Delusional Tormentor

by Celia Crown

  “No,” he says, too smoothly.

  Part of me is sure he’s lying, keeping up the mind games he has perfected. He has my mom under his thumb now, a foolish woman he can use and then discard when he is done with her.

  “What did you do?”

  “I have done many things, pretty girl; you’ll need to be more specific.”

  Cold sweat gathers on my forehead, and I’m too stunned to look up when his arm comes into view. His strong fingers run through my hair on the way to check the pulse in my neck.

  I lean back quickly, eyes flashing up to his amused ones.

  “My mom,” I grumble quietly. “What did you do to her?”

  And I want to ask about my passport.

  I woke up under a mountain of blankets this morning and noticed his musky scent on the bed linens.

  Something compelled me to immediately check on my passport and other essential documents. The safe in my closet was locked, with most of my papers securely inside. But my passport was missing.

  Every month I check them all to be sure they haven’t been touched. But today, things had been moved to different locations in the safe, so I know Remo got into it and took the passport.

  “Your home was going into foreclosure, so I offered to help. She invited me for dinner, and I couldn’t decline my future mother-in-law.”

  Just like that, blunt and unemotional.

  “She showed me your room,” he says in a humorous tone, “I didn’t take you for a writer.”

  It takes all my self-control not to scream.

  “You read them!” I accuse him, jumping up as my face burned in humiliation.

  I always journal about the most memorable thing that happened to me in the past year and seal it in an envelope when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve. I have kept them all in a dresser drawer in my room at home.

  “I have them,” Remo concedes. “They’re safe with me.”

  He’s already read them; there is no chance he respected my privacy. Remo either doesn’t understand boundaries, or he doesn’t care about them. Either way, it’s a problem.

  Four years ago, the night I had sleep paralysis, did he watch as I dozed? I want to ask him but decide against it; being too curious might kill me. It is better to leave it alone than pursue an answer I can’t handle that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  “I wanted to give them to you in person,” he says with a tender smile.

  I am not falling for his charm, not yet anyway. But his smile broadens when I snatch the unopened pink envelope he is holding out to me.

  “I couldn’t carry all of them at one time,” he explains, stepping to my side with a glass of orange juice. “I will return the rest, but they’re at home.”

  The silence between us is intense, but I prefer that to the crippling anxiety I feel when he talks, luring me into his honey trap.

  I have noticed the transition from being hunted down last night to the tender moment he held me in his strong arms.

  In my mind, I am not sure what I really know about him.

  When I tried to push him away last night, a hint of irritation flashed in his eyes. Every time I tried to put distance between us, his anger level increased until it reached a breaking point, and he exploded with fury.

  I thought he was going to bruise my throat.

  “Jenny,” he tuts.

  Remo slips his hand under my jaw and holds it, caressing my cold skin.

  “I want you,” Remo purrs, lips kissing my temple. “In my life, next to me or under me. I want everything you can give me.”

  He’s not going to get anything from me, but he doesn’t have to know that right now.

  “I want you to answer my questions,” I command.

  This game of cat and mouse must come to an end. I’m tired of living in fear, waiting for his hold on sanity to snap, and he destroys me.

  I can’t get rid of Remo by running away, and I doubt his fixation on me will end anytime soon.

  It’s been four years now. If anything, Remo has gotten worse. He’s no longer hiding in the shadows, stalking me and forcing me to change my life.

  He’s here in his massive glory. Muscled and inked, Remo is already trying to take ownership of me.

  “Only if you eat,” he bargains.

  I nod firmly. He moves one hand to the nape of my neck, kneading it gently.

  I chase away the dryness in my mouth with orange juice, hoping for relief from the bitterness in my heart.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask the same question I did two days ago. “I want a logical answer.”

  “I can’t give you ‘love’ when I don’t feel it,” I add, but it didn’t feel good to say it out loud.

  Four years ago, I said the exact same thing to him with great satisfaction. Now my determination and strength seem to be weakening.

  His hand stops kneading my neck, grip relaxing as his warm fingers move down to my shoulder.

  “I’m not picky,” he reckons, “Whatever you can give is fine.”

  I shove a forkful of food into my mouth, stopping myself from saying something stupid that would ruin this step forward.

  Now, he is willing to listen instead of selfishly barreling into my life, forcing me to accommodate his needs.

  I came home from work one night, ate my mother’s delicious dinner, and showered before noticing that my bedsheets were missing. It was the worst violation of privacy I’ve ever experienced, and it wasn’t my mother who took them.

  When I was still living with Mom, little things would periodically go missing. I just attributed it to misplacing things, but it still made my skin crawl.

  Then I started feeling like I was being watched everywhere I went, including inside Mom’s house.

  After a note surfaced saying I should lock my bedroom window, Mom and I contacted the police to file a report. There wasn’t any evidence indicating that someone had broken into our home, so they couldn’t do anything other than take a cursory look around the house.

  “So, what do you want?” I ask once again because everything comes back to this question. “You can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  His innocent smile doesn’t deter me.

