Chapter 15 - Callum

Stone is a walking red flag. I should stay away from him.

But I think we’ve concluded I almost never do what I should.

I meant what I said when I told him I don’t belong to anyone. I was freed from any bonds of ownership when my stepfather died. Even after my aunt got custody of me, I never felt like I was owned again.

I suppose it would be different if I gave myself to someone. If I was going to give myself to anyone…

No. I’m not there yet.

I only just stopped hating him.

Of course, after his reaction earlier, I’m even more confused about what exactly I feel toward him. That was…well, pretty fucking toxic. But I also can’t deny that it felt kind of good to be wanted that intensely. Even when my stepdad owned me, he never cared when—

I shove those thoughts back into the dark hole where I store everything else. It’s a wide chasm, a deep abyss, where all those shadows live. It’s all I can do to keep them from drifting out and enveloping me until I suffocate and die.

My eyes slide from my biology textbook open on my lap to my pillow where my secret sketchbook is stashed beneath it. Since last weekend, the number of sketches within its pages have nearly doubled. Since I couldn’t get close enough to see Stone’s kill clearly, I had to use my imagination for a lot of the details. It ended up kind of running away from me, and there are more than a dozen drawings done from different angles with different expressions.

In most of them, the stranger’s eyes are empty and blank while Stone’s are filled with emotion—relief or rejoice or repose.

But every sketch is bloody.

I want another kill to draw.

And I’m pretty sure I know when and how to see one.

Something tells me that the kill on the dock that night wasn’t Stone’s first, nor was it a one-off. He was furious after our game that night. He was just as enraged after practice today, if not more so. The look in his eyes was familiar.

I could be wrong, but if I’m not…

Making a decision, I reach beneath my pillow and slip the book out. I shove it into my bag, hop off the bed, and put on my shoes. When I open my bedroom door, I see Jesse and Eric on the couch with textbooks and papers spread out on the coffee table.

“Hey, man,” I say, looking at Jesse. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you think I could borrow your car?”

“Everything okay?”

I don’t blame him for asking. I rarely ever ask anything of him.

“Yeah, of course. I just told someone I’d meet them at the library to study. It’s already pretty late, so I’d rather be able to drive back instead of walk when we’re done.”

“Oh. Sure, go for it.” He nods over at his keys that are hanging on the hook by the door.

“I could’ve picked you up when we’re done here,” Eric says.

“Thanks, but I don’t know how late I’m going to be.” I take Jesse’s keys off the hook and put them in my pocket. The campus library is open all night during the week, so it’s a decent alibi. “See you guys later.”

I open the front door and step outside. Once I’m in Jesse’s car, I pull out my phone and open my texts with Stone. The last ones were from yesterday while I was working on my biology paper that’s due next week.

Stone: What are you wearing?

Me: Really? You’re going with that?

Stone: I’m only asking so I know what I’ll be taking off you when you get here.

When I read that one, I distinctly remember my face bursting out into flames and my cock twitching in my pajama pants.

Stone: 405 Winter Oaks Dr. Apt. 112

Me: I’m not going anywhere. I have a paper to write.

Stone: So do I. Sounds like we could both use a break. ;)

Me: No.

And that was the end of it. He never texted me back. I didn’t mind. I really did need to work on that paper.

Of course, when I imagined him taking care of things himself after I refused to come over, I ended up needing to take that break anyway. I only managed a few hundred words of my essay after that. I should be staying home and trying to get it finished because I know I won’t get much time this weekend between the two games we have.

Instead, I enter Stone’s address into Jesse’s GPS.

It’s not a long drive, and I’m pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex about ten minutes later. His Charger is easy to spot. I park Jesse’s inconspicuous Nissan a couple rows back where the lights don’t hit it and kill the engine.

I’m aware I could be wrong. Maybe Stone isn’t going to leave his apartment at all tonight. Maybe he won’t kill anyone again for a long time.

One thing I’m almost certain of is that the kill that night wasn’t his first.

It was all in his body language. The way every ounce of tension left his body as that man’s spirit left his. The way he turned into pure tranquility out on that dock. I recognized it because I felt it too.

