The Missing Piece

by Jessica Baxter

  I stand back up and charge at him. “Give me my phone back!”

  He holds it out of my reach looks at me as if I'm a child that can't comprehend what he's saying and then proceeds to sound out each word as he asks, “Who's Ian Roberts?”

  “That's none of your business. You broke up with me. You don't get a say in what goes on in my life anymore.”

  Anger flashes across his face. “I asked you a question.”

  “Don't do that!” My face reddens, anger racing through my veins.

  How dare he come here and act like he owns the place? Where has he been the past few months when I really needed him? Living it up in Africa, too busy to console his girlfriend whose mother is dying? My throat is starting to ache and burn and I know I'm not far off from crying. I can't let him see I'm upset. I can't let him win.

  Ariel, Aurora. Belle, Cinderella . . . I can't . . . I suck in a breath, trying to calm myself and regain control of my emotions. I calmly hold my hand out and clench my teeth. “Give me back my phone.”

  “No,” he says, smirking. He looks like the crazed killer from The Shining. Fear is running through my veins so loudly I'm having a hard time concentrating. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Please.”

  Mason's hand clamps down on my wrist, his fingernails digging into my skin. “Answer me. Who's Ian?”

  Tears fall down my cheeks. “Mason, please.”

  “Who's Ian?” He asks again, his voice loud and controlling.

  “H-he's nobody.”

  “If he's nobody, why do you text him so much?”

  “He's just a friend. He means nothing to me.” The lies tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don't want to lie to him, I want him to know the truth, but right now I'm too scared of what he'll do if I tell him. “I'm sorry, Mason. I love you. He means nothing to me.”

  My words come out so softly, I'm not even sure he's heard me until his arms wrap around me. “It's okay.”

  I shudder as he rubs my back, trying to console me.

  The cold, hard truth seeps down to my bones. My mind may have been racing earlier, but now there is only one thought bouncing around my head and it's perfectly clear: this is not love.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A shiver runs down my spine as we reach the front door of The Morgue—which is shaped like a giant white skull. I cross my arms tightly across my chest. “I'm not going in there.”

  “Yes,” Mason says, curtly. “You are.”

  “No, I'm not,” I say, trying to make my voice sound as firm as possible. I silently curse when it comes out whiny like a little child's. “You know how much I hate this kind of stuff . . . can't we just walk around the park or something?”

  Mason rolls his eyes.

  “If I knew you were going to ask me to fly all this way just to walk around the park, I wouldn't have come.”

  “I never asked you to come!”

  He grabs my wrist and yanks me towards him, pulling me against his chest. I push against him, trying to break free and he laughs. When I realize I can't get out of his grasp I look up at his face and spit. “Go home, Mason.”

  “No,” he says, licking the spit from his lips. He slowly looks me up and down before slamming his lips to mine. His kiss is hard, emotionless—nothing like the way Ian kissed me last night.

  My heart falters.

  Does Ian think I stood him up?

  A wave of nausea runs through me as Mason forces his tongue in my mouth. I jerk away, turning my head to the side. His breath is hot in my ear. Goosebumps rise on my arms as he whispers, “I want everything to do with you.”

  I slam my arms against his chest. This time he lets me push him away. “Mason I said—”

  Movement in my peripheral vision makes my voice freeze in my throat. We're not alone. Mason presses his finger to my lips. “You don't have to say it, I know exactly what you want.”

  A man wearing a dark cape and top hat emerges from the vines surrounding The Morgue, making me jump.

  “Perhaps the happy couple would like a guided tour to forge their way through these dark and dreary passages of endless misery and woe?”

  His fingers slowly run over the blade of a knife. The blade gleams a sickening shade of red. And I know it's fake, but that doesn't keep a whimper from escaping my lips.

  Please, please, please say no.

  Mason shakes his head. “No, that's alright.”

  My shoulders sag in relief.

  “Perchance, we shall meet again.” The man says, a wicked gleam in his eye and then he disappears.

