Authors: Julie Johnson
True to his word, he used it now only to cut me down. The bonds around my wrists remained fastened tight, but at least they were no longer forced up above my head. As soon as he severed the rope holding me up, my legs gave out and I crumpled to the hard ground like a rag doll.
My arms felt
as if they were on fire as feeling came rushing back, like physical flames were licking up my arms along with the returning blood filling my vessels. I knew this was the moment – you know in all the movies, how the heroine finally gets her chance to run away, to save herself, to fight back?
I felt that moment slip away as I lay on the cement, incapacitated and utterly unable to fight for anything except
the shaky breaths I struggled to drag into my lungs.
“Come now, dear, you don’t look at all excited for dinner.”
His voice was quietly amused. He stood over me, enjoying the sight of me defeated. Twice, I tried to push myself up from the ground; each time, my arms gave out beneath me and I fell back to the cement floor.
He let me struggle for five minutes or so, before reaching down a hand and roughly yanking me upright. Looping an arm around my back, he dragged me over to the metal chairs in
the corner of the room and threw me down onto one. When he released me I nearly slipped back to the floor, but managed to steady myself with my bound hands at the last minute.
He sat down in the other metal chair, watching me as I tried to rally the little strength I had left in my
body. My breathing eventually slowed and my limbs began to regain most of their feeling. I was wiggling my fingers and toes, testing out the sensation in them, when he abruptly stood and pulled me to my feet.
“Come.”
We walked – thankfully, I didn’t need his help this time – through the basement and up a set of wooden stairs tucked against the far wall. Emerging into a dimly lit kitchen, I was shocked to discover that I knew exactly where I was.
The layout was a little different, but all of the appliances, woodwork, and furniture were the same. Hell, the walls were even painte
d in that unmistakable jaundiced yellow.
This was the first floor apartment of the old Victorian.
We were directly under my apartment – I’d bet my life on it. Had he been living here all year, so close to me all this time? The thought made me shiver.
He led me through the kitchen and into the living room. This was clearly his lair: the walls were covered not just in photos of me, but also in newspaper clippings. The headlines were varied, spanning years and occasions, but
all centered around one thing: Me.
Local Woman Killed in Car-Jacking, Daughter Lives to Tell the Tale
Seven Year Old Gives Condemning Testimony in Court
Car-Jacking Killer Sentenced to 25 Years in San Quentin
Captain Brooklyn Turner Leads Varsity Field Hockey Team to Victory
UVA
Freshman Brooklyn Turner Makes Dean’s List
He hadn’t just been following me for months – he’d been watching me for
years. I forced myself to stop looking, but my eyes soon locked onto something even more disturbing. There were at least six computer monitors set up along the wall, with each screen divided to show several camera angles. They were live feeds, streaming video from inside my apartment upstairs.
Every room had been bugged.
I tried to ignore the monitor on the far left, which was dedicated to my bedroom. Or, more specifically, to my bed. There was a camera trained on every side, capturing every angle. When I thought about all the times Finn and I had been together there, all the things Skinner had witnessed, I had to choke back the vomit that was working its way up my throat. He’d violated a space I’d thought was sacred, completely private, and I had the unbearable desire to shower – as if I could scrape myself clean of the feeling of his eyes on my skin.
I
felt dirty, vulnerable.
He eventually pulled me away, a smug smile on his face. He’d wanted me to see this – to understand just how deeply he was embedded in my life.
To know that he’d seen everything, heard everything.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” he said, his tone anticipatory.
This is what he gets off on,
I realized.
He’s an egomaniac. He wants – he
needs
– to impress me. To frighten me. To think he’s the master puppeteer, pulling my strings and controlling every facet of my life.
That’
s his weakness,
I thought.
Pride.
“No,” I said, making my voice uninterested
just to goad him.
He fumed
silently for a minute, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Isn’t it amazing what the Internet can do nowadays? You’ll never guess how easy it was to
find your little Facebook page and to track down your apartment address through the university directory. Everything I needed to know about you was right there at the tips of my fingers – not to mention how easy it was for me to order all this helpful electronic equipment. Free, two-day shipping for these babies,” he laughed, gesturing toward his elaborate setup of computer monitors. “No background checks or identification required.”
I stared at the wall, trying to block out his words.
“There are YouTube tutorials for everything; there’s even a how-to guide for bugging someone’s house with cameras, right there online for anyone to watch.” He laughed maniacally, nearly giddy with his own success.
