No answer.
She’s already at work and likely tied up. So, I call Barry next.
He doesn’t answer but sends a text instead.
Barry: Another body discovered and in the middle of that. You okay?
No. But I don’t want to pull him away, especially if it’s someone who’s been missing for a long time and definitively tied to Lionel, not the copycat. Someone’s family could be getting the worst kind of closure soon.
Me: Yeah, no rush. Whenever you have a minute to talk.
Barry: Okay, honey. Will call soon.
Sighing, I walk over to my bed and sit on the edge, continuing to stare blankly at the mess. I don’t have the emotional capacity to feel anything other than exhaustion.
I don’t even have the energy to contemplate which one of them did it—Dread or Lionel. I should feel scared over the latter option, but for once, I just… don’t.
I feel nothing.
Lifting my phone, I snap a picture and then text it to Dread, asking if it was him.
The screen blurs as I sightlessly stare at it, getting lost in a fantasy of packing a bag and just running away. I could let go of my dream of helping children who were victims of crime, leave this all behind, and drive off into the moonlight. Maybe I could find a cute cottage somewhere in the wilderness, where the closest neighbor is a mile away. Go off-grid, get rid of my phone, and just live. I’d get a dog, maybe two, and take them on hikes with me. We’d explore nature and live in a tiny little bubble where I need or want for nothing.
My phone pings, and I snap out of the fantasy.
The Antichrist: No. I’m on my way.
I close my eyes with a heavy exhale, defeated. I don’t want him anywhere near me, but fighting him is useless. He won’t listen, and I’ll end up expending more energy than I have for nothing.
I heavily slump to the side and curl up on my mattress, half the sheet ripped off, my comforter crumpled beneath me, my pillow on the other side of the room. Then, I close my eyes and let my mind drift back to the corner of my brain that houses two dogs and a cottage somewhere far away.
I’m unsure of how much time passes before I hear the door opening and then softly closing.
Dread’s presence is suffocating, and I realize that maybe all this time, I’ve been training myself to hold my breath so I could survive him.
He’s the water trapped inside my lungs.
So, I inhale and start counting.
I keep my eyes closed, even as I feel him move toward me. His breath fans across my face, indicating he’s crouched in front of me, but I still don’t acknowledge him.
Nineteen… twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…
He says nothing. Neither do I.
He knows I’m not sleeping, and he knows I know he knows.
Yet, still, we say nothing.
Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty… thirty-one…
He gets up, and I hear him moving around the room. Objects clatter, fabric shifts, bags crinkle, and I hold my breath.
One hundred ten… one hundred eleven… one hundred twelve… one hundred thirteen…
Papers shuffle, furniture moves, drawers slide, and I continue to hold my breath.
One hundred eighty-one… one hundred eighty-two… one hundred eighty-three… one hundred eighty-four…
