Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
"He should know better than to stare at what's mine," he had whispered, a declaration marked by an undercurrent of possessiveness.
I wanted desperately to dismiss it as a horrific coincidence. The parallel was too great, but these weren’t Liam’s eyes that stared back at me. Devoid of life, they were a ghastly pale blue, the color now muted and dull, marred with the red threads of ruptured vessels.
A singular face came to mind.
Matthew—the TA who had innocently inquired about our break plans just an hour or so ago.
The note slipped from my trembling fingers as I staggered to my feet, bile rising in my throat. With a hand clapped over my mouth, I lurched into the bathroom and succumbed to the overwhelming urge to vomit. Mara was right behind me, holding my hair as everything I’d just consumed came back up.
Her presence was a steady anchor as the world spun out of control. While I was lost to the violent upheaval of my stomach, she held my hair back with practiced ease.
“Shoes, coats, keys to your truck.” She began to lay out a methodical escape plan. “We get to the guard station and then straight to the police. I’m not sitting around waiting for a cruiser to be dispatched. In this weather, who knows how long it will take them to get here.”
Rinsing my mouth at the sink, the taste of bile still lingering, I could only nod in agreement, my mind numb with shock and adrenaline.
“Do you know whose—?” She stopped, a shudder passing through her. “No, I don't want to know.”
My phone erupted with notifications from the other room, a barrage of texts coming in. I didn’t want to walk back in there where Matthew’s eyes still sat on the floor. I didn’t want to read those messages, but I finished rinsing my mouth and did exactly that.
“This is so fucked up,” Mara stressed, keeping pace right at my heels.
Refusing to look back at the floor where Matthew’s eyes were and plagued with the question of where the rest of him was, I picked up my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I read the messages.
The wolves are at your door.
Run, little lamb, run.
The texts repeated, again and again, these same two lines.
“We need to get out of here,” Mara stated with a surprising degree of calm.
“There’s nothing I would love to do more, but I’m not sure how I feel about wandering through campus with a psychopath lurking who knows where.”
“I agree, it's risky, but if they've managed to get into our dorm once, who's to say they won't try again?”
She was right. If the intruder—or intruders—had already been bold enough to enter our home, the safety we felt within these walls was an illusion. With a grim nod, I conceded. “Okay, let's get out of here.”
We moved quickly then, a flurry of urgency propelling us into action. Shoes were slipped on, followed by our jackets so we didn’t freeze, and keys and keycards were snatched up.
I darted into the kitchenette, my eyes scanning for anything that could serve as a makeshift weapon.
“Call the police,” I instructed Mara over my shoulder.
Her phone was already on speaker by the time I joined her, having found nothing.
“911, what's your emergency?” the operator intoned.
“We need someone here fast,” Mara implored, her voice shaking as she started to explain our situation and where we were calling from. Before she could finish, the operator's voice returned, not with concern or urgency, but with a chilling laugh.
“Oh, we're already here.”
The call then disconnected, leaving us in a stunned silence. That's when we heard it. Knock. Knock. Two sharp raps at the door, deliberate and sinister. The timing was too perfect, too coincidental.
Frozen, we exchanged a look that conveyed a mutual decision without words. We wouldn't answer it.
Absolutely fucking not.
Instead, we stood still, barely breathing, as the presence behind the door lingered. Every creak of the building and gust of wind against the windows seemed amplified. The unnerving silence was suddenly pierced by the insistent buzz of incoming texts, each one a potential threat. With a decisive motion, I powered off my phone, the screen going dark, taking with it the immediate fear of more messages.
Time stretched taut as we waited, the sound of our breathing loud in the stillness. Then, another knock, hesitant yet urgent, accompanied by a familiar voice. “It's Regina. Are you guys here? Please open up.”
Mara and I shared a wary glance.
This could be another trick, another layer of the night's deceit. With extreme caution, we approached the door.
“Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be gone by now?" I called through the door, my hand hovering over the lock.
Her voice quivered with fear that sounded genuine. “I was waiting for my boyfriend to warm up the car. He said he'd text when he was out front, but…he never did. He's not answering now, and I'm scared. There's some weird stuff drawn on the walls out here.”