Page 21 of Don’t Scream

They sign.

I pick up my phone to put it away. That is when I see the older message I missed this morning.

Lena: Still coming tomorrow or are you drowning in work again? Love you. Do not make me drive up that mountain.

My sister.

I forgot. I told Kit on Monday she was driving up Friday. I have not thought about it since Noah.

I lock the phone and pick up my jacket.

I take the lift down. The lobby is quiet. I do not look for anyone.

The car is cold. I start it. I put the phone on the seat, face down.

It buzzes before I leave the garage.

I wait until the first red light.

Unknown: You finished. Good. Drive home. I still want you hard. I still want my mouth on you.

I lock it. I drive.

The town is behind me. The road goes up into the trees. Same turns I always take. I am not hard now. I still feel the heat of it. Both hands stay on the wheel.

Another buzz on a straight stretch.

Unknown: When you get home, jacket off. Shirt open. Couch. I want you the way I had you this morning. I want my mouth on your cock until you forget that meeting.

I do not answer.

The house comes out of the trees. Glass. Stone. The deck over the drop. Lights already on. I park. I sit for a second with the engine off.

Inside it is quiet. I drop the keys. I pour a drink. I leave the television off.

The phone buzzes on the counter.

Unknown: I heard you tell the office your sister was coming. Do not let her stay. Send her home. If she sleeps there I will make you watch something you cannot take back. You. Not her. I want you alone.

My hand stops on the glass.

I type.

Me: Stay away from her.

The reply comes straight back.

Unknown: Then keep her off that mountain. Pretty when you bleed. You first. Always you.

I put the phone face down.

I drink.

I do not take my clothes off.

I go to bed with the lights on and the doors locked. Lena’s message is still on my phone, sitting under all of his. Hers is clean. The rest of the night is not.

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