  “Mason please . . . “ I try again. “I'll do anything.”

  His eyes glint mischievously. “Anything?”

  My stomach drops. I gulp. “Well, maybe, not anything.”

  He shakes his head. “What a shame. We could have a lot of fun together, Emily.” Bile rises in my throat when he says my name. He's looking at me like I'm something he owns . . . like he can use me however and whenever he wants.

  My legs shake under me.

  His eyes sweep over me intently like a vulture circling its prey looking for any sign of weakness. I stiffen as his fingers brush against my cheek. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Think of all we could do.”

  I stagger backward, away from him.

  Anger flashes in his eyes. Mason glares at me as he snatches my hand and pulls me after him through the entrance.

  The lobby is darker than I expected, which does nothing to calm the pit of anxiety festering in my stomach. Mason pays the grim reaper standing behind the counter and then heads towards the first room. I quickly follow behind.

  Relief floods through me as my eyes adjust to the brightly lit room. Different paintings hang on the walls—brightly colored clowns and native Americans. Sitting next to the paintings are handwritten notes. I move closer to examine them and feel sick all over again.

  The room is a shrine to serial killers.

  Artwork by John Wayne Gacy covers the wall, along with his pleas of innocence and later his pleas of insanity.

  Mason wraps his arms around me. “Pretty neat huh?”

  I shrug him off. “How is making these kill—these monsters immortal neat? Where is the wall dedicated to all the people they murdered?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah because people would pay top dollar to see that.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, wriggling out of his grasp and walking to the other side of the small room.

  “There's nothing wrong with me.” He snaps. “I just said this was neat—get off your high horse. I bet you'd be having a downright blast if your boy toy was here with you. Should I give him a call?”

  “No,” I shout a little too quickly and Mason pulls my phone out of his pocket. His fingers type across the screen and my heart sinks.

  I want to know what the message says.

  I launch myself at Mason, attempting to knock my phone out of his hand. He easily knocks me aside and pushes me to the ground. He towers over me tsking under his breath. “Careful, Em. You don't want to wind up in a body bag.”

  “What—“ I grit my teeth, standing back up. “Did you say to him?”

  He sneers at me. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “That's why I asked.”

  “Woah,” Mason holds his hands out, palms down like he's trying to calm me down. “No, need to get feisty, Em. Although,” he scratches his chin, a devilish grin appearing on his lips. “It could come in handy. . . as the saying goes, it's not a party unless there's three.”

  Mason winks at me causing my stomach to turn.

  “Goodbye, Mason,” I say, walking towards the exit, but Mason grabs my wrist and stops me.

  “What kind of date would this be if I didn't treat you to dinner?” He pokes my nose and sweetly says, “My treat.”

  “This is NOT a date!”

  Mason holds my phone up and shakes it menacingly in the air. “Are you sure about that?”

  I cross my
arms. “Fine. I'll go to dinner with you and you can have your stupid date, but as soon as we finish eating I want you gone, Mason.” I spit his name out like it's a poisonous apple from the Evil Queen. “I never want to see you again.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me through the exit. We walk down the street in silence, my heart racing in my chest. Worry gnaws at my thoughts.

  What did that text to Ian say?

  I glance at Mason. He's walking happily down the street, a giant smile on his face, and I'm certain everyone that passes us thinks we're two kids in love. I can't stomach being seen with Mason, but I'd rather have a few misguided citizens thinking we're a couple than for Ian to see us together, which is why I suggested we leave the dorms.

  Of course, if Ian had shown up I would try to explain everything that has happened since we said our goodbyes this morning, but Mason has always had a way of twisting words and making everyone believe what he says.

  The thought of having Ian think ill of me makes me immensely sad. Would he believe me if I explained everything or would he write me off just as quickly as Mads? As soon as I think the words I instantly regret them. Ian is the noblest, kindhearted person I know; if I give him the chance and explain everything he would hear me out. As soon as Mason's guard is down, I'll make a run for it.

