by Rebel Farris
But if the body was buried, then it was likely the killer came back but hadn’t found us yet. Xander’s home wasn’t easy to find or conspicuous. It was well-hidden and far from the road. So the best solution was to check the body, see where that led me.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and goose bumps spread over my arms. Going near there was sort of asking to run into the killer. If he’d come back today of all days, it was possible. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to know what had happened to that body. I needed something else before I could make any assumptions about Xander. It seemed like the next logical place to find answers, other than sneaking back into that office. Though that was next on my to-do list—if I could find the time or another good excuse to be upstairs again without drawing suspicion that I was snooping.
With that thought, I slipped my hand into the pocket of my coat and wrapped my hand around the cold steel of the gun. Then I set one foot in front of the other, the compass in front of me guiding my way, with a steely resolve that I’d survive this. No matter what the costs.
Buried
An eerie sense of déjà vu crept up my spine. I took each step through the trees with the utmost caution, going slower than was probably necessary. But I didn’t know how far I’d walked to get to the body the first time. I didn’t want to make the same mistake of stumbling upon a killer again haphazardly.
The sun was getting close to the horizon, but I wasn’t as worried this time. A full moon was already up in the sky behind me, so even the dark would be well-lit, and if not, I had the flashlight just in case. There was a noise just off in the distance that had a rhythmic quality to it. I slowed even further, only stepping on the balls of my toes, constantly checking to make sure I wasn’t going to step on a wayward branch.
The closer I got, the louder the sound grew. Shick… Thump… Shick… Thump. And the smell. Holy shit! It was so much worse than when I was out here the first time. The body couldn’t have been buried. The smell was too potent for that. But someone was definitely out there. My heart started pounding in my ears, competing with the rhythmic noise. I pressed my back against a tree and pulled the gun out of my pocket, checking to make sure the bullets were all loaded and in place. My hands shook violently as I released the latch that opened the bullet chamber. The bullets rattled and jumped in their slots. I placed my other hand over them to make it stop.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt the wetness clinging to my lashes. Deep breaths. Bad idea. I gagged and buried my nose into my shoulder. Though my stomach had other thoughts and continued to heave, I kept it down. I tried to calm myself. I could do this. I needed to see who was over there. I needed to know who the killer was. I needed it to not be Xander. Though, I wasn’t really sure why. Perhaps because I felt like some piece of my soul would be redeemed with him.
Not that it was likely. I was far from a saint. But sleeping with a murderer would be icing on the shit cake of my life. And even though it wasn’t the appropriate time to be considering this, it was helping.
Opening my eyes, I peered down at the gun as I removed my hand. The bullets were all there, in the appropriate place. The trembling had subsided, mostly. I clicked the gun shut and peered around the side of the tree. I couldn’t see anything. I turned and looked around the other side, but there were still too many trees between me and the sound. And the smell.
I rolled up the sleeves of the oversized jacket. The cold couldn’t penetrate my panic. But really, it would get in the way of the sight if I had to aim the gun. Once that was done, I steeled myself. I could do this. I turned and crouched, staying close to the tree.
I kept my body low as I crept around the tree. Sure, speed would’ve kept me from being out in the open for so long, but sound was a factor too. And I didn’t trust myself to be both fast and soundless. Xander wasn’t an idiot, and I doubted the killer would be either. I wasn’t Chuck Norris. I couldn’t put some mud under my eyes and traipse around the woods undetected.
I headed straight for another large tree, keeping my ears tuned to the area that the sound was coming from, glancing in that direction with each careful step.
Once I made it to that tree, I went to another one, then another. Another five trees later and I was able to see the clearing. I recognized the cactus that had so generously gifted me with its spines the first time I encountered it. I still didn’t have a clear view. There wasn’t anyone I could see. The shovel was gone from where it was stuck in the ground that first night, and near where it had been, a rounded mound of packed dirt sat. The steady snick… thump was clearly someone digging. But where? Why?
The tree in front of me was an old oak. If I stood up straight, there was a Y in the branches that I could peer over. It was a dangerous move because it would put me at eye level with whoever was out there. I pulled the gun up next to my ear and placed my other hand on the trunk of the tree as I slowly rose up to my feet.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I took in the sight before me. I fought the urge to gasp. I was trying my hardest to breathe as little as possible. But before me, in the clearing, was a man. He had a bandanna over his face as he dug into the earth, most likely to block the putrid smell. He was shirtless and covered in sweat and streaks of mud, and I couldn’t see his face, but I’d recognize that body anywhere.
It was Xander.
My heart stalled in my chest. The sound of my rapid heartbeat was replaced with a loud roaring echo of silence. Though he was still digging, I couldn’t hear it.
The biggest shock wasn’t that he was out there, it was that he was digging another human-sized hole. A grave for another victim. I didn’t see the corpse of that man. I assumed it’d already been buried. But that one, the new hole, it had to be for someone else. And the only person left was me.
Xander stopped to wipe his brow with the back of his hand. He looked around, and I ducked back down. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I needed to get out of there. Not just away from this makeshift graveyard of a crazy serial killer and torturer, but out of his house. I needed to get home.
