Goddess of Pain

by Katie May

  Remaining silent, I wrap my hand around a rock, approximately the size of a baseball. Then, without preamble, I hurl it at the man’s head as hard as I can. As expected, he releases a startled curse as his free hand rubs at his cheek. I take his momentary lapse of concentration to jump to my feet and race through the woods as fast as I can fucking go.

  I’m the wind. The rain.

  The monster prowling through the forest.

  I lose myself to the darkness currently shrouding the forest as the man fires off two more shots, each one sounding farther and farther away as I run like my life depends on it. Because it totally does. If he catches me, he’ll kill me. He’ll put a bullet straight through my eyes.

  I lose myself as I race down the path. Nothing exists except for my rapidly beating heart, the air squeezing past my parted lips, and my legs jerking forward, one after the other.

  Faster. Faster. Faster.

  I continue to twist and turn until I’m well and truly lost in the middle of the fucking forest. But at least I don’t hear the shooter anymore.

  Only when I’m positive that I escaped him do I place my hand over my mouth and scream my rage, anguish, and fear into my palm. Fury vibrates through me, an almost palpable entity, as I think about the shadowy silhouette I saw in the woods.

  He hadn’t looked like the other man, the smoking one. That one had been thin, tightly compacted muscle visible through his dark shirt. Leaner almost, with hair as light as the sun. This one was significantly larger than the first, though that was all I could tell from first glance.

  Are there…?

  Are there two different attackers? Three, if you count my stalker? Four, if you count the serial killer from my childhood?

  Fuck, what’s happening?

  I feel as if I’m staring at a hastily put together jigsaw puzzle that is missing too many pieces for me to get an accurate view. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a dog or a farm or even an alien.

  One thing is painfully clear—this attack changes everything.

  CHAPTER 5

  I’m panting with adrenaline by the time I make it back to my apartment. I check the parking lot five times to ensure that no one has followed me. Only when I’m positive that there’s no creepy man lurking behind one of the cars do I enter the building and take the elevator to my floor.

  Like in the parking lot, I glance in both directions down the hall, only breathing easier when I’m back in my apartment with the door locked.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  There’s no doubt about it. Someone is targeting me, but why? Why me? Why now?

  My heart is racing as I double check the deadbolt before hurrying to Avery’s room.

  “Aves?” I poke my head inside, immense disappointment filling me when I find it empty. That disappointment turns into white-hot panic. Did they go after him when they couldn’t get to me? Is he okay? His first class isn’t until ten this morning, so where the fuck is he?

  I swipe my phone on and stare intently at the messages dinging on the screen. Less than an hour ago, Avery texted me.

  Avery: Have errand. Be home after my class.

  Errand? What errand does Avery have at eight in the morning? And why am I thinking about him with another girl when my life is quite literally on the line?

  Shoving those thoughts away, I focus on what’s important. Namely, my attackers.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that two different men have come after me. Could it be a coincidence? I know how the saying goes. ‘Once is a happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is enemy action.’ Didn’t Ian Fleming say that?

  My mind drifts to the files I have on my iPad, and horror courses through me.

  Could it be…?

  I break into a run and enter my bedroom, grabbing the iPad from where it’s charging on my nightstand. I then hurry into my closet and slam the door shut behind me. With a flick of my wrist, I push away the collection of shirts hanging in the far corner, revealing a wall covered in photographs and newspaper articles. It’s turned into an obsession over time—this need to find the serial killer from my past.

  Could this be why I’m getting targeted now?

  Am I on to something?

  I volley my gaze between the iPad and the wall, my stomach a tumultuous mixture of dread and anxiety.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, scrubbing a hand down my face. With a roar, I throw my iPad as hard as I can against the far wall, the screen cracking down the middle. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Sliding down the wall, I drop my face into my hands, my body shaking.

  “Fuck,” I whimper softly, my eyes drifting shut. In the closet, surrounded by the evidence of my obsession, I surrender to unconsciousness.