  After a few blocks, Mason and I enter a small pizzeria called A Slice of Pie. We each order a slice of pepperoni pizza and two sodas and then sit outside at an umbrella table to eat. I slowly chew my pizza and stare off in the distance.

  “Are you excited to be going home for Christmas?” Mason asks.

  I shrug.

  He can try talking to me as much as he wants, but there is nothing I want to say to him.

  “Look . . . “ Mason says, “I know I've been an ass.”

  I stare at him. If that isn't the understatement of the year.

  He slowly pulls a pepperoni from his pizza and then eats it. “Ever since my parents found out about the job in Africa I knew they'd accept it. But they never asked me what I wanted, if I wanted to leave. I felt like I was alone, and that no one really cared what happened to me. I was scared that I was going to lose you, so I put up walls around myself and told myself it was better to be detached . . . but I didn't think of how that would hurt you, too.”

  He reaches across the table for my hand, but I pull away. “I want to go home. Now.”

  His face hardens, hiding any trace of pain that he might be feeling. “Fine, be that way.”

  My stomach churns as we walk through Adam's Park. The slice of pizza now feels like a solid mass, weighing me down. As I walk back to the dorm I feel Mason's eyes boring into my back. I refuse to turn around and look at him. The air is heavy and thick and my heart is full of anticipation. It feels as if Mason is waiting for me to drop to the ground and gravel at his feet.

  But what does he expect me to apologize for?

  Does he want me to say I'm sorry for moving on after he played me like a rag doll and then told me he wanted nothing to do with me?

  Anger runs through me. I'm angry at my dad for keeping me here, at Mason for treating me like his prisoner and Ian . . . my heart sinks in my chest. Am I really angry at Ian for not coming to my rescue or. . . myself—for repeatedly become a victim and never standing up for what I want?

  I whirl around so quickly, I surprise myself.

  “If you're waiting for me to say I'm sorry for being happy then you can keep on waiting because it's not going to happen. I'll be damned if I apologize when all you've done is cause me misery.”

  Mason's eyes darken and I'm certain if it wasn't for the handful of children and families inside of Adam's Park—he'd drag me behind me a bush and murder me.

  “I told you I was having a hard time.” His voice is full of so much hatred it makes me flinch.

  I take an involuntary step back and he smirks.

  My voice is softer than I intended, but I don't let myself chicken out or back down. “That's complete bullshit and you know it. What about the time you accidentally burnt me with the poker stick or the time you accidentally tripped me and I bruised my lip? You calmed those were 'hard times' too” I say, adding air quotes, “but the truth is you're just a selfish, self-absorbed dick and I am done with you.”

  I don't give him the chance to respond. Instead, I turn and run the rest of the way through Adam's Park. I hear Mason's footsteps keeping a steady pace behind me and I curse myself for not being more athletic. I yank the main door to Cyprus Hall open and sprint up the stairs to my room. I want to glance behind me and see if I lost Mason, but I know that will only slow me down.

  My hand trembles as I pull my necklace off and jam my keys into the lock. The keys slip from my fingers and I quickly pick them up and try again. Mason exits the stairwell as I'm twisting the handle, his body is shaking with rage. I fling the door open and dart inside.

  I start to slam it shut, but he's too strong and barges into my room easily.

  “Stop trying to deny it, Emily.” He says, taking three long strides until he's standing directly in front of me, blocking my path to the door. “I know you want me.”

  Why the hell did I run to my room? Now I'm trapped and there's no telling what Mason will do.

  “Don't flatter yourself,” I say sidestepping him as he lunges for me. My heart hammers in my chest. I think I've dodged him until I feel his nails digging into my arms.

  “Aren't you tired of playing hard to get?”

  “Get off of me.”

  An ugly smile crosses his lips as he yanks me towards him. He pushes me against the wall and presses his body against mine. “Or what?”