When the snick… thump started up again, I moved. I was careful to remain quiet, but with every step farther away, my pace quickened until I was flat-out running. Going back the way I came, I only slowed once I was far enough away that I could no longer hear or smell anything from that whole scene.
I bent over, resting my hands on my knees, breathing in through my nose to calm my racing heart. I needed to get it together. I’d no clue where to go, but I needed to find my way back to civilization. And the roads were a bad idea. He’d find me. I could feel it in my gut. My stomach churned at that thought. I was sleeping with someone who was planning to kill me in a horrible, vicious way. How could I be so stupid?
Images assaulted me until I felt the bile rising in my throat, and my stomach heaved. Fucking great. I closed my eyes and tried to let the nauseous feeling subside. Breathing in through my nose, I felt tingles spread over my body, and my vision dimmed. I was going to pass out. I needed to think. Think, goddammit!
The map. I needed to go back and get that map. With it, I could chart out a course that would be the most direct path to the nearest town. From there, I needed to go straight to the police station and turn him the fuck in.
With that thought, my mind sobered a bit. I realized I was still holding the gun in a white-knuckled grip. I stuck it in my coat pocket and stared down at the imprints in my palm. I was surprised I hadn’t accidentally fired it.
I shook my head. I didn’t have time to ponder random shit. I needed to go back. Get the map and the rest of my stuff. A blanket would be good, and some food. It would take me days to walk to the nearest town out here. Food was a must. I pulled out the compass, set my course toward my best guess of the right direction, and started jogging. I wasn’t going to be able to full-on run the whole way there. And Xander didn’t look close to finishing.
Though he could stop at any moment, knowing that I’d return. The sun was well past the trees
and would hit the horizon soon. Night would follow swiftly. My pace quickened at that thought. I wanted to be long gone before he returned.
Mapped
I hit the door like a linebacker, and thankfully it was unlocked. It swung open and bounced off the wall. Map, blanket, food. Map, blanket, food. I tossed my purse on the kitchen table, kicked off my mud-caked boots, and ran straight for the laundry room, grabbing a thicker but still lightweight wool blanket and a piece of rope that was in a basket above the dryer. The blanket should be enough to keep me warm and cushion the ground a bit, while still being somewhat easy to carry. I ran back to the kitchen and dropped it on the counter, laying it out flat so I could roll the food up into it the way we’d learned to pack stuff in Girl Scouts when I was a kid. I’d use the rope to cinch it up and make a strap, so it would be easy to carry.
My breath was wheezing in and out. I could barely feel the stitch in my side from all the running. Panic and urgency narrowed my brain’s depth of thought to only the necessary things for survival.
Get what I need, and get the fuck out.
I turned and flung open the pantry. I froze. In that split second, I remembered that I needed to get the map first. I didn’t want to get everything together and be in such a rush that I’d forget it. That map was the only way I’d make it out of here alive. My brain was already in hyperdrive, so forgetting it was a very likely scenario. I shut the door and turned on my heels to race up the stairs. It was still light enough outside that I could see my way around the space without turning on the lights. And I was thankful. Turning on a light up here could alert him from a distance that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be.
I rushed over to the guest room and grabbed the key. My hands were shaking so bad that it took several tries before I managed to pull it out. I slid on the floor in my socks in my rush to cross the hallway. My shoulder slamming into the door was the only thing that stopped me from crashing to the ground. The key bounced off the backplate several times before I managed to fit it in the hole. My hands were shaking in time with my racing heart. It sounded like a steady drumbeat pounding inside my head.
Grasping the handle, I twisted it, pushing inside. I halted in my tracks, my jaw slack, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. Everything was gone. All the boxes that lined the wall had vanished. The only thing left was the desk. Did he know I came in here? Had he been planning to clear it out all along and my absence gave him the opportunity? Where did he take them to?
I sent up a prayer that the map was still there before my feet stirred into motion and carried me across the room. I sat in the chair and pulled open the drawer where the map had been. It was there, sitting right where I left it, untouched. I grabbed it and shut the door. I started to stand, but then curiosity got the better of me. I pulled open the drawer with the file. It was still there. The phone was too.
My mind whirled with what could’ve been in those boxes that he felt the need to remove them, but left this stuff. The file, phone, and map had seemed pretty damning, but if he felt the need to move those boxes, that must’ve been worse. My breath still sawed in and out of me, but I was slowly catching my breath. I felt my brows pinch together and huffed, then shook my head. I was wasting time. Who cared what was in those boxes; I was getting out of here, come hell or high water.
I turned and left, locking the door behind me. The key went back to its hiding spot, and I looked around the room one last time. I almost felt sad to be leaving. But that was ridiculous—I couldn’t stay here with a crazed killer bent on making me his next victim.
Halfway down the stairs, I heard it: a car door shutting. I did the worst thing you could do in a situation like this—I stopped in my tracks, one foot hovering over the next step. I didn’t hear anything else, but I knew someone was out there, which meant I needed a new plan. I didn’t know if that was Xander at his truck, in the garage, or if someone new had arrived. My heartbeat thundered loud in my ears and my vision narrowed.
The gun.
