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“What the hell is this?” he asks.
Silently, I stare at the crimson-coated floor, saying nothing.
“Did you do this?”
I shake my head.
“Look at me when I ask you a fucking question!” he yells, hauling me up by the arm. “I said, who did this?” He rips open his button-up shirt to reveal the bloodied stab wounds on his chest.
I’m at a loss for words, scared of what he’ll do to me if I tell him the truth. So I do what I always do—I lie. I misdirect. “I don’t know. The bathroom was like this when I came back.”
He shakes his head. “You’re lying.”
“I swear it wasn’t me.”
He stares at me for a long time. I can see the anger in his eyes, but also something else.
Fear.
I’m on the floor again. And I sit here for a while, legs tucked against my chest, my eyes closed. I don’t realize how much time has passed until the timer goes off. Opening my eyes, I find the blood gone, as if it was never there. The book sits untouched on the tiles near the toilet. Standing up, I walk over to the sink and splash water on my paling face.
After taking care of my hair, I head straight for bed. I’m exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I haven’t had an episode quite like that in a while. It has to be from the stress of the move. And the murders back in Vermont. I lay in bed, listening to the hum of the fan, and stare at the ceiling. I just want to sleep and forget about everything.
Exhaustion drags me under, but nothing but nightmares await me.
Chapter
Seven
HER
Ifeel like I’m going crazy.
At first, it was just small things. I’d come home from work and find my favorite mug drying in the dish rack, even though I know I had left it on the counter. One day, the TV remote was on top of the fridge, even though I always put it on the coffee table. It all seemed innocuous, and I almost excused it as my sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on me. Especially since I was working double shifts.
But then things became increasingly noticeable.
My books were on the wrong shelf. A few shirts had been folded differently. And when I woke up this morning, my toothbrush was missing. I searched everywhere but found no sign of it—until I returned to my bedroom and discovered it on my nightstand. I couldn’t believe it. My blood boils just thinking about it. I was so furious that I nearly left the apartment with stinky rage breath.
I’m not sure what to do. If I tell someone, they’ll probably think I’m nuts. So I’ve kept it to myself, doing my best to ignore it and put everything back in its proper place. I’ve also started documenting all the strange occurrences in my journal. But I’ve become increasingly paranoid that someone was in my apartment, moving my belongings and doing who knew what. The possibilities make me shudder.
“Yo,” my co-worker Nick says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear what I just said?”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted to go out for drinks tomorrow,” he repeats, before quickly adding, “As friends, of course. You look like you could use a night out.”
I hesitate. I’ve been so preoccupied with the things that have been happening in my apartment that I haven’t really thought about anything else. Nick Campbell attends Liberty Grove University like Jen and also works at the video store. He’s a bit of a jock type, but he’s also funny and kind. I never looked at him romantically, but it’s obvious Jen has a thing for him. Too bad he’s oblivious.
And clearly enamored with Zoey.
“I don’t know,” I say, returning to arranging the video cases on the shelf. He’s been a good friend to me, and I don’t want to seem like I’m blowing him off. But I don’t think I can realistically muster the will to push myself through a night of drinking surrounded by rowdy college kids. “I’ve been kind of tired lately.”
He plucksDeath Becomes Herfrom the cart and slots it between a couple of other titles. “I can tell. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
I cringe, wounded at the unintentional blunt jab. “Yeah, I guess so.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve been having weird dreams lately. About this figure, in the shadows. I feel like they’re watching me.”
“Sounds creepy,” he remarks, placing the last of the cases on the shelf. “If you’re feeling paranoid, you can get a weapon or something. Like a taser. They sell those over at the shady pawn shop near downtown. I can come with you if you wanna go that route.”
