“I can’t believe this is happening. I practically got this man killed,” I say, tears pricking at my eyes.
“Babe, I hate to say this, but I don’t think that’s the worst thing that could’ve happened. I think this guy would’ve really hurt you. The things he did to his ex-wife… they’re unspeakable. He wasn’t a good man. None of those guys were…” she trails off, and I don’t need her words to know she’s thinking about Luke.
She said they had an incredible night together, but she ghosted him the second she found out what kind of guy Arch is—was.
She said anyone who is friends with a man like Arch isn’t a nice man themselves.
Can’t really disagree with that, either.
I take a deep breath. “I know, you’re right. I guess I just don’t like that he was hurt—maybe killed—because of me. I would’ve much preferred one of his many enemies caught up with him.”
“Yeah, that would’ve been the best-case scenario,” she allows.
“The best-case scenario would’ve been a wild night of hot sex with a hot guy where I orgasm multiple times and then send him off on his merry way,” I interrupt.
She pauses a beat before saying, “Yeah, you’re right. But that’s not what would’ve happened. Not with this guy’s history. He’s violent.”
“Well, apparently, so is my stalker.”
“I know, which is why I’m hooking you up with a security system. You’re not going to be another statistic, not more than you already are. If you die, I have to follow, and I’m quite attached to my body. God gave me a good one this lifetime.”
I roll my eyes at her dramatics, especially because she’s not even religious.
“Okay, just bill me for it,” I agree. I like the idea of having cameras in my house. It makes me feel better about someone sneaking around when I can’t see them.
“I’ll be over later to set them up.”
Getting cameras will be the first thing to happen in a month that gives me any semblance of safety. No matter how fragile it is.
I’m just finishing up another chapter when I hear the USPS truck pull up. The mailman has always been a pretty nice guy. He doesn’t stick around long and spends most of his time glancing around nervously.
The last time I asked him about it, he said something evil happened here.
And since a man went missing off my doorstep last night, I'd say several evil things have happened here.
I open the door just as he’s dropping off several cases of books. I have to sign these and get them shipped out to my readers.
Eight large boxes later, the mailman is panting, sweat running down his light brown face.
“Thank you, Pedro. Sorry for all the boxes,” I say, waving awkwardly.
He waves a hand in acknowledgment before getting back in his truck and shooting off.
I sigh, staring at the boxes with a look of dread. These are going to be a bitch to haul in. I step out, but my foot knocks into the corner of something heavy.
Looking down, I notice a small, lidded cardboard box. There's no shipping label on it, which means Pedro didn't drop this one off.
My heart plummets, a burst of anxiety hitting me right in the gut.
I don’t know why, but my eyes dart towards the woods as if I’m actually going to see someone standing there. I don’t. Of course, I don’t.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pick up the box. And then nearly drop it when I see a smear of blood where the box was sitting.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. God? Please don’t allow this to happen to me on this fine Sunday morning. Please let me not find what I think I’m going to find,” I pray out loud, my voice cracking as a drop of blood lands on my toe.
Hands shaking, I set the box back down and just panic. There’s a drop of blood on my toe. I knew there was blood on my hands already, but now my toes? I can’t take this.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I tip the lid off with my foot.
Hands.
Severed hands are in the box, just like I feared.
“Oh, fuck me. Fuck this shit.”
I twirl and run back in the house, scrambling to find my phone to call Daya.
The line rings for all of two seconds before she answers.
“I’ll be there in a few hou—”
“Daya.”
“What happened?” she asks sharply.
“A hand. And another hand. Two of them. In a box. On my porch.”
She curses, but my panic mutes the sound.
“Don’t do anything yet. Wait till I get there,” Daya orders. “Go take a couple of shots and wait for me.”
I nod, despite that she can’t see me. But it doesn’t stop me from nodding again and then hanging up without a word.
I do exactly as she says. Taking two shots of vodka to calm my nerves. And then take deep breaths, slowly, in and out until my racing heart calms.
The fucker actually did it. He sent me Arch’s hands. A part of me knew he wouldn’t lie, but somehow, I didn’t believe it anyway.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping my head low between my shoulders, balancing my weight on the edge of the counter.
Twenty minutes later, Daya shows up, her car ripping through the driveway, based on the squealing tires.
Her car door slams shut. By the time I get to the door, she’s approaching my gift still sitting on the porch, her gaze riveted on the grotesque sight.
“This guy is fucking deranged,” Daya spits, picking up the box to inspect the hands closer. “Definitely Arch’s too. He’s got that stupid ass star tattoo on his thumb.”
I blink, curious how she even knows that, but still too much in shock to open my mouth and ask.
“There’s a note in here,” she mumbles, plucking out a piece of paper covered in blood. Carefully, she opens it. It takes her two seconds to read it before she’s sighing and handing it over.
Hesitantly, I reach out and grab the note by the corner that doesn’t have blood on it.
While I will enjoy punishing you for every time you call the police, let’s hold off this time. Wouldn’t want to have to hurt them next, little mouse.
Is this guy shitting me? He’s going to punish me? Don’t you think sending me fucking severed hands is punishment enough, asshole?
“He’s seriously going to threaten to kill a cop?” I hiss. Daya swallows, her eyes darting to the hands.
“I think you need to listen this time,” she says quietly. I look up at her, having come to the same conclusion. This guy is dangerous. Very dangerous.
As much as I want the police to handle this, there are two problems. I don’t have any faith whatsoever that they’d be able to catch the guy. And secondly, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.
I don’t know if I will be able to bear it.
“I don’t know what to do, Daya,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Daya sets the box down and rushes to me, enveloping me in a tight hug.