  I take a slow breath trying to control the new rush of anxiety coursing through me. He pushes his lips against mine, but this time it's sloppy and wet. I slam my hands against his chest, trying to break free, but he doesn't budge. His lips trail down my neck, his hand reaches up and gropes my boob. A sadistic smile is on his lips as he leans in and whispers. “Don't fight it. I know you're loving this.”

  My body is shaking with fear. But I'm done letting Mason and my fear control me so before I can overthink it I jerk my knee up, slamming it into his junk.

  Mason yelps in pain and crumbles to the ground. “You stupid, Bitch.”

  “Don't ever touch me again.” My voice is a little shaky, but firm. I grab my phone off the bedside table and run out of the room.

  My breathing finally starts to slow as I approach Ian's door. I lightly rap on the door. Nothing. My heartbeat quickens.

  “Ian,” I call out, a little louder this time. “Ian, please, open the door.”

  I glance behind me making sure the stairwell is still shut.

  It is.

  I knock on the door one more time as I hear footsteps thundering in the stairwell. I'm just about to give up hope when Ian's door swings open.

  “Emily. What are you doing?” He asks sleepily. “I thought you took off—bloody hell. What happened to you?”

  I shove past him, telling him to close the door over my shoulder. He looks at me dumbfounded. I hear the stairwell door thud shut and see Mason marching towards Ian's room. Ian snaps awake quicker than water can boil, and slams the door in Mason's face.

  Mason's raps angrily against the door, but Ian and I pay him no attention. He continues to bang on the door and yell out a stream of profanations as I sit on the edge of Ian's bed.

  Ian rubs a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

  His face contorts in confusion as if he's trying to process what's going on and why it's happening this late at night. I feel horrible for barging in on him like this, but I didn't know where else to go. And, I couldn't stand to stay in my room one more minute with Mason.

  He sits next to me on the bed but doesn't look at me. Instead, he rests his elbows on his knees and stares at the ground. “Who the hell was that?”

  “M-my ex . . .Mason.”

  He cocks his head to look at me, a look of confusion on his face. All of a sudden he bolts up and I
'm certain he's noticed the red welt on my face and the scratches on my arms. He cups my chin in his hand. It trembles as he asks, “Did he do this?”

  All at once the tears I had been storing away while I was with Mason, come rushing out. My throat feels sore and tight; like it's just been scrubbed clean with one of those metal dish sponges. I open my mouth to tell him what happened, but no matter how hard I try I can't get my thoughts to form words.

  I wrap my arms around my legs as more hot tears stream down my face, trying to hold myself together. Ian sits down beside me again. He hesitantly wraps his arm around my shoulder like he's afraid I might break.

  At first, I flinch at his touch and then I slowly relax. His arm rubs my shoulder. “Em, you're safe now.”

  I'm safe.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THUD!

  I jolt awake.

  What?

  I glance around the room certain Mason is lurking in the corner waiting to drag me back to my dorm. The sheets tangle around my feet as I try standing up and I grip the bedpost to catch my balance. The clock on the nightstand reads 1:43 AM.

  Frantically, I look around for Ian. Dread fills my being. Where is he?

  Oh, no. No. no. no. Stupid boy!

  My heart feels like a piece of string is tied around it and it keeps getting tighter and tighter. He is almost to the stairwell when I leave his room.

  “Ian, stop.”

  If Ian hears me, he doesn't acknowledge it. His back is rigid and tight, his hands are balled into fists and he's walking with stubborn determination. I break into a sprint, desperate to reach him before he does something stupid. I shout out at him again as I race down the stairs, but my words bounce back in my face as he shuts the door.

  When I emerge from the stairwell, he's standing outside my room, his hands squeezed into tight fists, ready to strike. I walk up to him. “Ian, please.”

  He shakes me off.

  Should I get Mr. Allen? He could stop Ian . . . talk some sense into him before he does something stupid. I chew on my bottom lip. What if Ian gets expelled? His parents would kill him! They'd send him back to England without a second thought. And, if he got expelled would he ever talk to me again?