That bitch, Violet the Violent. She'd come back to take more of my shit!
I ran in, unconcerned with who may still be in the apartment, and searched for missing items, but couldn't tell if anything was missing since it was all destroyed. My bookshelf had been thrown to the floor, all my prized books torn or stepped on. My couch and favorite chair had been slashed, their insides strewn about the room. And on the wall under my parents' portrait, written in red, were words that made my blood turn cold.
One is such a lonely number.
Chapter Nine
Trace Evidence
MY PHONE RANG, scaring me out of my frozen panic. I glanced at the clock on the microwave, the only thing that hadn't been destroyed, and realized my work shift was about to start.
Shit. I didn't want to lose my job, but I couldn't do this tonight. I answered the phone anyway, since it could have been important, and heard a low voice more machine than man.
"Hello there, Kitty Cat. I was going to call through your new hotline, but didn't think you'd be taking client calls tonight. Do you like the present I left you?"
Did he mean my apartment? Or… Oh God. I dropped the phone and ran to my bedroom. There, hanging on the wall by nails, was Crackhead, surrounded by torn out pages of my mother's book, the only signed copy I had left, covered in the cat's entrails. His head had been crushed in, brains leaking out. The message in the living room hadn't been paint.
It had been blood.
I leaned over and vomited, until nothing was left in my stomach, then dry heaved some more for good measure. When I regained my ability to walk I stumbled back into the living room, while the sadistic asshole laughed from the receiver on the floor. I left the line open and grabbed my purse, then ran out the door to call 911 from my cell phone.
The day had turned from a balmy autumn to winter while I'd been inside. Without a coat, I sat outside my apartment complex, shivering, tears dried up but heart heavy with fear and sorrow as the cold froze over the grass under my feet, leaving green icicles clinging to life.
Bridgette beat the cops over and pulled a blanket from her trunk—God only knew what she'd used it for—and wrapped me in it. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I can't believe this. You can't stay here, you know that right? You have to come live with me, now. You have to!"
Sirens blared through the air, and I nodded, agreeing to anything as long as it didn't involve me going back into that apartment.
I groaned when the police car pulled up and the unhelpful jerk from before stepped out. He had an older man as his partner, someone who had one foot squarely in retirement, with white hair growing from his ears and a potbelly that hadn't missed any meals, or beers.
Detective Gray spoke into the radio attached to his stiff and underused uniform and stalked over, frowning, the scar over his left eye twitching. "We were told there's been a break-in?"
Bridgette stood, taking over, which I didn't mind for once. "Yes, and it took you long enough to get here. Her apartment was destroyed, and her cat… he was nailed to the wall. It's the Midnight Murderer. He left a note."
The detective glanced up from his notepad. "A note?"
"In blood. On the wall. Same thing he always sends her each year."
Gray scribbled some things down and put his notebook away. "And who might you be?"
"Her best friend. Bridgette Beaumont.”
The officers pulled their guns and told us to wait downstairs. After what felt like forever, they came back down with grim faces.
"It appears your stalker has escalated his behavior," Gray said.
Well no, shit, Sherlock.
"We'll have forensics dust for prints and look for any clues as to his identity. Have you made any changes in your life lately? Met anyone new?"
My mind went to Ash. It was technically possible. He would have been old enough at the time to kill them. But that was ridiculous. First off, if he was behind this, why give me his whole name and make it easy to hunt him down? Second, like he said, if he was stalking me, I wouldn't know it. Third, I couldn't bear to tell the detective about my new job, so I shook my head. "Just normal stuff. School, work, studying."
He handed me a card. "Let me know if you think of anything else. Tomorrow morning, please come down to the precinct to fill out some paperwork, but for tonight, stay with family or friends." He looked up at the building. "You won't have access to your apartment for a while."
I nodded, too numb and tired to care about anything.
When the cops drove off, Brig pulled out her phone. "I'm calling my mom. We're staying with them for Christmas break. I was going to invite you anyway, so this is perfect. They'll help us figure things out." She patted my arm. "It's going to be okay, Catelyn. I promise."
I knew she meant well, but her promise meant nothing to the Midnight Murderer. He knew where I lived. Knew where I worked. Knew where I went to school. I would never be safe while he lived.
Chapter Ten
Can I Call You Cat