  I WAKE to incessant knocking on my front door.

  I jump, startled, momentarily forgetting where I am or even who I am. There’s an uncomfortable kink in my neck as I attempt to orient myself, stretching my arms above my head.

  What…? Where…?

  Awareness bombards me with a blistering speed as I realize I’m still in my closet, having fallen asleep sitting up.

  The knocking sounds again, and terror once more pulses through me.

  Stumbling to my feet, heart juddering, I push the closet door open tentatively and stare around my empty bedroom. Late morning sunlight brushes through the open blinds, illuminating my surroundings.

  On bare feet, I pad towards my trusty baseball bat that I always keep behind my dresser. For protection, of course. And some ball crunching when the need arises.

  Someone knocks again.

  My feet gliding across the wooden bamboo floors, I push onto my tiptoes and peer out of the peephole.

  Only to instantly sag in relief when I catch sight of three familiar males.

  Henry, Colton, and Ray stand on the other side of the door, wearing matching irritated expressions.

  I wrench the door open just as Colton—the impatient asshole—lifts his hand to knock a fourth time.

  “What’s up with males knocking repeatedly on my door?” I huff as soon as I see them. Colton drops his hand with a sheepish smile while Ray narrows his emerald green eyes.

  “What other males are knocking on your door repeatedly?” he asks in a voice that promises pain and suffering towards any male who dares to bother his little sister.

  “Come in, losers,” I say, stepping back to allow them entry. My heartbeat finally descends to a normal, healthy rhythm.

  It’s just my brothers.

  Not the crazy ass fuckers trying to kill me.

  Just my brothers.

  Still, I can’t help but stick my head out the door, my paranoia a physical, tangible entity contaminating the air. Fortunately, there’s no one lurking at the end of the hall. I don’t know what I’d do if there had been—probably scream bloody murder and charge at them with my baseball bat, Sally.

  Speaking of…

  I timidly lean Sally against the wall adjacent to the door as I turn back towards my brothers, already settling in as if they own the place.

  The twins, Colton and Ray, are dressed in a similar color scheme, despite the fact that I know they didn’t do it on purpose. Their personalities are as different as night and day, despite their identical appearance. Colton is a vibrant ray of sunshine, while Ray constantly has a scowl marring his features. My oldest brother, Henry, is often more serious than his younger siblings.

  They like to joke that I’m an extension of all three of them—with a compassionate heart and friendly, boisterous personality like Colton, but with a darkness that can rival even Ray’s, and a seriousness and problem-solving mind reminiscent of Henry’s.

  “I didn’t expect you guys to be here already,” I say, slamming the door closed and locking it once more. Better safe than sorry.

  Henry narrows his eyes suspiciously, but Colton remains oblivious as he throws himself into the nearest armchair.

  “What? We can’t surprise our favorite sister?”

  “I’m your only siste
r,” I point out as I move to the fridge and grab a six-pack of beers. I toss one to Colton first, who cheers as if he made the Superbowl touchdown catch.

  “So it means that, by default, you're our favorite,” he says with another smirk. Rolling my eyes at his antics, I toss the next one to Ray before handing the third beer directly to Henry. When I move to take one myself, all three of them narrow their eyes.

  “Naughty, naughty. You’re not twenty-one yet,” Colton says playfully, but his eyes are hard.

  “I’ll be twenty-one in less than a month,” I huff. “Besides, don’t be hypocrites. I still remember the one time that you three got completely wasted when you were sixteen, and Dad—”

  All three of them groan in unison, and Ray tosses the couch’s throw pillow at my head.

  “Shut it,” he warns, wincing at the memory. I can’t imagine it’s pleasant getting trapped in an ice cream truck for ten hours after you made a bet with your brothers that you can hold your dick in ice the longest.

  I’m pretty sure I pissed myself laughing when I found out.