Leaning the driver’s seat back, I settle in. After only a few minutes, I start getting bored. I don’t regret not bringing any schoolwork with me. It’s too dark anyway. But I can’t even use my phone at the risk of the light catching Stone’s attention.

As five minutes of waiting turns into twenty, I grow increasingly aware that what I’m doing could be considered stalking. Okay, it definitely is stalking.

But, hey, Stone’s a killer. What I’m doing is nothing in comparison.

When forty minutes have passed, I consider heading back home. Maybe I was wrong after all.

Two minutes later, I see Stone heading across the lot toward his car.

I was right.

I’ve never followed anyone before, so I have no idea what I’m doing. If Stone is some kind of serial murderer, then he does know what he’s doing.

Instead of following him right out of the lot, I turn the opposite way, keeping him in sight in the rearview mirror. When he turns down another street, I double back. There are a few other cars on the road despite the late hour, so I make sure to drive alongside them instead of right behind Stone.

My hands start sweating around the steering wheel as we head out of town. There’s one car between us on the highway, so I can only hope I have enough cover.

After fifteen minutes, that car is gone, and we’re entering the next town. When Stone makes a turn, I’m forced to keep going to keep him from suspecting anything. However, once again, I backtrack. But by then, I’ve lost him.

“Fuck.”

I spend ten minutes getting stopped by red lights and driving around side streets. Finally, I spot his Charger in the parking lot of an old, rundown apartment complex. There are tarps over many of the windows. Litter fills the lot. The facade is full of crumbling bricks. I wouldn’t be surprised if the place is packed with squatters.

Stone’s car is empty. I park Jesse’s a few spots away and peer around in the dark, wondering what I should do now.

A light turns on through a window on the second floor.

It’s too much of a coincidence.

But how the fuck am I supposed to…

There’s a fire escape.

Am I out of my mind enough to climb up the thing that looks as though it’d collapse if a butterfly landed on it?

Apparently.

Because a minute later, it’s groaning under my weight as I settle on the landing outside the window. It’s one of the few that still has glass, though it’s cloudy with grime. At least I’m able to see inside. Kind of.

The light comes from an old ceiling fixture. There are three bulbs, but only one works, casting a barely dim glow around the room. There’s hardly any furniture—a threadbare armchair that I can’t even tell what color it originally was, and a chipped coffee table piled with plastic bags, spoons, and syringes.

A loud commotion reaches my ears. It sounds like a barrage of pots and pans. Sure enough, a moment later, a dirty skillet goes flying clear across the room, followed by a man who trips in his haste to run away. He’s screaming something I can’t make out.

The noise probably isn’t uncommon in a place like this.

Then Stone comes around the corner.

A knife is in his hand. It could be the same from that night. He stalks toward the man on the ground with a smirk on his face.

He’s enjoying this.

But so am I.

I watch, lips parted, breaths coming slow and shallow, as Stone straddles the man’s waist. Jealousy flares in my chest at the same moment my cock wakes up.

A therapist would have a fucking field day with me.

The man fights back, but he’s no match for Stone’s strength. There’s a gun tucked into the back waistband of Stone’s jeans, but he doesn’t need it. He slashes at the man’s flailing arms with his knife. His victim screams. The sound is cut off the moment the blade is plunged into his chest. His body jerks with the last little bit of life remaining. Then he goes still.

His eyes are open, wide, staring at the ceiling. Blood drips from the corner of his lips.

This. This is what I craved.

While Stone sits back on his heels, taking in his deep breath, I reach into my bag without taking my eyes off him.

The fire escape shifts, a loud crack piercing the air.

I freeze.

Stone’s gaze snaps to the window.

I go to duck, and the landing dips, slanting to the side. I grab onto the railing. It trembles in my hand, then steadies. I hold my breath for a few more seconds. When I exhale, the air comes out as a gust before I’m sucking it right back up, breathing fast and harsh. I can feel my heart pounding behind my ribs and hear it in my ears.

Slowly, I lift my head.

The man is still on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

But Stone is no longer in the room.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I move, quickly and carefully, back to the ladder. The entire fire escape sways and whines as I climb down.

My feet are on solid ground for all of two seconds when pain flares in my skull.

Everything goes black before I even hit the ground.