M
arching me into the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for two, and I would have laughed if I’d had the stomach for it: a crisp white tablecloth glowed under the warm, ambient light of several tall taper candles. Red cloth napkins, folded into graceful triangles, sat atop gold-filigree plates. Fresh roses – red, this time – were arranged in a gorgeous crystal vase. Several warming platters sat in the center of the table, covered by silver lids.
He’d created the perfect romantic
atmosphere for a dinner date for two.
Rather than leading me to my chair at the table, he pushed me toward the small settee in the corner of the room. When I landed on the plush cushions, he threw the green dress onto my lap.
“Change for dinner,” he ordered, setting his knife on the table. He didn’t need to wield like a mad man – its presence alone was an implied threat, and enough to keep me complacent.
I looked down at my bound hands. “I can’t.”
He slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped back. At least he’d hit the other cheek this time;
I’ll have matching bruises
, I thought, rather dazedly. Blinking away the dark spots dancing in front of my eyes, I looked up at him.
“
You’ll do whatever I say without question, bitch,” he said, his voice strained. The thought that I’d disobey was nearly enough to unhinge him.
“Of course,” I agreed,
trying to infuse my voice with humility. “I just wondered if you would be kind enough—” I forced out the words. “—to untie my hands first.”
His face was stony, contemplative.
“Just for a minute,” I added hastily. “So I can put on the dress. It’s beautiful.”
The last thing I wanted to do was strip bare in front of him and put on some dress he’d bought for me, like we were playing some sick, twisted game of house.
But with my hands bound, I didn’t stand a chance at escaping.
If I can get my hands on that knife…
I tried not to think that far in advance. I was taking this one careful step at a time, feeling out his weaknesses and playing it smart.
“You like the dress?” he asked
, skeptically.
“I love it,” I agreed immediately. “Thank you for getting it for me.”
He nodded. “I’ll take off the ropes while you change. But I will stay in the room the entire time, and if you do anything foolish there will be consequences.”
I could pretty easily guess what he meant by ‘consequences,’ watching as he picked up the knife and advanced toward me.
He quickly cut my bonds, allowing the rope to fall to the floor beneath the settee, and retreated back across the room. Sitting down on of the chairs at the table, he kept the knife in his hand and his eyes on me.
Trembling, I cast my eyes down to the floor and peeled my sweater up over my head.
I stood and shimmied out of my jeans, watching as they hit the floor. I resisted every urge I had to cover myself from his eyes, to put a stop to this depraved and degrading strip tease, knowing he would be angry if I did.
With shaking hands, I pulled the dress fabric over my head and settled it around my body. Smoothing down the skirt with my palms, I did up the side zipper and surreptitiously hiked up the neckline to cover as much cleavage as possible.
When I was done, I looked up and met his dark eyes across the room.
He looked both aroused and
empowered by my immodest show, his gaze following my every movement.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chair to his left. “You
can eat without your hands tied, for now.”
A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I sat and watched as he spooned a helping of chicken and potatoes onto both of our plates. It smelled good, but the thought of eating anything turned my stomach – anything I consumed would likely just come right back up again.
“Eat,” he ordered, lifting a forkful of potatoes to his mouth.
I reached for my glass of water.
We both
stilled, my hand frozen midway through its reach and his fork poised in the air, when the indisputable sound of a motorcycle engine roared down the street and came to a stop outside the house.
Our gazes locked and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing.
Finn was here.
Choose Me
Skinner was up and around the table in a flash, with one hand covering my mouth and the other holding the knife tight against my throat.
“
Shhh,” he breathed in my ear.
We listened as the engine cut off, and the sound of footsteps echoed on the stairs going up to my apartment. We heard him banging on my front door for several minutes, calling out for me. I imagined him standing there, confused and wondering where I was.
Lexi’s car was in the driveway. I wasn’t answering my cellphone.
He
’ll know something is wrong. He’ll call the police.
My
assurance was quickly overtaken by a flurry of doubts: what if Finn thought I’d changed my mind about meeting him? What if he thought I didn’t want to get back together? What if he gave up and left, without ever going inside the apartment?
Then, I realized that this was
Finn
– he didn’t take no for an answer. I’d been surprised he’d even conceded to giving me a week’s worth of space; shocked that he’d agreed to wait until eight to come over tonight. When that boy wanted something, he went after it with everything he had.
And he wanted me.
