Page 10 of Come Find Me Tonight

Oh, my God—it’s him.

The guy from that disastrous date is back for revenge.

He did this!

“Shhh, you know it’s me,” a hushed voice says. His warm breath cascades over my head. “Rook.” My eyes widen, and my heart drops straight into my stomach.

How does he know? How does he know where I live?

“Let me see your hand,” he whispers.

I try to resist, but he’s stronger and forcibly takes my hand, crossing my arm over my body. He drags my fingers up his shirt, where my fingertips graze his defined abs. I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut as they water. His hand brings mine up to his nipple, brushing my fingers over the hard metal adorning it, then the raised line of his scar on the side of his abdomen. He lets go of my hand, and I quickly withdraw it from under his shirt. He places his hands on my upper arms from behind. “Check your phone,” he says into my hair. His lips graze the back of my head, then his grip drops.

I’m frozen in place, and when the paralyzing fear of being grabbed in my bedroom by a stranger wears off enough, I turn. My scalp still prickles where his lips touched my head, but he’s vanished into thin air. The lights in my bedroom click on, and then I can hear the air conditioner starting up again. My eyes squint from the sudden change from darkness to light again, and I study every surface of my room for any sign he was here. Everything looks untouched.

With my phone and pepper spray in hand now, I tiptoe out of my room with my pulse beating in my throat. I turn on lights in the hallway, in the guest bedrooms, everywhere to make sure I really am alone again. I have a mini heart attack as I check every closet, afraid he’s going to pop out and reveal himself, but it’s all clear.

Gripping the railing until my knuckles ache, I slowly make my way downstairs.

He could still be here.

My heartbeat still pounds in my ears, and I want to curl up and cry. But I have to do a sweep.

Should I call the police?

I do a quick inspection, and there’s nothing broken or missing. My back sliding glass doors are locked and intact. The door to the garage is also locked. Even the front door is locked. My windows don’t open either, and none are broken. So, how did he get inside? Or did I hallucinate the whole interaction? Or am I losing it, imagining Rook during a simple power outage?

No, that can’t be the case. I can still feel the cool metal in his nipples, and his words echo—check your phone.

I glance toward the glow of the foyer. I unlock my phone with trembling fingers that nearly cause me to drop it. Tapping into my social media app, I don’t bother switching to my burner account. At the top of my feed is a new video posted by Rook, and I make it full screen, pressing my free hand on my chest to slow the rapid thudding.

It’s his usual setup with his eerie lights, illuminating his body, but his face is dark. He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, wearing dark-wash jeans, shirtless, his signature nipple piercings glinting. He’s flexing to sharpen the lines of his abs. He lifts an apple to his obscured face, taking a bite with ASMR-style audio, and then lowers his arm and lets the apple slip from his fingers to the floor. The screen goes black. That’s a signal if I ever saw one.

It was him.

He knows my name is Apple and where I live. There’s no way he would have been able to find my address. I use a P.O. box for my PR, have never listed my full name publicly, and my dad’s name is on my house.

I swallow. I should report breaking and entering, but what evidence do I have? My security cameras didn’t pick up anything because the Wi-Fi was out, and he had gloves on.

Hey, LAPD, I know you’re busy this time of night, but please come by—a fellow influencer broke in with no damage and stole nothing. I have no proof he was ever here, but he posted a video with an apple, which is also my name. Please don’t judge my mother’s decision from twenty-four years ago.

I’d sound absolutely insane if I called the police. But my neighbors have cameras. I text my next-door neighbor, who had power when I didn’t, to ask if she had any weird camera footage. She replies instantly.

Sorry, Appa! Our Wi-Fi was down!

I reread her text until the words blur together. I text the neighbor on the other side of me and get the same response.

No Wi-Fi.

But he only needed to cut my power. This was orchestrated. Rehearsed. I look up from my phone and scan my living room. Not a single thing is out of place, but my skin prickles. Suddenly, Rook isn’t just an internet content creator. He’s a predator and damn crafty to pull something off so cleanly. He knew he could slip in without a trace, send a message, and leave while everyone was blacked out in terms of Wi-Fi.

Would he do this again? And when?

I go through the downstairs again to make sure it’s clear of him, double-checking the coat closet, pantry. I even pop the trunk of my Mercedes, though he’s big and wouldn’t fit in there. My anxiety claws at me to check the backyard, but my inspection proves I’m achingly alone. I turn the lights off downstairs, but every time I pass by a window, I feel like I’ll see his silhouette through the glass.

It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.

I carefully but hastily step upstairs and choose to keep the hallway light on as I walk into my bedroom again. He was here…in my bedroom.