Page 9 of Affliction
Despite the rage I feel I manage to keep my voice low. “You will be at the bar tomorrow night by six p.m. I don’t do three strikes. If you fuck this up, I will end you. Am I clear?”
“Jesus fuck, alright. I got it.” Cole says, trying to catch his breath. Releasing his shirt, his shoulders hit the ground again with an audiblethud.He turns his head to the side and spits blood out of his mouth.
I stand to my full height, crack my neck then look down at my helmet, now cracked and covered in his blood. “You owe me a new fucking helmet. I’ll send you the name and address of the bar later. Go home, pull yourself together, and don’t fuck this up.” I drop the helmet next to his face and he flinches.
Turning around, I walk over to the table and grab my jacket. Karson is back to leaning against the wall, a sly grin on his face. He gives me a slight nod as I make my way out of the concrete room, and keep walking until I exit the warehouse. It’s now dark outside and I check the time on my watch.Ten o’clock.
Straddling my bike, I start the engine and peel out of the warehouse parking lot.
I’ve got a date with a pretty little brunette.
Chapter six
My back presses upagainst the wall so hard it’s as if I am trying to embed myselfinsideof it, while trying to rationalize with myself.
You fell asleep watching a show, you’re just not fully awake.
The thought helps me slow my breathing down and calms my racing heart, but doesn’t quell the edge I’m teetering on. It makes sense. I’ve read somewhere that your body can be awake and moving but your brain is in a sort of transition stage. I looked into it when I first arrived in Oregon due to the countless nightmares I kept having.
Maybe I’m hallucinating.
It’s so dark outside there’s no way you’d even be able to tell if someone was out there. That thought doesnotsettle me at all. Gathering a bit more courage, I finally push to my feet and peek out of the blinds again—it’s an obsessive compulsion at this point. I scan the area but I can’t see anything at a first glance. The night sky is a bit cloudy, giving the moon a chance to just barely shine bright enough to cast a dim glow on the otherwise pitch blackness of the back yard. Squinting, I blink rapidly so my eyes will focus more and that’s when I see it again.Movement.Fifty feet out from the back deck, lingering at the tree line, I barely make out a silhouette.
My heart feels like it is going to beat right out of my chest, but I stand frozen in place, watching the silhouette shift closer to the house slowly. I take a few cautious steps away from the door before I sprint out of the bedroom. Ineedto make sure everything is locked.
Skidding across the floor in the living room, I quickly check the knob and deadbolt of the front door. Then, tentatively shift the drawn curtains on all of the windows, double checking the fastenings there too—they're already locked. The lights are off inside the house, blanketing everything inside in darkness since I forgot to turn the stove light on tonight. It’s an advantage, helps me stay hidden in the shadows. After I have made sure every lock is secure, I race back into the bedroom and grab my phone off the nightstand. Lowering myself to the floor beside my bed, gripping my cell like it’s my only lifeline tucked away from the view of the doors I suck in a deep breath and hold it.
The hairs on the back of my neck slowly begin to stand on end then a wave of nausea hits me again so hard I think I might double over right here. Unlocking my phone, I dim the backlight to its lowest setting, so as not to cast a glow in the room, before I unlock it. I hurriedly open the app for the security system and begin checking each and every one of them—starting with the back yard. Camera after camera, I come up with nothing.
How is that possible?
Iknowwithout a doubt that I saw someone. And that creepy feeling that I am still being stared at has not gone away.
With slow and cautious movements, I reach into the night stand and grab my Ruger Security-9 and a magazine. Shakily, I load the magazine as quickly and quietly as I can, click off the safety, and pull back the slide to chamber a round. My right hand squeezes the grip with my trigger finger braced against the side of the gun as my other helps support it and keepit pressed close to my chest, I exhale a choppy breath. Sweat beads on my forehead as I listen for anything else out of place.
I sit like this for several minutes before I lean my head back on the side of the bed, finally focusing on slow deep breaths versus holding one. I stare up at the ceiling, waiting, willing whatever is out there to fuck off. I might not be able to hear anything but I can stillfeelsomething.
Come out mother fucker.
After what feels like hours of waiting and anticipating the worst, I feel my limbs begin to relax—my heart rate slowing to a normal pace. Before I know it, my eyes begin to feel like weights are attached to the lids. Then I lose my fight against sleep and let them flutter closed, the last thing I remember is the silhouette.
Six years ago
The front door slams shut with a force that rattles the walls all the way up to the second floor. Shaking the foundation where I’m currently laying in the guest bedroom, the flimsy door locked—a poor excuse for a barricade. Turning on my side to face the wall, I hike the covers to my chin and do my best to even out my breathing.
Maybe, if he thinks I’m sleeping, he’ll leave me alone. I think to myself.
Has that ever worked before?
There’s some more unmistakable banging around downstairs and his muted voice joins in with the racket forcing me to listen. It’s hard to make out exactly what he’s saying, but I hear something along the lines of.
“Lazy fucking bitch!”
“Can’t even keep the house clean?”
“Of course she would make some shit I don’t like for dinner.”
I did clean the house today, from top to bottom because what else am I going to do? I also cooked a meal that Preston has never complained about any other time I have made it. It’s currently two-thirty in the morning, much later than when he’s typically due to get home. Which is usually around seven. I know better than to call and ask where he is by now. When he wasn’t home by nine, I cleared the table, put a plate of leftovers for him in the refrigerator, and made sure the entire house was spotless. Then, I went into the guest bedroom and locked the door, but I haven’t slept a wink.
