Page 2 of Merciless King

Now he was gone, too, and I didn’t know what I’d do without him.

Another sob escaped as I covered him over and patted down the dirt. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.”

I’d come back in a couple of days, maybe plant something, with flowers, beautiful and sweetly perfumed. A gardenia or a hyacinth. I straightened and brushed my muddy hands on my already filthy jeans. It felt wrong, walking away, going home and leaving him there.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my shirt.

Pull it together, London.

At least the rain had slowed.

Shoving the trowel in the small backpack I’d brought, I forced myself to move away, to head for the park exit. It was quieter now, a combination of the rain almost stopping and my own uncontrollable sobs finally coming to an end. But now that I wasn’t overcome with grief, I became acutely aware of my surroundings suddenly and realized it had gotten dark—and just how stupid this was.

When I’d left home it had been late afternoon with just a few threatening rain clouds. I’d ignored the threat of rain, desperate to get this done. I couldn’t handle another night with Heathcliff in the apartment. It hurt too much. The clouds had started gathering when I got here, and it had taken a lot longer than I thought it would to dig a hole for my tiny dog.

I shivered, tugging my coat tighter around me, and wrapped my arms around myself.

Don’t let the fear get the better of you. Don’t let it win.

I headed down the small trail, repeating the mantra over and over in my head, desperate to get home, have a hot shower, and cry myself to sleep.

A branch snapping to my left had me whipping around, staring into the shrubs and the shadowy tree line, but nothing moved. I walked faster, the hair on the back of my neck lifting.

Another snap. This one closer.

My adrenaline spiked. I started running and didn’t stop until I reached the exit and hit the street.

A few people glanced at me, eyes widening as they took in my drenched and muddy state. I ignored them and tried to control my racing heart. I glanced behind me. Nothing out of the ordinary. No one following me.

There’s nothing there. Get it together.

I forced down the fear and headed for home.

Being the target of a serial killer, living through it, had changed me in a way I would never have predicted. Yes, I was still painfully shy and my social anxiety disorder didn’t help. I’d been avoiding, well, life, for as long as I could remember. Now, though, I worked really hard at not letting my fears hold me back, because life was short, and if someone wanted to hurt you, four walls and a door wouldn’t save you.

I had learned that first hand.

If someone wanted to really hurt you, they’d find a way to do it.

Okay, I was still a work in progress. I hadn’t changed and become the confident woman I’d always wanted to be overnight, but I really wanted to change. I was trying.

That same unease from the park washed over me again and I stopped and scanned the street. I shook my head. The monster who had broken into my apartment and stabbed me five times was cold in the ground. Shot dead before he could finish what he started. His other victims, women who hadn’t been as lucky as me, and their families, could rest easy knowing he wouldn’t hurt anyone again.

Still, that feeling wouldn’t leave me.

I forced myself to ignore it and walked quickly to my apartment. I’d moved after the attack, to somewhere with better security, a place that didn’t send dread through me just looking at the front door.

But when I finally shut myself in, a pair of pale cold dead eyes flashed through my mind. I tried to shove them back out, even as the room around me started to feel fuzzy.

I hadn’t had a flashback in months, but I knew the signs. I quickly opened my phone and turned on some music, blasting it through my Bluetooth speaker, using one of the grounding techniques my therapist taught me to keep me in the present.

This wasn’t the same as back then. I was only imagining things. That same prickle down the back of my neck, the feeling if being watched, it wasn’t real. It was coming up to the second anniversary of the attack and my mind was playing tricks on me, that’s all.

No one wants to hurt you.

Lightning never struck the same place twice, right?

I thought of Heathcliff, how full of energy he’d been. He’d been young, no health issues. A shiver moved through me.