Karen Rose - I Can See You

Just like Jerry had when she’d caught him with that slut. In my bed.

She shoved the front-door key into the lock, her eyes narrowing at a new thought.

“Jerry.” It made sense. Her ex knew computers, but he wouldn’t even have needed to hack in. She hadn’t logged out of Shadowland in God only knew how long. She’d changed the locks, but that wouldn’t have kept him out. He’d broken into the house. Her cheeks flamed. Read my Ninth Circle conversations . Why on earth had she saved them? So, like a loser, she could read them again and again, pretending to have a life.

“He set me up,” she hissed. “Sonofafuckingbitch set me up.”

She pushed the door open, furious. She’d get him, the lying, screwing SOB, if it was the last thing she- A hand clamped over her mouth and her heart froze. Jerry. Fury supplanted the fear. This was taking it too damn far. I’ll kill you for this .

Then fury evaporated away as she was viciously yanked back, her head smacking against a hard shoulder. Not Jerry , she thought wildly. It’s not Jerry .

“Hello, Gwenivere,” he crooned into her ear and she thrashed against him. Get away. Get away . She felt the jab of a needle into her neck. “Welcome to Camelot.”

She could hear him calmly counting back from ten as her body went numb. He let her go and she teetered for a split second before collapsing on the floor.

“Snakes,” she heard him say, from a distance. She was floating now. Get away. Must get away . But she couldn’t move. She heard him kneel beside her, felt his breath in her ear. “A pit of vipers slithering over your skin, Christy. No escape. No escape.”

No. No. Everywhere, they’re everywhere. It was a deep pit. Twisting snakes, all around. Hissing. Her heart pounded and cold sweat drenched her skin. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Oh God . One slithered across her foot, and she clenched her eyes shut. Another dropped from above to her shoulder and she screamed. Run. Get away .

Help me . Christy Lewis heard the shrieking and was suddenly aware it came from her own throat. She opened her eyes, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air. Just a dream . She was in her own living room. But not . Her eyes darted side to side as she took it in. Her furniture was moved. Pushed against the wall. She lunged. But not.

I can’t move . She struggled wildly, her mind fighting to clear the haze. No snakes , she told herself. Just a dream. But I still can’t move . Her arms hugged her body, her ankles burned like fire, her head… God, her head hurt. Stop. And think .

She blinked hard, but her living room was still changed. Her arms… She was sitting up, bound shoulder to waist, warm. Trapped . Horror flooded her mind as the mist cleared away. Her ankles were tied to her chair with rope and there was hideous pressure on her temples, like a… “A vise?” she whispered in disbelief.

“Indeed, my dear. And a straitjacket,” he said and it came back in a rush.

She’d gone to meet John. She’d waited for him, but he’d never come. But he was here . She jerked around to see, crying out at the shearing pain in her head.

“I suggest you not try to move,” he said dryly, still behind her.

“Why?” she begged, agonized. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away.

“Maybe because your empty head is in a vise ?” he said with contempt.

“No.” She wanted to sound angry, but instead she whimpered in fear. “Why me?”

“Because I needed you,” he said logically. “And because you’re here. And because I can. Pick one, it doesn’t matter which. Did you like the snakes, Christy?”

She shuddered. It was her very worst fear. How did he know? “Go to hell.”

He chuckled, sending another shiver racing coldly down her spine. “Ladies firssssst,” he whispered, hissing into her ear. Her insides rolled at the memory, at the total, immobilizing fear.

No. Stay focused. You have to get away. Pay attention. Remember important things to tell the police. When you get away. “They weren’t real,” she muttered.

“Those weren’t,” he agreed. “But he is.” A gloved hand came into her peripheral vision, pointing. She could see a gold ring through his opaque latex glove.

Remember the ring. Tell the cops about it.

But he is . His words suddenly registered as did the metal box on the floor. The size of a tool box, it had holes in the top. Tied to the latch was twine that ran along the floor, ending somewhere behind her. Behind her he moved and his hand reappeared in her line of vision, holding one end of the twine. He yanked and was then that she heard it.

A rattle. Ominous. Quiet. Her breath began to hitch. “Not happening. Not real.”

“Oh, he’s real,” he whispered, “and he’s hungry and he won’t like being disturbed. Shall we disturb him?”

“No,” she whimpered. She clenched her eyes closed but he forced one of her eyes open, pinching her eyelid hard. He smeared something cold under her eyebrow and quickly pressed her eyelid against it. Glue . She struggled to blink, and could not.

“You’ll watch,” he said, angry now. “Because I say you will.” He glued her other eye open, then brought something around her head. A cage. Inside was something white, and completely still. A mouse. “Not dead,” he said. “Blood’s still nice and warm. He’s sedated with the same drug I gave you. I wonder if he’ll be half as terrified as you.”

He took the mouse from the cage and placed it against her foot. She could feel its fur tickling her skin. She tried to flinch away, but her ankles were tied too tightly. He yanked the twine again. Again she heard the rattle. She panted, trying to fill her lungs.

Breathe. Can’t breathe. It’s coming. Run . She struggled, tried to draw a breath to scream, but all she could manage was a terrified mew. Trapped. I’m trapped.

He yanked the string again and the front of the box lowered with a clatter.

It lifted its head and stared. At me . Frozen, she could only stare back.

“It’s coming,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “For you.”

Monday, February 22, 6:15 a.m.

Harvey Farmer was tired. He’d followed Noah Webster for hours, only to return home to an empty house. Dell was AWOL again. Unable to sleep, he was staring stonily at his front door when it opened. Dell closed it, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Where have you been?” Harvey asked, not kindly.

“Out.”

Abruptly Harvey lurched to his feet. “Don’t you talk to me like that, boy.”

Dell took a step back. “I’m not a boy. I can go where I like.”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed as he smelled leftover perfume. He grabbed his son’s arm, stunned when Dell grabbed it back. “Who is she?” Harvey growled.

Dell’s smile was tight. “No one you’ll ever meet. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Harvey watched his son’s retreating back, his anger rising. “If you fuck up what we’re doing because of some slut…”

Dell didn’t stop. “I won’t. Now, I’ve had a long night. I’m going to sleep.”

Monday, February 22, 7:25 a.m.

Captain Bruce Abbott stopped at their desks. “You two are here early. Progress on the Brisbane investigation? Did you get the report on Dix’s victim? The first hanger?”

“Samantha Altman,” Noah said, “was thirty-five, lived alone, recently divorced and recently unemployed. She was found by her parents, who said she wasn’t depressed.”