Page 113 of When Darkness Calls

He laughs and the noise grates against my eardrums. “What’s wrong? Have you seen a ghost?”

I look around Cade’s room, and to my utter dismay the only kind of weapon I know is in here is a bat he has hanging above his bed, the lamp, and maybe the knife he got from grandpa, but I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for it.

Panic simmers inside me, staticky, every hair stands on end. I don’t know what to do.

There is a hard knock on the door, so hard it shudders in the frame.

The guy is still talking, taunting me. Saying things about how sweet I look in my bedroom at night, and that he has been waiting for this moment for a long time.

I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth, my stomach rolling. Has he been watching me all year? Does Shadow know? Is he in on it?

I thought this whole time he had been following me. It only made sense for how he was there to save me. But…maybe I was wrong.

And that thought scares me the most.

The things I had done. The things I had told him.

Stop, Dani. Save yourself.

No one can save me this time.

I rip my phone from my pocket dialing Cade’s number.

“Dani, are you okay? I can’t see you. I’m on my way, fucking hide.” He starts speaking before the line had even connected.

“Cade,” I whimper. My mind racing, as his voice muffles through the phone in my panic.

Fuck, Dani. Think. Think. You need to get out of here, find a weapon, hide, FUCKING SOMETHING.

Or all three.

I clear my throat and my spine steels.

“Cade, meet me where I broke my arm.” My calmness is convincing, as I speak loudly on the phone.

“Okay. Okay! I’m coming.”

I ended the call, taking a deep breath as I walked to the window, praying the guy could hear me through the door. Every footfall thudding harshly against the floor. I pushed the window open, the crack of it settling in place ringing in my ears.

Leaning over the windowsill, I look down to the rose bushes my mom had planted. She might not be here anymore, but she can damn sure save me.

I looked around the room before stomping to his bed grabbing the bat.

Then leaning out the window, using the bat to rustle the barren branches, and flatten one side, as if I had landed on it from climbing out.

And then I stop.

I stopped breathing. Stopped moving. And I listen.

Grayson always said you could learn the most about people if you didn’t talk, if you just watched, listened. I could faintly hear the guy breathing, his shadow beneath the door wavering. I’m sure he was straining to listen to me too. He curses, hitting the wall harshly. I hold my breath.

Then he moves. Inch by inch the dark shadow he cast on the floor goes away.

My steps are quiet. No noise is made as I quickly traipse the room toward his closet. I have the door open and I’m stuffing myself behind a bunch of old clothes and baseball gear, when I see through the slim crack of the door, the man’s head passing the window.

With my phone out, I type:

Hurry, please.