... How do you know my name?
My hands shake at this invasion of privacy. Of all days for this to happen, they picked today. They must be one of those true-crime-obsessed people, thinking they’re a detective because they’ve watched every episode ofUnsolved Mysteries.
I stare at the small, digitized date at the corner of my phone, reminding me of the stupid fucking date. As if I need the reminder. I feel the weight of those years down to my bones. The passage of time has been etched into my skin, wrapping itself around my shriveled soul. A mere ghost of what it once was. Trauma of that day and the days following Sarah’sdisappearance has seeped into my nerves like a poison. The knowledge that my missing memories may hold the key to her disappearance. I know how it looks. I know the town blames me.
That moment Sarah went missing in the woods changed me forever. It’s become a distinct before-and-after in my mind. A line drawn in the sands of time. The person I was before I walked into that house is gone for good.
If you don’t play along, I’ll tell them where you are. You don’t want that, do you?
Fuck. I’ve worked far too hard to disappear. Carving out my life in the only functional way I know how. And this motherfucker wants to threaten everything I’ve built? For what?
If the cops know my whereabouts, they’ll interrogate me all over again. Asking me questions I don’t know the answers to. They treated me like a suspect. Like I’m someone worth locking up for good. Like I have the capability to make another person vanish.
The town’s heavy, judgmental glares crawl all over me, like I’m right back in Kingston while I glare at this intruder’s threatening messages. How it all became too much. Those whispers. Those eyes, accusing me of crimes I had no memory of. The wordsMONSTER,MURDERER,SLUTsprayed onto my locker. The way I scrubbed at the spray paint until my fingers bled. And finally, the way my mom dragged me into church begging for me to repent of my sins.
My hand clutches my phone so tight it begins to ache as those moments flash in my memories.
Fine. I’ll play.
I find myself typing back. Willing to do whatever they ask if only to avoid being dragged back to that place. Back to Kingston and the source of my nightmares.
CHAPTER 3
THE MISFIT
27 YEARS OLD
I stare downat the phone clutched in my hands, picturing her reaction from my texts. The flush climbing up her delicate, breakable neck. The thought of her distress makes my dick hard. Just knowing that she’s reading my messages is enough to satiate the building need that’s followed me around our whole lives.
Toying with her like this after spending years tracking her down gives me such a rush, I can barely control my shaking hands. I yearn to wrap my fingers around her curves. Seeing those videos of her in those provocative poses, teasing the camera with her arched back and round ass. Vibrant pink hair tumbling in waves down her back. The moment my eyes locked on those two dimples above her ass I was a goner. Feeling like I was seventeen again, pining over my crush.
What she didn’t understand then back when we were at Kingston, is that she’s mine. And always has been, always fucking will be.
I shift on the scratchy motel issue blankets, trying to get comfortable as I lie, with my legs crossed at the ankles. The bed creaks loudly, springs protesting beneath my weight. This Midwest small-town Hazel’s been hiding in has no otheravailable places to stay, so this run-down motel will have to do for now. It’s within walking distance of her sub-division.
I’ve jogged by ten times this week, noting her every move. canvasing the area, becoming familiar with every crack in the pavement, every nosy neighbor, every camera doubling as a doorbell. Each time I went out, I noticed her car sitting in the driveway. Unused, and engine cold.
Digging further into Hazel’s past, I found that she’s moved every year for the past ten years. Working from home, doing odd jobs that don’t require her to leave the house.
I can’t really blame her after how the media treated us all. Her especially, as she’s the only girl in our group. The last one to see Sarah, with no memory of what happened. They vilified her. Painted her as slut for hanging out with a bunch of guys. Such bullshit.
A high-pitched whirl kicks on from the window unit, drowning out the incessant dripping from the bathroom faucet.
Dots appear and then disappear as Hazel debates what to send. I know she’ll comply like putty in my hands. She doesn’t have a choice. With how carefully she’s cultivated this new life, hundreds of miles away from Kingston, the last thing she wants is the police to be involved. If they were to be notified, it would take one search. One bored rookie to dig into her past. I’m betting that she’ll do just about anything to keep that from happening. The only question I have is how far I can push her before she snaps?
It takes an immense amount of control to keep myself lying here instead of stalking out of this room to be closer. Reminding myself I need to be patient and I’ll get exactly what I want.
Eventually.
But I need her to trust me first.
What will it be, Hazel? Truth or dare?
Alright. Dare.
Mouth quirked- I feel a rush of adrenaline spike deep beneath my rib cage as I send my reply.
Sweet little Hazel, always shying away from the truth.