I fought off a smile when I heard the undeniable sound of my apartment door being kicked in.
Such a caveman.
S
kinner cursed, dragging me up out of my chair and walking me into the living room, with the knife still pressed to my neck. He watched the monitors as Finn entered the apartment, scanning the kitchen for anything out of place. Finn walked over to the bags of groceries I’d abandoned on the counter earlier, a speculative look marring his brow.
Reaching one hand into the bag
nearest him, he took out the block of cheese I’d purchased and held it in his hand for a minute. At first, I didn’t understand what he was doing, but I quickly put it together – he was gauging its temperature, trying to see how long it had been left unrefrigerated.
From the anxious look on his face
I assumed it was now lukewarm, which told him I’d been gone for quite some time. Placing it back on the countertop, Finn walked through the apartment and checked every room, moving from the kitchen, through the living and dining areas, into Lexi’s room and, finally, into my bedroom.
I could spend hours trying t
o describe all the emotions that filtered across his face when he walked into my room and saw not only the collage of photos, but also clear signs of the struggle that had taken place. My desk chair was overturned, my bedspread was askew, the pictures littering the floor were disturbed and bent where I’d eventually fallen to the ground.
He looked shocked, horrified, angered, and terrified all at once.
Skinner was talking under his breath, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. Grabbing a roll of duct tape off the shelf, he ripped off a piece and pressed it over my mouth. He pulled my hands in front of me, hastily wrapped duct tape around them, and shoved me down into the straight-backed desk chair facing the screens.
Whirling back around to check the
monitors, Skinner watched as Finn took out his cell phone and dialed 911.
“Fuck!”
he snarled, leaning close to the screen and staring at Finn as he spoke rapidly into his phone. “I’m gonna fucking kill that asshole.”
It wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.
His earlier control had evaporated along with his carefully laid plans. With Finn’s arrival, Skinners’ focus had shifted away from me, and I knew he wouldn’t stop until either Finn was dead, or he was.
Skinner spun around to face me
, his eyes wild, the knife flashing dangerously in his grip. “Stay here,” he barked. “I’m going to go deal with this.”
This was the man who’d taken everything from me. Who’d killed my mother in cold blood, as I’d watched. Who’d haunted my every nightmare for years. Who’d made me afraid to love, for fear that it
could be ripped away from me again.
He’d taken my innocence
; He wasn’t about to take the love of my life, too.
As he began to run from the room, I reached up with my bound hands and
used the tips of my fingers to rip off the duct tape covering my mouth.
“Stop!” I yelled after him.
He paused in the doorway, listening, but didn’t turn to face me. He wasn’t a stupid man – he must’ve realized that he didn’t have enough time before the police arrived to deal with both of us.
If I
wanted Finn to live, I had to make Skinner choose me.
I knew I wouldn’t
survive if I went through with this; I understood it with an unshakable clarity. I could see exactly how my death would play out in the next few minutes and, though I didn’t exactly like that picture, it would be worth it if Finn lived.
I couldn’t save my mother, but I would save him.
“Is this really the best you could do?” I mocked Skinner. His ego was at the heart of every decision he made – maybe, if I pushed the right buttons, he’d lose all restraint and turn his rage on me. “You had fifteen years to plan tonight, and this was all you came up with?” I forced a laugh and got shakily to my feet.
I watched his spine stiffen, his muscles tense; it was working. I was getting to him.
“I thought you’d do better,
Ernie
.” I made a disapproving
tsk
sound, as he’d done earlier – purposefully baiting him. He spun to look at me, red faced and panting with anger.
I could hear sirens approaching now. A glance at the monitors showed Finn making his way back through the apartment, heading for the front door so he could
greet the arriving officers.
“What did you say to me, little girl?”
Skinner snarled.
“Don’t forget it was this
little girl
who sent you to prison, Ernie. It was this
little girl
who caused that car to crash and steered us straight into the arms of the police,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice steady and hold my tears at bay.
He took a step toward me, holding out the knife.
“Shut up, bitch,” he screamed. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“It’s me you want,” I reminded him. “It’s me you’ve watched all these years, obsessed over
, fantasized about. It’s me you’ve tried to frighten, to destroy. But you know something, Ernie?” I asked, backing away from him so the table was between us. “You
failed
. I lived, and loved, in spite of you. I’m
happy
. And that’s certainly more than I can say for you, old man.”
That did it.
