Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk outside wearing absolutely nothing, and you’re going to run around the block. I’ll know if you don’t. Don’t change. Don’t do anything but listen to my instructions or you’ll regret it.
I’ll let her stew in wondering who I am. Who would know that she always loved dares except the six of us?
The Misfits.
Would she guess right away or continue to think it’s a prank? The knowledge that I must be making her mind spin has me so fucking hard. Finally. After all these years, I can pry my way into that pretty little head of hers, just like she’s done to me. Years of torture, living with the unrelenting thought of her. She’s consumed my thoughts in every sense of the word. Obsessed? Perhaps. More like I became her captive, and now I’ll make her mine.
Dots appear and disappear. I get up knowing I have her fucking cornered, and put on my shoes, bringing my rubber skull mask to put on later.
My phone dings with an incoming text.
You sick fuck.
I cackle opening up my response to type, but she’s beat me to it.
How can you possibly know if I do it???
You’re a smart girl, Hazel. Figure it out.
I reply, opening up the tattered brown painted motel door to see my girl in the flesh after all these years.
CHAPTER 4
HAZEL
27 YEARS OLD
Every moment is torture.I can hardly see where I’m going, let alone if anyone is watching me. It’s one thing to take off my clothes by choice. Performing for my subscribers has always been a thrill that I enjoy. It’s another to be blackmailed into it.
Shame and sweat coat my skin as I run. The only visible thing that I can make out are the small puffs of breath escaping my lips as I go. Ignoring the pain in my side from running proves to be difficult. I’m not much of a runner, and the lack of talent in that area becomes more apparent with each step I take.
Only the blinding fear that whoever it is that sent these messages, could be out here with me keeps me going. One foot in front of the other as fast and as hard as I can manage. They could be out here right now, just waiting for their moment to attack. Watching as I make an utter fool of myself. Fuck. I hope the neighbors are asleep. There’s no explaining this level of madness away. It’s not every day a naked woman goes running past. At least not here.
I’m sure I look drunk right now. And maybe I am with the amount of alcohol and pills swimming in my veins. That mightexplain why I even agreed to this harebrained idea in the first place. If anyone sees me, I’ll just play into the drunkenness.
Darkness presses in all around me. Bare feet slap against the rough asphalt, biting into my flesh. My imagination runs wild, concocting all sorts of possibilities. Wondering if these messages are just a ploy to get me out of the house so whoever it is could grab me. The world is full of psychopaths, so anything is possible.
It’s so pitch black out that I don’t see the pothole until it’s too late. My body goes down hard, knocking the wind from my lungs.
Oh, fuck. I need to get up.
I need to get up!
Willing myself to move takes a herculean amount of effort, but my protesting muscles finally budge. Everything hurts, but I don’t think anything is broken.
Bits of gravel are lodged in my skin, stinging my sensitive flesh. I should clean myself off, but I can’t do anything but run. Back to my home. Back to safety. Back to end this stupid dare.
I’m starting to doubt if going along with those messages is even worth it, but then I remember the sheer panic I felt in Kingston. The way the police looked at me as if I was guilty. The fucking whispers following me everywhere. The endless media attention. The phone calls, emails, and letters from people who had nothing better to do than take time out of their day to send death threats. My hands shaking with their ugly, hateful letters. Feeling myself begin to shrink further and further away from the world, until I no longer felt safe to go out.
Wind whips around me, pimpling my already frozen flesh into painful little bumps. I just need to keep moving my legs and get myself home.
I turn the final corner, desperate for warmth. For safety.Just a few more houses to go,I tell myself as I pump my legsfaster. Harder. Until they feel like Jell-O wobbling beneath me. My heart hammers so hard I can hear it in my ears, blocking out the sounds from around me. I wouldn’t be able to hear someone creep up on me if I tried.
The lights on in my house are like a beacon of safety, and like a moth to a flame, I launch myself at its illumination. Convinced, no matter how irrationally, that once I’m inside, I’ll be safe.
My front porch catches me. Legs extended, leaping over the stairs while I fumble with my keys.
Come on, come on, come on.
