Delusional Tormentor

by Celia Crown

  “What are you doing?” she asks again, staring into my eyes.

  “I’m…” I begin, mesmerized by her flushed cheeks. “I’m not doing anything.”

  This is the first time she has touched me on her own initiative; I’m always the one to reach for the curve of her neck or the dip of her waist.

  The bloodlust disappears as I admire her exquisite beauty and slip my fingers through hers.

  “Wait—” she stammers and pulls her hand away. “You can’t touch me! Let go, or people—”

  I wasn’t aware that I needed permission to hold hands with my pretty girl. Any problem they have with us can be directed to me, and I’ll gladly break their fingers in response.

  Questions should get direct answers. It makes perfect sense to break their limbs to counter their argument about needing permission.

  I intone softly, “Have you not forgiven me?”

  “I—” Jenny sputters, glancing around frantically. “This isn’t the place or time to talk about that!”

  “I see,” I say with a nod. “Then, we will talk about it later. What did he want from you?”

  I see the confusion on her face, just before it suddenly makes sense to her and a lightbulb goes on.

  “The owner?” she mutters, hushed. “Nothing important.”

  “It must have been important to require his keys,” I point out bitterly.

  She flinches and steps back, not sure what I am insinuating. Folding her arms under her perky tits, she glares up at me.

  “That’s none of your business,” she snaps, then backpedals when she sees the fury in my face. “He’s going to visit his family tomorrow. It’s an emergency, so he asked me to feed his dogs in the morning.”

  “Two Chihuahuas,” Jenny mumbles. “The kind that bark and bite.”

  I really wish she hadn’t stopped me from getting my hands on the owner. I have a good reason to snap his neck now; his dogs will mar her beautiful skin with their grimy paws or bites that will require a tetanus shot.

  It’s all about taking preventative measures when dealing with Jenny.

  “I’ll wear rubber gloves when I go,” she blurts, a flash of exasperation on her face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but they will prevent infection if I get scratched.”

  She rambles on, but I am distracted by her tongue as it moistens her pink lips.

  “—and don’t stalk me.”

  “I am protecting you,” I correct sternly, a bit insulted.

  Jenny shakes her head, hair flying across her face. “It would be protecting me if you were normal, but it’s definitely stalking me in this case.”

  These are meaningless details to an intimidating man like me. Jenny would’ve run away before I had a chance to introduce myself properly. So, I made her aware of my protective presence before caring for her in other small ways.

  Things like reminding her of appointments, suggesting a bigger breakfast for more energy, or sitting on her bed to comfort her after a nightmare. All the things that show I care.

  Things got off-track somewhere; I’m not sure how. But it’s all turned into a big misunderstanding of my intentions.

  Her first impression of me was not accurate. And it has continued to get worse. She has interpreted my thoughtful gestures as a threat.

  Emotions are the bane of my existence.

  “Please, don’t watch me anymore,” she begs sullenly. “It scares me, knowing you’re there even though I can’t see you.”

  The pressure in my chest disappears, and my perspective shifts as I take in our surroundings. I’ve been in the shadows for too long, making her nervous when I watch her back.

  I cannot be blamed for succumbing to temptation.

  “I will walk next to you,” I exclaim with delight.

  I’ve been waiting for the right moment to bring this matter up with her. I can’t always passively follow her wherever she goes. So, the best approach is to make her consider what I want.

  Ultimately, equality is what makes a relationship last. We’re partners.

  Jenny groans, her face pinching. “That isn’t what I was going to say, but you can’t violate my privacy again.”

  “You are capable of being normal,” she adds under her breath, not realizing I have excellent hearing.

  I voice, “I’d like a key to your apartment.”

  Jenny snaps her head up, defeat in her sagging shoulders. I intertwine her hand with mine and ignore her protest.

  She twists her hand and wiggles her fingers to escape my grasp. Jenny tries again before accepting a humiliating defeat as I pull her to my side.

  She gripes, “No, you knock and ask to be let in. Entry denied, probably.”

  “Why would I be denied time with you?”

  Effective communication is critical, and we are clearly on different pages. We will talk; then, we’ll be on the same page.

  “We are together, are we not?” I question, detesting the awful answer I see in her frown.

  “We’re not—” Jenny objects. “We’re in this weird place; I don’t know how to describe it, as bizarre as that sounds.”

  We’re rudely interrupted by the bar owner as he pours a beer for Jenny and walks away to join the crowd.

  A couple raises their cups as they describe their romantic journey.

  “A one-night stand turned into a Vegas wedding we can’t remember. We were both free-spirits who didn’t want to divorce despite being complete strangers!” the woman screams joyously.

  Her husband matches her enthusiasm with their hands joined in the air. “We’re here to celebrate our twentieth anniversary!”

  A mix of congratulations, sharp whistles, and clapping muffles the upbeat music. Everyone raises their glass to toast the couple before chugging their alcoholic beverages.

  Jenny hesitates to take a sip because she doesn’t drink alcohol, arguably due to her dead father’s behavior.

  My hand finds a comfortable spot on her shoulder as I take it and drink enough of her beer to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Jenny can cleanse my palate with her bright doe-eyes and parted lips.