He launched himself at me with a primitive scream, the knife held high over his head as he prepared to strike me. Anticipating his attack, I threw out my taped hands, grabbed the top of the chair in front of me, and threw it in his direction. It didn’t go very far but it did land in his path, slowing him down.
He chased me
in circles around the perimeter of the table – a deadly game of cat and mouse. On one of my passes, I managed to grasp a dangling edge of the tablecloth and yank it roughly. The abrupt movement sent the dishes and platters flying, clattering to the floor loud enough that the noise hurt my ears. The vase of roses fell and shattered, sending millions of razor-sharp shards of glass exploding in every direction. I heard Skinner yelp as they sliced at his feet and lower legs.
I turned in time to see him trip over one of the loosed serving dishes and fall to the ground,
his knife clattering across the hardwood floors and coming to a stop beneath the desk on the other side of the room.
I looked frantically
to the door, hoping I could run to safety, but immediately discarded that plan when I saw that Skinner was clamoring to his feet in the space between me and the exit. Even in his unarmed state, I couldn’t fight him with my hands bound.
Out of ideas, out of options, out of
time
– I dove for the knife.
As I fell to my knees, arms outstretched and reaching for the handle, time seemed to slow down, as if everything had suddenly shifted into slow motion. I heard Skinner yell, his footsteps loud as they
pounded across the room to reach me.
My fingers closed around the handle,
and I gripped it tightly between both hands. It was uncomfortable with my wrists still taped together, but it was the best I could do at the moment.
Everything
happened at once.
I flipped over onto my back at the exact mo
ment Skinner jumped into the air, hoping to tackle me from behind. I think he knew, as soon as his feet left the ground, that he was going to die. It was there in his eyes when he saw the knife in my hands, suspended over my stomach and pointing up toward the ceiling.
He tried to pull back, to change his course midair, but it was too late. His weight landed on me, knocking the breath from my lungs, and I felt the
pressure of the knife as it slid into the soft flesh of his abdomen, slashing deep into his vital organs.
He gasped at the pain, his face inches from my own. His eyes bored into mine, burning with hatred, and when he opened his mouth to speak, a foamy red spittle flew between his lips and landed on my cheeks.
“You fucking bitch!” he screamed, lifting his hands up to close around my throat. He was dying, his strength waning as the lifeblood slipped from his veins, but he was going to use the last of his energy to take me with him. His hands grew dangerously tight as he choked the life out of me, cutting off my air supply completely. My hands, bound and trapped uselessly between our bodies, were helpless to stop him.
Things
started to go dark. Skinner’s face was fading in and out of focus as I stared up at him, at times unable to make out his features. I thought I heard the distant sounds of a door crashing open, a man’s voice yelling, and footsteps thundering across floorboards, but my mind was too hazy to be sure of anything.
I thought about Finn, in those last moments. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at the dying man above me, and
instead focused my thoughts on the man I’d do anything for.
There he was – one dimple popping out in his right cheek, as he threw his head back and laughed
at something I’d said; his dark hair disheveled, and the beginnings of a scruffy beard darkening his jawline. Those eyes, so blue and full of emotion, staring at me – seeing straight into my soul.
My head
was swimming with the lack of oxygen, and I knew I had only a minute left – maybe less – before I lost consciousness. I used those precious seconds to live the life we should have had together.
I watched him graduate, grinning proudly and cheering until my throat was raw
, as he crossed the stage and received his diploma.
I threw my arms around him and screamed YES! when
he got down on one knee in a puddle, pulling out a ring on a rainy street corner one drizzly afternoon.
I floated down the aisle, dressed in a cliché white gown and clutching my bouquet like a lifeline
, as I walked, smilingly, into my future.
I grinned tiredly in the delivery room
, watching as Finn held his baby son in his arms for the first time.
Image by image, I lived out our life
, even as I felt my own slipping away. I couldn’t feel Skinner’s hands on my throat anymore; I couldn’t feel much of anything anymore.
I
’d gone numb.
Somewhere deep down, it registered that someone was shaking me, saying things to me, but I was too
far-gone to feel and long past hearing.
My
eyes slivered open and the last thing they saw was Finn’s face, his expression frantic as his lips mouthed my name over and over.
I tried to smile at him, to let him know
that it was okay, because he’d lived – he’d have a future, even if I weren’t around to share it.
I tried to put the
I love you
into my eyes, before the dark embraced me.
He
clutched me to his chest, his tears falling like rain onto my face.
And I died.