  “So, what’s the plan for today?” Colton interrupts, guzzling his beer. “Want to go out for lunch? I saw this new—”

  “No!” I blurt automatically, heart racing. When all three of them stare at me, eyebrows quirked, I work to regulate my volume. “I mean, it’s really noisy in a restaurant. Why don’t we just stay here and chat? Avery should be joining us in a few minutes when his class is done.”

  The last thing I want is to leave the sanctuary of my apartment. I’m under no illusion that these white walls will protect me from the crazy bomber and gunman if they decide to attack me again, but at least this is an area I can control. I know each room, each crevice. Here, and only here, I’m the monster that hides beneath the bed at night.

  Henry continues to stare at me with narrowed eyes, but he relents with a tentative head nod.

  “Maybe pizza?” Colton suggests, already on his phone and dialing the local pizza joint. We had it once months ago when they came to visit, and I’m pretty sure they’re obsessed. It wouldn’t surprise me if Colton moved to my town just to eat Mario’s pizza every day.

  “Cheese,” I say automatically just as Henry snaps, “Pepperoni,” and Ray says, “Pineapple and sausage.”

  Colton throws the latter a dark look.

  “What heathen puts pineapple on a pizza?” he asks in mock horror.

  “This heathen, asshole. You know that.”

  I bet he wishes he had another pillow to toss at the more obnoxious sibling.

  As Colton places the order, I survey my brothers with the keen eye only a younger sister can possess. They look…happy. The shadows that normally plague Ray’s face are nowhere to be seen. Even Henry adopts a carefree grin as he chugs his beer. I wait until Colton hangs up, announcing that the order will be delivered in a half-hour at noon, before leaning indolently against the counter.

  “Alright, spill,” I say, narrowing my eyes. Ray exchanges an anxious glance with first Henry and then Colton before turning towards me with a defeated sigh. Yeah, fuckers. I wore them down that fast.

  “We met a girl,” he says at last, his tone deceptively nonchalant.

  But I can’t help but quirk an eyebrow in disbelief. Not that I’m surprised they’re dating—they’re all handsome men…for doofuses, anyway—but it was more how he said it. As if…

  “What?” I query. “You all met…the same girl?” Folding my arms over my chest, I wait for one of them to talk. I settle my gaze on Colton, the easiest target. Normally, one glare from me will cause him to verbally ram himself into a brick wall. He’s never been able to resist my signature evil-eye, as they call it.

  “She’s beautiful and fun and smart and hilarious…and that’s all we’re going to say on the matter,” he blurts, compressing his lips into a stubborn line. Henry rolls his eyes, as if pissed at Colton for giving in so easily, while Ray hurls daggers at his twin.

  His words should surprise me. It’s not as if I don’t know that polyamorous relationships are a thing; it’s more that I never saw or experienced one myself. We lived in a diminutive community where you couldn’t even change your diet without everyone knowing. So for my brothers to partake in a harem-type situation? That girl must be one lucky bitch.

  But I’ll stab her eyes out if she hurts them.

  They’ve always been close, even at a young age. Throughout their childhoods, they were inseparable, one never too far from the other. It made me unreasonably jealous at some points—after all, I wanted nothing more than to be a part of their sacred boys club. It only makes sense that they would all fall in love with the same girl.

  Though, once again, I’ll stab a bitch if I have to.

  Our apartment door opens and closes as Avery steps inside, blond hair sticking to his forehead. He shakes out his umbrella before hanging that and his jacket on the hooks.

  “Is it raining?” I inquire as I will my eyes away from the way his gray shirt clings to his muscular body. Why does he have to have such a nice one? A body, I mean. Why does he have to have an eight-pack, my kryptonite?

  “Just started,” he says and, as if in tandem to his words, thunder roars from outside. For some reason, I always liked thunderstorms. I find them soothing, almost refreshing, as if the rain can physically wipe away all the stress and heartache of the day. It’s a way to start fresh, a way to forget that the world is in dissonant chaos.