  I spread my fingers around her neck and tilt her chin, silently commanding her to be a good girl for me. I kiss her, savoring it as I swallow her pitiful whimper.

  “Bitter, isn’t it?” I sneer against her lips, grinning as she quivers.

  “That’s how you make me feel, pretty girl.”

  The fear in her eyes sweetens the alcohol on my tongue.

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny

  The island went into strict lockdown this early morning.

  There has been chatter on the grapevine and regular updates on the TV news speculating about why it happened so suddenly.

  Even an incoming typhoon doesn’t cause the island to lock down this quickly. People wonder whether there’s been a mass shooting, a killer on the loose, or a bomb threat.

  The governor prides himself on keeping the island safe, frequently bragging about his threat prevention strategies. Many just go along with him, fearing his petty revenge, but a handful of people call him out on such extreme measures.

  He was on the news this morning, putting some conspiracy theories to rest while assuring the citizens he’s got it all under control.

  The governor insisted this is not about a possible biochemical attack, and the hospitals are not running out of beds.

  Officials did confirm there has been an influx of methamphetamine on the streets. Big clubs have reportedly been the primary distribution source. Still, the owners promptly denied fronting for drug dealers or laundering money.

  “Holy shit,” Audrey mumbles, eyeing the eerily still palm trees out the window. “Is this the ‘calm before the storm’?”

  It is strange; the island usually has constant winds and high waves, but it’s been silent the entire morning, and the streets are empty.

  “Initial reports allege it’s a batch of ninety-percent pure meth. Public health officials are urging those who’ve come
in contact with it to go to their nearest hospital.”

  The woman on the TV looks grim despite the reassuring smile on her face.

  Audrey mutes the TV and groans. She mumbles under her breath and scratches her head, worried eyes darting between the window and the clock.

  I call her name, and it takes a long moment for her to look at me. She laughs and stands to stretch, her uplifted shirt revealing a pierced belly button.

  “Met this cute guy last night,” she says, moaning. “A fine ass. I was going to stay at his place last night, but he said he had something important to do.”

  My lips twitch. “That sounds like a poor excuse to back out at the last minute.”

  “Damn,” Audrey mumbles. “Maybe I missed out. If I see him again, I’m going to jump his bones.”

  “Keep it PG in public,” I chide playfully.

  “Quiet,” Audrey hushes, finger to her lips. “Just because you scored a hunky boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to rub it in.”

  I nearly recoil at the mention of Remo.

  After yesterday’s kiss, I felt more conflicted than ever. I’m not supposed to kiss my tormentor or let him weaken my resolve with his deep voice and hot touch. My heart shouldn’t beat erratically at the thought of his muscled body standing beside me.

  He is no longer a phantom who haunts me, but he still makes my head spin.

  Years of living in fear have desensitized me somehow. Remo won’t physically hurt me, but he has terrorized me to the point of being numb. His name makes my heart race, but his presence here has felt somewhat normal.

  Am I getting used to having him in my life?

  What kind of insanity is this? He has stalked me, terrified me in my mother’s house, stolen from me, and allegedly left love notes for me.

  He also ruthlessly snapped a man’s neck.

  I never asked him to kill someone and make me feel responsible for it. I have to live with the guilt while he lives without remorse.

  “You look very upset,” Audrey comments. “What’s on your mind? Nightmares again?”

  Against my therapist’s recommendation, I told Audrey every detail of what happened in my previous life. Now, she understands why I was so standoffish when we first met.

  But I didn’t mention Remo’s name or anything to suggest he is the one who caused all the problems for me.

  Persistently dominating all my time, energy, and feelings.

  Like Dad, a faint voice echoes in my head.

  There is always tension in my shoulders that extends down to my lower back. A pained sound escapes my lips, something like a plea for help.

  “—Jenny?” Audrey’s voice seems so distant.

  “—Jackals are hunting.”

  The newscaster’s voice gets my attention, forcing me to look at the repulsive jackal ink on neatly stacked meth packets flickering across the TV screen.

  It’s not Anubis, as I was led to believe; it’s just a ferocious animal.

  The same one staring at me as Remo says unapologetically, “I let myself in because you were in some kind of distress.”

  He grabs my wrist, and my feet surrender, following his broad shoulders to the bedroom. My heart races, but I don’t feel any fear, just shock.

  Remo suddenly looks more like a protector now.

  Audrey’s rueful voice apologizes for not stopping him from breaking into our home. Remo’s scent overcomes me before I can find my voice, but he wasn’t going to let me talk anyway.

  There’s not a bit of hesitation as he pulls me to his chest buries his face into the top of my head.

  “My pretty girl,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t leave you for too long, or you’d cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” I deny. To make sure, I blink quickly, feeling no wetness on my lashes.

  “And,” I grumble as I push against his chest, “Stop touching me.”

  “You need me,” he whispers.

  I’m trying to understand why he has the same jackal tattoo as the logo of the world’s biggest drug cartel.

  I distinctly heard the woman on TV saying the Jackals are an upcoming drug ring.

