But I’ve never been able to leave her alone, and with each passing day, the odds of that even being possible disintegrate.
Eventually, our breaths calm and even out, and we allow ourselves to be lulled into a peaceful silence. At some indiscernible point, I began playing with the ends of her hair while she does the same with the string on my hoodie, neither of us feeling inclined to break the pleasant fog around us.
Her phone buzzes from the floor, causing us both to jump from the sudden noise. Groaning, she rolls onto her back, pausing for a few seconds before sitting up with a very heavy sigh and swiping her vibrating phone from beside her feet.
Annoyance has my upper lip curling as she lazily answers it, mumbling out a, “Hello?”
Not even a half second passes before she stiffens into solid stone, effectively putting me on high alert. I lift my head, adrenaline flooding my system before I even understand why.
Her head slowly turns before her eyes find mine over her shoulder, wide with horror as her face pales.
“What? What's wrong?”
She doesn't answer, only staring at me as if I'm a demon.
My heart pounds hard, my stomach twisting with both concern and anxiety as I sit up straight, frowning at her.
“Put it on speaker,” I demand sharply, rife with impatience.
She blinks and then slowly drops the phone from her ear. It lights up again, showing an unknown number as she hits the speaker button.
It's silent for several long moments, and then…
“Angel?”
CHAPTER 23
REVERIE
The second I hear that damn word through the speaker again, I close my eyes, my organs collapsing from two simple syllables spoken in a voice I prayed to never hear again. I'm paralyzed. I can’t get my vocal cords to work, can’t get my body to function.
I had hoped the first time I heard him say it after I answered, I was hallucinating from the post-orgasm. But the way Dread's entire presence goes utterly still when he says it the second time, I know my personal nightmare has returned, and it's not waiting for sleep to haunt me.
That voice was my very first memory after he saved my life from a mother so lost in grief and darkness, she didn’t understand what she was doing. That voice soothed me and gave me solace through one of the darkest moments of a life that had barely begun.
He was my safety. My home base. The person I ran to when I awoke with night terrors because I thought I couldn’t breathe.
Then, he became my boogeyman. The monster lurking in theshadows. The person I hid from when he came home at night.
Nausea swirls in my stomach, and even still, I can’t get myself to utter a single noise.
Dread comes closer, the energy radiating from him angry and potent. It’s stifling and overwhelming.Everythingfeels overwhelming.
“Angel…” He sighs the nickname this time, sounding resigned. “I wish you would talk to me. That’s all I want. It’s been nine years since I’ve even seen you, honey, and I know you’re confused about a few things. I… I just want to clear things up. You were so young, and I know everything you heard about me—the things I was being accused of—it must’ve gotten into your head. I’m so sorry it did.”
One burning tear slips from my eye while my chin trembles.
I knew he would do this the moment he got the chance. Gaslight me. Claim what I saw at six years old was all in my head, that my imagination got the better of me.
I dreaded this moment because I also knew it might work. He would needle into my brain and convince me that maybe I did make it all up. Maybe I wasn’t living in fear of him for those two years before Barry arrested him. Maybe, in those moments, I was actually hiding from my mom.
“You shouldn’t be calling me,” I choke out. The tips of my fingers tingle, numbness slowly working its way through my extremities. “And you shouldn’t have come here.”
“What makes you think I was there?” he questions. There’s an edge to his tone, like he’s suspicious.
I have vague memories of Lionel being very paranoid. I've learned a lot about criminal psychology, how paranoia in criminals is common due to the building pressure of avoiding detection. Considering how prolific the Locksmith cases were, Lionel was under animmenseamount of pressure. One tiny mistake could lead to his entire world crashing down around him.
I can’t remember much about the episodes or what caused them, but I have flashes of him scouring through the couch cushions, the cabinets, anywhere he could think of, searching for ‘bugs.’ I thought he meant insects back then, and I would always help him look, even though I was terrified a spider would pop out at me.