  “Avery!” Colton says eagerly as he jumps out of the chair and rushes to embrace my best friend. Henry and Ray are quick to follow, all of them exchanging those weird man slaps. You know the type—when they wrap one arm around the other male’s back and pat it like you would burp a baby.

  I can’t help but note that Avery seems tense, almost uneasy. His eyes flicker from face to face before landing on me and sticking.

  “Did you hear?” he questions seriously, his tone at odds with the playful banter from my brothers.

  “Hear what?” A cold chill skates down my back and chases away any and all warmth I once felt. Though I’m protected inside from the growling thunder, intermittent flashes of lightning, and pouring rain, it feels as if I’m standing directly in the downpour.

  Stepping around Ray and Henry, Avery perches on the arm of the couch and grabs the television remote. He immediately flicks through the channels until he stops on a local news report.

  Which is currently describing the gruesome details of Professor Whitmore’s death. Apparently, his wife found him strangled in their shared bedroom earlier this morning.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  My heart is hammering so loud that I can’t hear anything else. All I can do is stare at the screen, willing the image to change.

  “Did you know this man?” Henry asks, frowning.

  “He was…” I clear my throat and try again. “He was my professor.”

  And now he’s dead.

  My childhood serial killer has struck again.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next two weeks fly by with no new dead bodies or attacks. It lures me in to a false sense of security—that moment in a horror movie when you firmly believe that the girl is going to survive the masked serial killer. However, as she runs bleeding and screaming from the house, he materializes in front of her with a chainsaw raised. With one fatal sweep of his hands, he cuts her head clean off.

  And yes, I have been binge watching Avery’s horror movie collection.

  Don’t judge me.

  During that time—that excruciating period—I jumped at every noise, every shadow. I barely, if ever, left my room. I emailed my professors and told them I had a bad case of food poisoning. I’m not sure if they believed me, but I was a model student. The good girl. What reason would I have to lie?

  Besides, oh, the fact that someone is trying to kill me.

  Even Avery grew increasingly concerned as the days dragged on and I became more and more secluded. He began to leave plates of food outside my do
or, never questioning my eccentric behavior and caring for me despite it. I can’t even imagine what would’ve transpired if my brothers had stayed longer than a day. No doubt, they would have dragged me from my bed kicking and screaming, demanding I ovaried up.

  Is it possible that the threat is over? That I’m safe?

  Surely, these killers know where I live. If they wanted me dead, they had ample opportunity to eliminate me during the two weeks I remained in self-isolation.

  My confidence returning, I wake up on the fifteenth day with a skip to my step that hadn’t been there prior. Avery, currently shirtless and dancing around the tiny griddle as he creates Mickey Mouse pancakes, glances up in alarm. His eyes widen comically, as if my appearance is more shocking than anything else in the world. Though, I can’t blame him for being suspicious. I did go weeks without leaving my room, except for the occasional bathroom trip and food run.

  “Morning, Aves,” I say cheerfully, pushing up on my tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. His confusion only grows, tiny creases appearing between his eyes.

  “Good…morning?” His voice sounds hesitant, unsure, and heavy with trepidation. He eyes me warily as I dance around him towards the coffee pot. Pouring myself an overflowing mug, I prop my hip against the counter and watch him as attentively as he watches me.

  “How are you this fine, beautiful morning?” I query, flashing him a bright smile.

  His frown deepens.

  “Worried. Confused. A little scared,” he admits with a shrug. On the griddle, his pancake begins to burn, and he releases a heated curse as he dumps it onto a plate with a spatula.

  “No need to be scared,” I say jovially. “Everything is fine.”

  “You sound like a cult leader,” he points out, but my smile only broadens.

  “Have some Kool-Aid,” I whisper in my best creepy-psycho voice, extending the steaming cup of coffee. He snorts, some of the confusion and wariness dissipating from his gaze.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay, sweetheart. I was worried for a while.” He hesitates, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Is this about the prank on your car? I know that was probably scary—”