  “What’s on your mind?” Remo questions, the tone intimate. “Talk to me, pretty girl.”

  Nothing of this magnitude has ever happened on the island. It is only since Remo set foot here that peacefulness turned to madness.

  I don’t feel guilty for blaming him. No matter where I am, he manages to destroy everything around me.

  Then he steps up to rescue me, hands extended as a lifeline and forcing me to trust him. He hasn’t let me down yet, but that’s not a reason to trust him.

  None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up in my life. I wish I knew what I did to make him this obsessed with me so I can reverse it.

  “Don’t ignore me,” Remo hisses, bitter affection rolling off his tongue. “Pay attention to me. Stop thinking.”

  His patience dips into seething poison and strikes with the precision of a serpent. Pain pinches my joints where his strong fingers nestle between mine, overwhelming the ache with smothering heat from his palm.

  Remo’s too close, too big, and too suffocating. He’s angry, not quite like the time he twisted someone’s neck, but this time has less rage and more intensity—just as terrible. Just as monstrous.

  “Did you do it?” I ask, voice barely audible. “The drugs and the overdoses.”

  “Would you be afraid of me if I did?” he counters, smiling like a madman looking for praise.

  Human lives mean very little to him. That’s clear from the carnage and unspeakable grief the drugs have left behind.

  This island was a beautiful paradise before I came here.

  “Answer me,” I say curtly.

  “Yes, it was a small price to pay for taking you away.”

  I look him in the eye, guarding against his seething glower and vile sneer.

  That’s right, Remo is a monster before he’s a criminal. An overly obsessive, temperamental, and sinister shadow; following with silent steps, watching with deadly curiosity, and upsettingly greedy for my attention.

  “What’s it going to take for you to stop?” I request, not expecting an answer.

  He won’t stop crushing obstacles with his strong hands, tearing down walls built by outside forces, and punching elaborate lies until they shatter.

  His death would greatly benefit society because Remo causes more damage than the world can handle.

  He is a force to be reckoned with, but he’s not invincible.

  What has he been doing for the past four years?

  My shoulders ache as my back collides with the wall, and he releases my sore fingers to knead my neck with equal ferocity.

  “Stop?” he taunts me, eyes glowing. “I’ll never stop loving you, pretty girl. I am insulted that you are even asking me that question.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it,” I dare to say with vigor. “You’re hurting me.”

  Everything he does causes me pain: the murder he forced me to watch, my relocation, the trauma of constant fear, and the innocent people overdosing on drugs.

  “Then, teach me,” he commands darkly. “I want to learn. I can’t change if you don’t tell me how.”

  I don’t love him; I can’t love him. Not then, not now, and not in the future.

  It’s impossible to love a monster you fear.

  “You aren’t capable of change,” I mumble, turning my face to the side to focus on the rustling palm trees.

  “I don’t know how to help you change, and I don’t want to,” I say with closed eyes to get a moment of peace.

  Remo doesn’t care about the exhaustion I feel. He’s smart, using my scrambled thoughts to implant what he wants me to believe in my mind.

  “Why not?” he demands heatedly. “I have done everything you wanted me to. Are you afraid of letting me in and then having to run away again? Is that it? You don’t have to worry about it anymore; I took care of them.”

  His hand falls to my r
ibs, trailing the curve of my waist before gently resting on my hip. The contrast with his other hand on my neck sends shivers down my spine. His nimble fingers begin to draw idle circles on my soft skin.

  “What else do I have to do?” he questions vehemently. “I’ll do it. Just tell me, and I’ll kill them too.”

  I turn my eyes to his unfocused gaze, seeing the insanity there as he squeezes my neck. It doesn’t hurt, nor does it raise alarm bells even though it should.

  “Who else have you… killed?” I wince to cover the crack in my voice.

  Madness is replaced by his confused expression.

  “How many people have you killed because of me?” I grasp his forearm, the one with the jackal ink, and feel his muscles swell.

  “Not many,” he says after a long silence.

  I can’t tell if he is intentionally vague.

  Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Remo stares intently at my neck as his fingers tentatively stroke the skin.

  He’s distracted, and convincing myself of that takes a lot of effort.

  “List them,” I order, frowning at my lack of self-protectiveness.

  Why am I doing things to exacerbate the trauma he has caused me? I really don’t want to know who else died because they had the misfortune of meeting me.

  “Everyone who played a role in taking you from me,” he voices, still distracted by my neck. “The judge, the prosecutor, the witness, and the doctors.”

  I won’t pretend to know what they went through when Remo found them, but they were the people who expedited our separation from each other.

  The witness saw Remo snap the victim’s neck so viciously that bone cut through skin, and she had bravely recounted the horrifying event in court.

  The rising-star district attorney prosecuted Remo to the fullest extent of the law and asked for the death penalty.

  The medical professionals gave their expert opinions about Remo’s mental state.

  The judge handed down the sentence that sealed Remo’s fate with psychiatric incarceration, to be followed by prison.

  There wasn’t a jury trial, so I am grateful that twelve people escaped Remo’s wrath.

  I am indifferent when I realize he didn’t mention the lead detective who happened to be the arresting officer after Remo killed my coworker.