Chapter Thirteen Her

Chapter Thirteen Her

Present Day

Today sucked.

Detective Sessions promised to “have a word” with Wyatt about dropping in at the house, but that didn’t ease the haunting

sensation of being outplayed. It was almost two in the morning. I’d spent hours after the police left cleaning up, getting

the broken glass fixed, and checking every room and every closet for potential attackers. My shower consisted of standing

in the far corner, staring at the glass door so no one could slip in behind me while the water circled the drain.

Welcoming soft sheets and dragging exhaustion couldn’t wipe out the memory of the horrors that waited in the dark. Being a

kid with a mother who went out at night and didn’t believe in wasting money she needed for groceries on babysitters made me

a target. No amount of crying or begging had stopped her. She’d shake her head, then call out a reminder to lock the door

behind her as she left whatever rundown apartment we were living in at the time.

I learned early to sleep with a weapon. Back then, a knife. When I was ten I had to use it. Doing so trapped me in the mess I lived in now, ceding control over my choices and paying a lifetime of penance for the sin of slicing first.

With my bat missing, I improvised and grabbed a screwdriver and a hammer and tucked them under the pillow next to mine. A

knife made more sense, but flashes of being drenched in blood stopped me. A blade was always my weapon of last resort.

The fluffed-up pillows piled behind me meant sleeping sitting up. The position sucked but it was better than dying lying down.

I held my flashlight and strained to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, but the big house stayed silent.

A company representative walked me through resetting the house alarm and deleting Wyatt’s code. I kept Elias as my emergency

contact. We had a mutually beneficial relationship. I liked how fast he could get to the house and he would want me alive

long enough to pay his bill.

After quiet minutes scanning the room and glancing at the night outside, I felt some of my jumpiness fade. Enough remained

to keep me careful.

“Go to sleep.” I reached over and turned off the light closest to the bed, leaving the bathroom one on.

A flash. Something flickered in the corner of my eye. A tick of a warning set off a siren in my head. My heart felt like it

exploded as I grabbed for the hammer and pushed my back deeper into the pillows.

Before I could turn on the flashlight, I saw it. The scrawl of what looked like glowing fluorescent-yellow paint on the wall

across from me. Scribbled over the bedroom wallpaper and the mirror. Invisible in the light but clear now.

YOU WILL PAY

The sound of my labored breathing echoed through the quiet room. My palm ached from the tight grip on the hammer. I read the words then reread them.

The truth settled in my brain. The break-in hadn’t been about stealing anything or looking for something. It had been a warning.

A show that they—whoever “they” were—could get to me at any time.

Go ahead and try.

I’d killed before. I could kill again.