She wasn’t ready for everything to come to an end. There was still so much she had to do, so many places she wanted to see. She wanted to get married, to have a family one day.
“Not these. Not tonight.” The man placed the tools back into the bag one by one, slow and deliberate. “Tonight is about learning you. Understanding you. Hearing you breathe. Hearing how you try not to cry. It’s all really quite satisfying. Some people in my shoes . . . they move too quickly. That takes away so much joy.”
She bit her lip until she tasted copper.Please, Lord . . . help me!
She hadn’t prayed in years. She didn’t even know if she believed in God. But she felt powerless to do anything but pray right now.
“Such control. I admire that. Icraveit.” He moved closer to her ear and lowered his voice. “I need to know what breaks you, Gina.”
She trembled, the shivers uncontrollable.
“And soon,” he added, his breath warm on her ear, “I’ll find out. Now, here’s what’s going to happen . . .”
Gina closed her eyes again, the pounding in her head growing stronger because of the bright light. Because of the fear.
“I’m going to cut off your zip ties and leave you here,” he murmured. “You’re going to count to one thousand—out loud, so I can hear you. If you stop counting, if you call out, if you move even an inch, I’ll know. And I’ll come back. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
He leaned closer, the light still shining in her eyes, and pulled out a knife.
Her throat went dry when she saw the blade.
Then he sliced through the plastic at her wrists and ankles.
She released the breath she’d been holding.
He remained leaning toward her as he said, “I’m always watching, Gina. Even when you can’t see me. Even when you think you’re safe. I live in the spaces between your heartbeats, inthe shadows you’re afraid to check. And one day when you least expect it, I’ll come back to finish what we started tonight.”
Then he moved toward the door, his footsteps heavy.
Was he . . . leaving? Really?
What sense did that make?
Yet, she wasn’t complaining.
Maybe this nightmare was over.
But that seemed too easy.
No—something told her this nightmare was just beginning.
He paused. “Start counting.”
“One,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Two. Three . . .”
The door opened.
By the time Gina reached fifty, she thought the man—the monster—might be gone.
By one hundred, she was almost certain.
Despite that, she kept counting, her voice growing hoarse.
Because somewhere in the darkness—maybe outside her window, maybe in the hallway, maybe nowhere and everywhere at once—he might still be listening.
She didn’t stop until she reached a thousand.