I needed to get back to my stuff and see who was out there. I stupidly left the front door open and my purse on the kitchen table. Fuck. I listened for a moment for signs that anyone was in the house but heard nothing. With that, I sprang into motion, rushing back to the kitchen. Sliding across the floor, I crashed hard into the table, stuffing the map in my purse and pulling out the gun. I checked the chamber for bullets. My mind slowed a bit at the comfort that they were locked and loaded.
Quickly, I turned to face the front door. It was bright enough to see outside but not enough to light the interior of the house. I could see the front porch and beyond, but I was concealed by the shadows. I walked carefully over to the windows and looked outside. There wasn’t anything new from what I could see. The garage blocked the view of the driveway, so I wasn’t sure if there was anything—or someone—else on the other side. The door to the garage was shut, though I couldn’t remember if it was like that when I came back. The lights were off inside it.
It was getting dark fast, and if Xander was out there, he was skulking in the shadows. Then I heard him. He was softly singing a country tune in his off-kilter accent. Goose bumps burst to life across my whole body as a chill vibrated down my spine. This was it. I had one of two choices: lie in wait and hope that I could kill him before he killed me, or use sex to change his mind and give me time until he fell asleep, before I could make my escape.
Of those two, the latter seemed like my best chance at survival. He was skilled and athletic, and my most useful skill was waiting tables and cleaning. Plus, in that split second, I had to be brutally honest with myself and answer whether I was capable of pulling the trigger without forethought. The answer was no. To do that, I would’ve had to be absolutely sure that whomever I shot was worthy of a death sentence. If not, that hesitation would cost me my life. From what I’d seen of him in action and what I supposed he was capable of, he would use that moment of hesitation against me and I would have shown my cards.
With that thought, I slipped my gun back into my purse and crept into the laundry room to use our secret code. I hoped I was making the right choice, but I wasn’t sure where my true motives lay. Maybe some demented part of my soul wanted to be with him one last time. Even if it led to my death.
I shook my head. Thoughts like those weren’t going to help me now.
I slipped off the borrowed pants, socks, underwear, and jacket off until I was in nothing but his sweater. I took a deep breath to steel my nerves and went back into the kitchen, opening the fridge to find something for dinner. I’d just pulled out the makings for chili when the screen door cracked off its frame. I jumped, startled. My body tensed as I continued going through the motions. I knew I should look at him, greet him, but I didn’t trust myself.
Would he see through me? Probably. He was very good at reading me. This is a bad idea. Oh, God.
I couldn’t hear any movement behind me, and with each passing second, my nerves ratcheted tighter. I bent down to pull the stockpot from one of the lower cabinets when I caught sight of his boots, right behind me. I stood slowly, placing the pot on the stove. Fear thickened the blood in my veins. My heartbeat slowed, the sound rushing through my ears.
This was a dumb idea. He didn’t want me; I was just a fun way to pass the time for a while. I turned to grab the meat from the counter and gasped. He was standing there between me and the counter. Water glistened off his bare chest, catching the final rays of light from the sunset, while his face was shrouded in shadow, unreadable. Before I finished drawing in that breath, his hands were firmly gripping my bare ass while his mouth swallowed any cries of shock or protest I may have uttered. His hands felt like ice, and when I placed mine on his shoulders, his skin was cool to the touch, but his mouth was warm and demanding.
He backed me up until I bumped into the island counter. When I felt the brush of wool against my lower back, I knew. I’d failed to put away the blanket. I kissed him back like my life depended on it. It probably did. I ran my hands down his chest
, feeling the smooth bumps of his scars and the rigid, tense muscles. The cold beads of water gathered under my hands as they slid down his abs to his belt buckle.
I could say a lot of things about myself, but in that moment, as my heartbeat pounded in my cunt, I knew I wanted him. This. Even if it cost me my soul and my life, I would forsake it all. If he was the devil incarnate, I was well and truly Satan’s whore. I couldn’t have stopped myself. I didn’t want to.
It felt twisted and right at the same time. Like my brain, heart, body, and soul were at war. But I couldn’t decipher what was fighting for whom.
His pants were soaked and cold, but as I finished undoing them and reached in to grab him, he was hot and hard. Velvety smooth skin slid under my grip. He groaned and broke away from our kiss.
“You are just what I need at the end of every day.” He rested his forehead against mine. “I see you have more than food planned for dinner.”
I tried to nod and answer him, but it came out as more of a whimper as he thrusted in my hand.
“I have not done near enough in my life to deserve you,” he whispered. “But I will take whatever you give me.”
His hands released my ass and he pressed into me—trapping me between him and the counter—as he reached for something behind me. He pressed a kiss into my shoulder on the way back.
“Do you trust me?” His voice was graveled with unspoken emotion.
No. “Yes,” I squeaked out.
He pulled the sweater over my head and I was naked before him, just like that. Then I felt it. He wrapped the length of rope that I was going to tie up the blanket with around my wrists, binding them together in front of me. My jaw went slack as my heart raced. Fear and shock struck me silent. I felt like a deer in headlights as the few seconds it took him to expertly bind my wrists stretched out into an eternity.
