I walk over to them and look out the open windows. The Victorian mansion sits on five acres in a secluded neighborhood. You have to have a gate code to access the property, so it’s not like you can just pull up to our house. If someone doesn’t have the code or clearance to get in, the guard shack will phone us for approval. My mother thinks she’s some kind of celebrity and needs protection from the outside world.
I look over the manicured lawn. Holly trees line the area below my windows—big shrubs that have pointed leaves on them. I’ve cut myself on their sharp edges before, and they sting like a bitch. I’m pretty sure my mother put me in this room so I can’t jump out and escape. Becky’s doesn’t have anything outside her window, but she’s always been allowed free rein. She comes and goes as she pleases. Plus, when we lived with our father, the parent who wants to be your friend more than a parent, he allowed her to do whatever the hell she wanted. That’s why she begged our mother to stay there when they announced their divorce. Thankfully, my father talked her into letting me stay too. But he was just as strict on me as our mother is.
I place my knee on the white cushion of the alcove and pull both bay windows closed, then flip the latch. I turn around, and a scream erupts from my mouth when I see a guy sitting on the opposite side of my bed with his back to me. He has his head down, facing the floor. A black hood pulled up, so I can’t see the back of his head. With matching black jeans. He sits with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
I’ve fallen onto the bench, pressing my back up against the windows. My heart races in my chest. He sits perfectly still—like a statue. Swallowing nervously, I try to remember any survival skills, but I got none. The thought crosses my mind of the serial killer documentary I just watched and how I’m about to be raped and hacked into a million fucking pieces before they’re buried under some psycho’s house. I’ll never be found.
By the way his broad shoulders pull against the black fabric, I’m guessing the guy has at least a hundred pounds on me. I’m five feet three and weigh a hundred and twelve pounds. I can’t fight off someone that size.
I sit paralyzed, waiting for him to stand. To turn and show me his face. The fact he’s hiding from me has to be a good sign, right? I’ve seen enough documentaries to know if they hide their face, they don’t want you to be able to identify them. If they do show their face … well, then they’ve already decided you’re gonna die.
I swallow nervously and push myself up when he just continues to sit there. I will my shaky legs to tiptoe over to my bed and snatch my phone off the nightstand to call 911. But it’s not there.
My stomach drops. I know I didn’t take it downstairs with me. That only leaves one other possibility—he has it.
“What … what do you want?” I ask and swallow the knot in my throat. I’m here all alone. Why isn’t he doing anything? Did Becky send him? Is this some sick joke she’s playing on me? It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to scare me. And since I made fun of her getting scared at Silence, I wouldn’t put it past her to retaliate.
A thought hits me, and I release a long, shaky breath. Halloween is coming up. My hands come to rest on my pounding chest. “Seth, knock it off.” The guy likes to scare me because he knows how much I enjoy it. Last year on Halloween, I just happened to be visiting my mother in Texas, and he dressed up as Jason and hid in the back seat of my car. When he popped up, I had just merged onto the highway and almost killed us both, barely missing the center median. We laughed about it afterward.
He swears he’s gonna scare the shit out of me. My eyes narrow on the back of his hoodie when he continues to just sit there. “Seth …”
The hallway and outside lights go out, cutting off my words and leaving us in complete darkness and total silence. I blink and suck in a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. Blood rushes in my ears, momentarily deafening me. What the hell is going on? Looking around, I notice that even the green light to my DVR is off. He’s cut the power. But how? It isn’t storming outside. The stars were out when I looked out my window a minute ago.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, my chest aching from my heart beating so hard.
The silence swallows me, and I blink, trying to adjust myself to nothing. You know when you imagine a spider crawling on your arm, and you scratch at it as though it’s really there? That’s how I feel right now. I get that feeling creeping up my spine that has my fear rising again. It’s not Seth. He messaged me earlier that he had plans tonight when I asked him if he wanted to come over and watch a movie.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Seconds pass before I hear footsteps. But they’re outside my bedroom door not inside. The banister creaks as they grip it with their hand, making their way slowly up the stairs. Oh, God no. There’s more of them. That’s why he hasn’t moved. He’s waiting for help. “Please …” I say as tears begin to sting my eyes, and my anger rises at how hopeless I am. “Just go …”
“Can’t do that,” a voice whispers from my right.
I jump and slap my hand over my mouth to keep from yelping in surprise. A hand gently touches my side, and I begin to shake. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I scream this time.
Voices chuckle, and I try to catch my breath. I spin around in a circle. How many are in my room?
“To play a game,” a male voice says softly, right up against my ear. And I jerk away. My body heat rises at the closeness of a stranger in my room, and my hip runs into the corner of my nightstand. Shit! That’s gonna leave a bruise.
I reach over, wrap my fist around my lamp that I know sits on it, and throw it across the room. Seconds later, you hear it shatter against a wall. Not wanting to stand here like a sitting duck, I run for my bedroom door. If I can get downstairs or outside ... but just as my fingers wrap around the doorknob, a hand twists in my hair, yanking me to a stop. I cry out, my hands flying to the one that holds me. I claw at the hand as my scalp stings from them fisting my hair. “Please … don’t …”
My back is pulled into a hard body and another hand comes up and slaps over my mouth. I try to catch my breath through my nose, but it’s not working.
My chest rises and falls fast, and I cuss myself for not wearing more clothes. I’m your typical cliché in every horror movie. The one I laugh at when she ends up getting stabbed or dismembered in a brutal fashion.
A warm breath hits my ear as the person who holds me leans down to whisper. A shiver of fear runs through me at the same time my thighs tighten. “I thought you wanted this, Becky?”
My entire body stiffens at his words. And not because of how he called me by my sister’s name but because of who said it.
Deke!
My fear is doused like fucking water thrown on a fire and replaced with anger. I start to squirm in his hold and try to twist around to punch him, kick him, anything. When it gets me nowhere, I lean my head forward the best I can and then slam it back. I smile when it makes contact with something, and he growls.
He removes his hand from my mouth, and I suck in a deep breath. “You motherfucker …”
He lets go of my hair, and before I can run to the door again, he wraps an arm around my waist, picks me up like a rag doll, and tosses me onto my bed, face down. My fists grip the already tangled comforter, and I try to crawl away, but he jumps on top of me, straddling my ass, and his force makes my headboard slam against the wall. His weight pushes my body down into my mattress. I try to push myself up with my hands, but he grabs them and yanks them behind my back.