  “Breaking into my home, stalking me, and ruining my life,” I say candidly.

  “Audrey gave me a spare key,” Remo confesses. “Would you like it back?”

  When did they get so close? A burning sensation in my stomach comes at the thought.

  “Yes,” I agree promptly. “And every copy you made of it.”

  The corners of his lips curl up, and he looks unnervingly handsome. Audrey and I will need to speak about privacy boundaries. She’s carefree, while I value privacy.

  “How did you find me?” I put the fork down and chug down the orange juice.

  Jittery nerves have me wringing my fingers, rubbing them raw as I listen for his answer. Did Mom tell him where I was?

  Wait a minute.

  I knew there was a reason I practically inhaled the breakfast.

  The taste was so similar to my mom’s cooking that I went on autopilot when I ate. But she is halfway around the world, and a shirtless Remo is the one standing in my kitchen.

  Despite not being in my presence, he had continued to infiltrate my life.

  When did he have the time?

  He was supposed to serve his sentence in a psychiatric hospital until he no longer required inpatient care, then do the rest of his time in prison.

  “I asked around.” His answer is vague and menacing, but I’m determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  “Asked whom?” I narrow my eyes skeptically, apprehensive about his answer.

  “People who know you,” he says.

  “Only my mom knows where I moved,” I state, anger lodging in my throat.

  “I asked her,” he intones as if I have given him the explanation he needs to cover the lies.

  Remo leans down, kissing my furrowed forehead with a chu
ckle. “You didn’t change your name.”

  Saying I feel stupid is an understatement. Of course, he could find me just by tracking my name with a general description of my appearance. An amateur private investigator could have tracked me down.

  No doubt Remo took a hands-on approach and found me on his own.

  “Where is my passport?”

  “I wouldn’t know, pretty girl.”

  He’s a terrific liar. An ugly thought occurs to me; maybe he’s telling the truth.

  “Do you really love me?” I test, noticing his pleased smile.

  “More than you know,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “You’ll do anything for me?” I press harder.

  Remo nods unreservedly. Tension gnaws at my stomach despite the new awareness of my power over this fierce man.

  “Leave me alone,” I demand. “You said you’d do anything for me, so I want you out of my life.”

  Remo smiles cruelly as his jackal ink mocks me under the sunlight. He’ll just hunt me down again, something he excels at.

  Unexpectedly noticing my name etched above his heart makes me flinch.

  Chapter Six

  Remo

  She has stopped avoiding me, choosing to glue her soft little body to her friend’s side instead.

  I don’t blame her; I can’t blame her for wanting to open all the windows and let fresh air in when I left her apartment before Audrey returned.

  Insulting? No, she’s simply not used to having my scent on her. She does have a rather sensitive nose, which is why she never uses scented laundry detergent.

  I was amused watching from a distance as she cleared out all signs of me. She washed all her bedding, snapped on rubber gloves to disinfect all surfaces, and sprayed fabric cleaner on the furniture.

  Her efforts to improve her health and prevent future sickness make me love her even more.

  So, no, I don’t blame her.

  After all, it’s nefarious, the way I love her.

  She cleaned everything because she appreciated the effort I went through to nurse her back to health. I risked getting sick by getting under the covers with her, helping her sweat it out during the night, and cooking comfort food with her mother’s recipes.

  I wouldn’t mind caring for her again when she’s sick; Jenny was much more affectionate with me than usual.

  As I watched her clean their apartment, I imagined her cleaning our house after we laze around in bed on Sunday mornings.

  I am methodical when I clean up after myself: burning the clothes, scrubbing the blood off my body, and stitching my wounds evenly for excellent healing.

  Generic cleaning products can’t be tracked, and cleaning right before sunrise pinpoints spots that were missed. Dismemberment calls for a different game plan, but I learned many tricks while I was in prison.

  The government agents made it their mission to separate me from Jenny despite knowing we are meant to be a couple. I made them pay for that, and they’ll think twice about pulling another stunt like that again.

  Getting past the prison walls was easy compared to the self-control it took not to spiral down into madness with the disgusting prisoners.

  Roaming convicts or intoxicated patrons, they’re all filthy trash, unworthy of being near my pretty girl.

  It’s Monday night at the bar, lights flashing on the walls as the rowdy crowd dances mindlessly.

  It is a celebration of some sort with drinks on the house and a dance competition underway. I can make out her small frame running between all the sweaty customers, serving drinks with her pretty smile and soothing voice to increase the tips.

  I have more than enough money to buy everything she wants, and more cash flow will come as the days go by.

  A salty sea breeze runs through my hair, cooling my body. I lean back in a plastic chair, surprised it can withstand my weight, and keenly watch Jenny from afar.

  This bistro has outdoor seating with an unobstructed view of the tiki bar across the street. Jenny knows I’m here, and I relish it when she shyly makes eye contact to see if I’m sitting here until her shift ends.

  I hear someone approaching, the man with the jackal eyes taking a seat behind me.

