causing her to need medication again like when she was younger. She quit back then because of the unpleasant side effects, but so far, they hadn't plagued her this time.

"There's no need to worry, Cherry. You don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here for you."

Isolated and scared was a combination she didn't handle well.

Even with talking to Aiden and her parents often, she still felt alone. Deep down, she felt like an outsider.

Not her parents' biological daughter. Not good enough to become one of Blackthorn's elite. And she couldn't shake the feeling her new friends kept things from her. Another blow that let her know she didn't fit in with those that attended Blackthorn Academy. She wasn't enough. The only outlet she had was…

Her breathing stalled as she jerked her gaze toward her bedroom.

She jumped from the loveseat and ran toward her nightstand. Pulling open the drawer, she exhaled a heavy sigh of relief when she saw the little leather-bound book in the drawer. Still there.

"Something wrong?"

"No." She crawled over her bed to the window and pulled her curtain closed.

"Don't lie to me, Sweet Cherry."

She ground her teeth, getting to her feet.

Depression didn't make her a doormat who would tuck tail and play a cat and mouse game. She always strived not to let people run over or bully her. A voice over the phone would not get to her. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. A lot.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," she bit out, unable to keep the trembling anger out of her voice.

Knowing this psychopath had entered her apartment and read her private thoughts gave her mixed emotions. Indignation that someone had the audacity to invade her privacy. Fear that someone could get into her apartment without her knowing.

What else had he messed with? Had he taken anything?

She looked around her room for anything out of place or missing, but she didn't know for sure. With the group project and her mood lately, she could easily lose something and not realize it for a long time.

Breathing in and counting to ten in her head, she exhaled and asked, "Why did you call me?"

"I don't know."

That surprised her.

"Something about your expression today in the food court burrowed into my heart. I needed to speak to you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to make the connection beyond flowers."

She suppressed the urge to tell him he could wait another ten years for all she cared.

Feeling violated and angry, she wanted to end the call.

"I will make more of an effort. For now, I need to go." He sighed when she didn't speak. He didn't deserve her words. "Very well. We may or may not speak soon." He paused, then spoke with a light tone. "Oh, and Cherry?"

"What?" It was difficult to keep the contempt out of her voice.

His voice lowered, and the threat in his tone came through loud and clear. "Leaving Athens changes nothing."