“I have a friend coming over to help install the security cameras and alarm system. Listen, normally, I would say call the cops anyway. But I don’t know, Addie. You know how I feel about cops as it is, but I truly don’t believe they will be able to help you. I have some connections, and maybe we can hire a personal bodyguard or something.”
I’m shaking my head before she can finish her last sentence. “So he can die, too?”
She gives me a droll look. “This isn’t just going to be some guy off the streets, Addie. Whatever you’re up against, they can’t be more badass than a trained killer, right?”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But I don’t know about any of that yet. Having a bodyguard follow me everywhere just makes me feel like a damsel in distress.”
I can tell by the look on her face that she thinks I’m being stupid. I mean, I do have a hand-chopping, possible murderer stalking me. But then what? I have some random guy following me around until my shadow is caught, and who knows if that’ll ever happen.
I grind my teeth, overwhelmed with frustration. I don’t want to live my life with an extra attachment—an extra limb. And in both scenarios, I have one. One is there to protect me, while the other is there to… I don’t know. Hurt me? Love me?
Either way, I don’t want either of them.
“Do you think Arch is dead?” I ask, failing to keep the tremble out of my voice.
She twists her lips. “I don’t know. It’s definitely a possibility. But it’s also possible he chopped off his hands and let him go as a warning. We won’t know until Arch either shows up… or doesn’t.”
I nod. “I’ll let you know about the bodyguard thing. Let’s just see how this alarm system thing works out first.”
“Okay, in the meantime, I’m going to dispose of these hands. I’ll be back in an hour, and then we’re getting hammered.”
My eyes widen. “Daya, you don’t have to do that. This is morbid enough, and I don’t want you to have to—"
The severity of her expression stops me short, my words trailing off.
“I see worse every day, Addie. Go inside, I’ll be back soon.”
Swallowing, I nod and turn towards my door, shooting one last lingering look at my best friend’s retreating form, wondering what the hell she’s involved in if she sees worse than chopped up body parts every day.
“They’re all dead.” The words are a bomb going off in my ear, like that judge in Law Abiding Citizen.
“What?”
“Arch's entire family was reported dead. His father, two brothers, an uncle, and two cousins. I don’t know the details because the crime was fucking smooth as hell. No witnesses. No evidence. Nothing.”
“Oh my God. Do you think it was the stalker?”
She sighs, and even through the phone, I know she’s twirling her nose ring. “That’s a pretty hefty crime, but not impossible. There’s been word that when Arch was reported missing after you called the police, Connor started throwing some serious accusations around to their rivals. The police seem to think it was them, but with lack of evidence, there’s no one to pin it on.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a headache blooming in my temple. “So the stalker did kill Arch, then.”
“Probably,” she hedges. “If Arch made it back home before the family was wiped, he would’ve said who mutilated him and Connor wouldn’t have gone off on their rivals. So, I think it’s plausible that Connor’s accusations are what got the rest of them killed.”
There’s so many emotions swirling in my head, and I can’t make heads or tails of what I’m feeling. I’m fucking horrified that my shadow murdered somebody.
But he was an evil man.
That shouldn’t matter, should it? And to be perfectly honest, I think his true intentions for killing Arch were because he touched me, not because of his crimes.
“Honestly, Daya, I’m a little relieved. Arch's family won’t come for me now, and I feel so selfish saying that.”
“Then we’re both selfish bitches because I’m happy as hell.” I snort at her enthusiasm. “Look, the Talaverra's were bad people. Arch wasn’t the only one with a bad history. Connor had rape allegations against him, and their father must’ve taught them how to rape and beat a woman because his rap sheet… even worse.”
I nod my head, forgetting she can’t see it.
“I certainly won’t mourn their deaths,” I mutter.
After that, we hang up, both needing to get some work done, but my mind keeps wandering.
Truly, I’m not sad to hear about the fate of the Talaverra's, but there is still that niggling worry in the back of my head that my shadow is the one who delivered it to them.
It’s been a week since Arch went missing and still no sign of my shadow. Not to say he still isn’t sneaking around, but he hasn’t made his presence known.
Daya’s friend set up my new alarm system and cameras, and I’m ashamed of how obsessive I’ve been with checking them since.
The na?ve part of me is hoping now that I have a security system, he’ll stay away. But while I make a lot of stupid decisions—and I mean a lot—I’m not stupid enough to believe he isn’t going to show up here soon.
I stretch, groaning as my muscles crack, the barstool in my kitchen doing little to support my back while I write. I’ve been working on a new fantasy novel about a girl escaping slavery, and the deadline I set for myself is vastly approaching.
Right as I begin typing again, a creak from above snags my attention. The sound immediately has my heart kickstarting into overdrive. I pause, listening for any more noises. Several beats pass with no disturbance. The only sounds are the furnace and the low pattering of rain against the window.
Just when I begin to think I’m losing my mind, I hear another creak from directly above me.
Holding my breath, I slowly get up from the stool, the metal legs screeching against the tile. I wince, the eruption loud and unpleasant.
Well, goddammit, good thing I didn’t become a spy. I would so die on the job.
Quickly, I walk over to the silverware drawer, slide it open and grab the butcher knife. Holding this weapon is starting to become a daily routine, and I’m becoming bored with it.
I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing. I clamber towards the stairs, whip around the railing, and quietly make my way up the steps. Briefly, I consider the movie title of the horror movie they’d make after my life.
Making my way down the hall, I peek into open rooms, holding the knife out in front of me. The hallway is long and wide, with five of the bedrooms up here.
Just as I step out of one of the empty bedrooms, I hear a small thump. It sounded like it came from my room.
With bated breath, I creep down the hallway, holding all my weight on my toes.
No fucking idea how ballerinas do it.
My bedroom door is shut. Adrenaline steadily releases into my bloodstream, like injecting heroin in a vein.
It wasn’t shut before.
I stand outside my door, staring at it as if it’s going to grow a face and warn me of what’s inside. That’d totally be beneficial right now.
Because not knowing what I will find on the other side is the worst part. That’s what makes my heart pound viciously in my chest and tightens my lungs.