  “Got the shipment,” he informs me with a yawn. “They should be out within twenty-four hours.”

  “The guests?” I question, unable to take my eyes off Jenny’s big smile when Audrey blows her a kiss.

  “Invitations sent,” he quips, guffawing as his chair creaks. “The first batch hits the clubs tonight.”

  I ponder the upcoming chaos. Jenny will be home with me right there to protect her from the impending danger.

  “It’s not like you to rush things, boss,” he notes, words trailing off as he whistles.

  He is correct; this is not how I run my business.

  I usually take some time to plan a mass distribution of methamphetamines, but my patience is running thin. The result will be the same, but it will entail more risk. I can handle it despite the high stakes or effect on my police record if I get caught.

  “Pussy does a man’s heart good,” he mumbles, whistling dryly. “That is if she can look at you and not want to die.”

  A flare of anger comes over me as I hiss, “What?”

  His grunt turns into a snort, speaking with a heavy accent, “You’re fucking crazy, that’s what. You go around snapping bones like you’re playing a damn musical instrument with that freaky look on your face—yeah, the same face you get when you look at her.”

  I take offense to that. I don’t have a single thought of violence when I look at my Jenny.

  Her skin is flawless, and I almost feel guilty for touching such beauty. She becomes ethereal when she cries, those fat tears rolling down her red cheeks after I break her mind just enough to make her notice me.

  Maybe selfishly hoping she will dream of me as well.

  It was only fair that I often took some of her things to pass the time until I could climb through her window and kiss her goodnight.

  However, I have changed for the better since then, no longer the intense man of four years ago. I don’t need to leave surprise notes or take her stuff; now, I can tell her things and surprise her with more expensive gifts.

  “You’re doing it again, boss, that psychotic look.”

  A scowl settles on my face, anger coiling in my stomach as I turn my head to the side. The silent warning can’t be missed despite the bustling atmosphere, and his back stiffens.

  “Hey,” he quips lightly, unaffected by the threat. “Honesty is the best policy; I’m just telling you what I see, and your expression scares her.”

  “I expect all of the packages to be distributed by midnight,” I say, clipped.

  He’s close, so I should be able to slip behind him and snap his neck. I don’t because he’s useful and shrewder than a snake.

  “Is she next?” His brows lift, challenging me.

  “No, but you might be,” I counter icily.

  His death would be painful, uncalled for after all his years spent helping me.

  Jenny could betray me in the most painful way possible, and I would still love her with everything I have after I branded her ass. Anything more than that would hurt me more than her. I can’t stand the thought of her being in pain, so I would take my rage out on whoever is in the immediate area at the time.

  Everyone is disposable.

  I stand abruptly, the plastic chair scraping loudly and getting attention from nearby customers. I march across the busy street without looking back, forcing the traffic to move around me.

  Someone yells profanities about my death wish. Jenny and several patrons look over, curiosity on her face before her bewildered eyes blink rapidly. Her plump lips frown, and she turns pale as I step onto the sidewalk.

  I can almost hear her squeak as she runs back through the intoxicated dancers swaying to the lively music.

  She dashes toward Audrey with desperation in her eyes. I want to be the one Jenny gravitates to when she’s t
roubled. I can do things far more efficiently than that woman, but Jenny is so skittish around me.

  I pause at the entrance like an ominous presence.

  Am I bothering her? Well, this is her place of employment. Showing up without warning was a mistake; I think the proper etiquette is to bring a gift that shows my appreciation of her work.

  I don’t have time to dwell on that thought when her boss whistles for Jenny before she reaches Audrey’s side. Jenny turns smoothly and rushes to the bar. The swaying customers are blocking my view of Jenny talking to the owner even though I tower over everyone.

  Getting a glimpse of Jenny, I see an even bigger smile on her face. My lips twitch, barely containing a snarl as I tell myself that Jenny would be angry if I killed the owner of the bar.

  Why would she be upset?

  If she doesn’t have feelings for him, she wouldn’t be sad. Platonic relationships do exist, and I don’t think their relationship goes beyond the workplace.

  Emotions are more complicated than I’ll ever understand. But for Jenny, I can accept that and use it to my advantage.

  I narrow my eyes, watching Jenny lean over as the bar owner shows her something on his phone.

  My other senses dull as I focus on the owner with my usual thirst for warm blood on my hands.

  He hands a set of keys to Jenny, but I can’t see her clearly.

  The owner straightens and disappears into the back of the bar. I blend in with the hyped crowd to discreetly follow him.

  There is a beach hut not far from here, and his dead body would be mistaken for a sleeping drunk until they notice his unblinking stare.

  That sounds like a decent plan.

  “What are you doing?”

  Once his death is discovered, the tiki bar will close, and Jenny won’t have to work. She’ll have more time for me, and we can strengthen our bond.

  “Remo!”

  Hearing her sweet voice, my mind goes blank as she wraps her arms around me. It’s wrong of her to stop me from hunting down the owner who dared to touch her.

  He hadn’t actually touched her, but he got way too close.