Shit like this didn’t just change a man. It destroyed all aspects of goodness inside.
CHAPTER 11
Alexia
“Do you dream in color?”
The monster’s first question after following me into the bookstore. For anyone who’d overheard, the inquiry had likely seemed odd, especially to a stranger. But since I’d gone into the store searching for a book on dreams for a school project, I’d believed the man’s directness was nothing more than creative flirting.
What I couldn’t remember was my answer. Knowing me, I would have come back with a snarky quip. Pushing the guy to see what he was made of. Not remembering had bugged me for all thirteen years. I did remember we’d spoken for maybe five minutes before he’d left.
No pressure. No sense of being uncomfortable.
He’d selected a book and headed to the cashier without so much as making a single pass. Yes, we’d talked, but it hadn’t seemed creepy that I could remember. That’s why when I’d noticed himagain, I hadn’t felt an immediate sense of alarm. My first real mistake. Maybe my second. By then I’d been chosen.
If I was right about the real killer, maybe his method of abducting and killing would change, but it was my belief that he’d always use creative methods for selecting the women he considered lucky enough to be tasked for his projects. They needed talent in some area. At the time, I’d been involved in the arts department at my high school. I’d learned later so had the few other girls I’d managed to talk to.
That was the only similarity I’d discovered.
The man hadn’t been particularly memorable, certainly not someone who would imprint even a single image in the back of my mind. Even today, I couldn’t form even a foggy picture of his face.
However, there would be no way of forgetting his smile or the deep sound of his laugh. But now, as I tried to remember certain details, including his eyes, all I could see in the distinct fog of my brain was the wisp of dark hair sweeping into one eye. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t paid much attention to the color.
I’d seen him again twice more. The first time hadn’t raised any red flags. He’d been on his phone, ready to catch a cab.
The third time had been when every nerve had been on end. Rightfully so. I’d had a strange call the night before and an email received during school hours.
Cut to thirteen years later. I was in my office, staring out the window at my bleak environment. My view was terrible. A parking lot and part of a dilapidated building under renovation, including the side facing an alley, the ugly street housing now both a commercial and a construction dumpster.
That had been my luxurious view for a couple of months. Before that I’d been drawn to the dumpster used by several small businesses, using the imaginary side of my brain to create horrifying scenarios for thriller novels, including dead bodies found buried inside. I’d even thought about sending a couple of my more indulgent and very dark thoughts to the famous author.
I hadn’t.
Instead, I’d stalked him like the bastard from all those years ago had done to me. I hadn’t realized that’s what he’d done to all his victims until years later after I was in the business.
I’d all but ravaged the police department where the records had been kept. That’s when I’d learned more about Maverick. However, I hadn’t lied to him. My best friend Sandra had turned me onto his books.
That’s when the crazy idea of talking to him in person had been born. Along with a few nefarious thoughts after I’d made it happen.
The various employee vehicles dotted areas of the broken pavement, including an older SUV I hadn’t seen before. With a man sitting inside, where he’d been since I’d arrived at work. Somehow, I doubted he was a member of the Miami-Dade police force, even off duty. Why? Because I’d caught him using his phone to take a picture and there was nothing about the building where I worked that was of any interest, including the cheap architecture.
The man also wasn’t the one I’d sworn I’d seen outside my house. Or maybe it was. Or maybe I was losing my mind since the same petrifying fear was started to become an issue.
What I did know for certain was that my hero had decided to ignore my plea and his promise by having me followed. Perhaps my emotions were a little all over the place, but that irritated the hell out of me. At least I’d have a decent excuse to give him a piece of my mind.
Laughing, I leaned against the wall, trying to rationalize what little I knew. A whole lot of nothing and Maverick was right. I certainly couldn’t go off half-cocked when all I had was a strange phone call that meant nothing.
Except for the question the bastard had asked as soon as I answered the phone.“Do you dream in color?”
Yes, I’d told Maverick about it all those years ago. And yes, it was possible the clue had leaked after the fact.
However, hearing the question had driven the fear of God into me. Now, I just needed to keep fact from fear and fiction. I’d changed my number. If he contacted me again, I’d go to the police. That might keep me from losing all the strength I’d gained over the years.
What happened when a person’s life began to unravel completely? I’d certainly feared the nasty discovery. I’d also been forced to admit that I’d been put back together with duct tape and hot glue after being saved. Those types of repairs didn’t last. The monster had acted as if he knew I was barely hanging onto reality with my fingernails digging into a decaying piece of wood. There I went again with my creative if not morbid mind spouting off shit.
I noticed my boss’s reflection in the waning sunlight before she knocked. She’d stood just long enough staring at me to offer a hint of concern. I wasn’t a mind reader but I was damn goodwith my instincts. I’d ruffled one too many feathers with recent questions.
The knock was light and as soon as I turned around, I acted as if I was clueless. She closed the door behind her, immediately heading to the other side of the window. Betty Landers was my mentor, a highly respected woman who took no shit from anyone.
