by Mark Lukens
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
FOLLOWED
A Suspense Thriller by
MARK LUKENS
Followed—copyright © 2013—Mark Lukens
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reprinted without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Valdas Miskinis
Special thanks to: Ann, Conny, Kelli, Mary Ann, Linda, and April
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
Ancient Enemy – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FD4SP8M
Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B01K42JBGW
Sightings – www.amazon.com/dp/B00VAI31KW
Devil’s Island – www.amazon.com/dp/B06WWJC6VD
What Lies Below – www.amazon.com/dp/B0143LADEY
Descendants of Magic – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FWYYYYC
The Summoning – www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNEOHKU
Night Terrors – www.amazon.com/dp/B00M66IU3U
The Exorcist’s Apprentice – www.amazon.com/dp/B00YYF1E5C
The Darwin Effect – www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4A8ZYC
A Dark Collection: 12 Scary Stories – www.amazon.com/dp/B00JENAGLC
Ghost Town: a novella – www.amazon.com/dp/B00LEZRF7G
Razorblade Dreams: Horror Stories – www.amazon.com/dp/B076B7W252
PROLOGUE
Portland, OR
Travis felt like he’d been followed. He couldn’t see anyone down the dark and deserted streets as he parked his car in front of the two story house, but he felt like he was being watched. He got out of his car and rushed up the walkway to the front door. It was late—two o’clock in the morning—and he hadn’t seen any cars following him here, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that the man had finally found him.
He had to get out of town for a while, that was all there was to it. He needed to get inside and pack a bag; he needed all of his identification, any cash he had, a few changes of clothes. One bag, just enough to carry onto the airplane. He’d have his parents send him some money whenever he got to where he was going.
God, he didn’t even know where he was going yet. But it didn’t matter—he just needed to get away from here. He would have time to look at some destinations once he got to the airport. He’d go somewhere far away. Somewhere warm. Maybe New Orleans or Miami. Somewhere out of the country. Maybe Mexico. Yeah, he could see himself on a nice warm Mexican beach with an icy drink in his hand.
Travis had his keys in his hand with the key to the front door poking out, trying his best not to jingle them in the eerily silent night. He was pretty sure his stalker, whoever the guy was, didn’t know about this place that he’d just rented a month ago under a different name. But then again, maybe he did. The man seemed to know everything else about Travis’ life, everything from his past. The man had stalked him, threatened him, and it was getting a little too scary now. It was time to swallow his pride and run away.
Travis unlocked the front door of the house, opened it, and darted inside. He closed the door and locked it, exhaling a long breath of relief now that he was inside. He felt safer now. Well, a little safer anyway. He’d feel much better when he was on the airplane.
He stood there for a moment by the front door, listening. Everything was quiet—the only sounds were the gurgling of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft purring of the heat drifting out of the vents in the ceiling. The place was a mess. He’d only been staying here on and off for the last month—ever since that man had begun following him.
Well, all this shit was going to be over soon. His parents had the cops involved now (even though the cops said that there really wasn’t much they could do about it until the man actually did something), and now they had hired a private detective. Between the cops and the private detective, Travis was sure that they would find out who this guy really was, what his warped plans were.
Travis didn’t turn on any lights in the living room—he didn’t want the lights to be seen from the street. He made his way through the darkness, his skin alive with an electrical tingling of fear, his mind buzzing with panic that made him both light-headed and hyperaware of everything. He got to the kitchen and slapped at the light switch.
Too bright—he turned it back off.
He hurried to the stove and turned on the small light underneath the range hood.
He stood still for another moment, listening.
Everything was quiet.
“He isn’t here,” he whispered to himself. “No way he could have found this place.”
Travis had been too careful. He had even rented the car he’d driven here, and he would leave that car at the airport parking lot. His tracks would be covered. That creepy guy who’d been following him wasn’t going to find him.
The glow from over the stove provided enough light for him to see the stairs. He ran up the carpeted steps to the second floor. He rushed down the hallway and entered the master bedroom, flipping on the overhead light on his way in. He turned on the bathroom light. It was a little warm in here because he’d left the heat on for the last few days, and now he was beginning to sweat a little.
Just get this done.
He grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and then grabbed a smaller travel bag for some bathroom stuff. He brought the bags to the end of the bed and set them there.
And then he froze.
Was that a sound from out in the hallway?
Travis crept to the bedroom door. He wished he had some kind of weapon with him. He didn’t own a gun, but he wished he had something with him, a baseball bat or a golf club maybe; he would feel so much better with something in his hands right now to defend himself with.
He peeked out at the hallway and looked over at the stairs that hugged the wall, the steps descending down into the darkness. He couldn’t see the faint glow of the kitchen light.
Was the light over the stove out?
There were no sounds in the house.
“Hello?” Travis called out. He felt a little stupid. He was really letting his nerves get to him. He left his bedroom and crept down the hall to the stairs. He still couldn’t see the kitchen light even from the top of the steps; there was nothing but darkness down there.
“Hello?” he called out again. His stomach was churning, his legs both rubbery and shaky with adrenal
ine.
There’s no one down there, he told himself. You just can’t see the light in the kitchen from this angle.
But it looked so dark down there. The kitchen light had to be off.
He was wasting time. He hurried back to his bedroom, heading straight for the dresser, about to pull the drawers open. But he turned and stared at the doorway. He thought he’d seen a shadow move out of the corner of his eye. He thought he’d heard the soft shifting of clothing, the exhale of a breath.
Nobody there in the doorway.
Travis grabbed some underwear and socks and turned to go back to the end of the bed.
And then he froze.
A man stood near the bathroom door. He had a gun in his gloved hand. The barrel of the gun seemed too long, and Travis realized that the gun had a silencer screwed onto it. The man was dressed from head-to-toe in black clothing.
“Stay right there,” the man whispered in a calm, almost conversational voice.
Travis remained still.
“Throw the clothes over there,” the man said, gesturing slightly with a move of his head.
Travis threw the balled-up socks and underwear over by the closet door. He raised his hands halfway up in surrender. His legs were trembling even more now, his stomach burning, his mouth going dry. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Please . . .”
“Take your shirt off,” the man said. His voice was still low and calm, but Travis could hear the edge in it, the threat of violence.
“Please . . . you don’t have to do this.”
“Take your shirt off.” The words were clipped, harder.
“I have money. My parents have a lot of money. How much do you want? Just name a price and it’s yours.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to take your shirt off like I told you to. And then I want you to take your pants off.”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Now,” the man barked. He shot a bullet at the floor near Travis’ feet. The gun made a spitting noise, and the bullet thudded into the carpet, leaving a small hole in it with a faint wisp of smoke and dust drifting up.
Travis did as he was ordered, tearing his shirt off, then kicking off his sneakers so he could pull his pants off.
“Throw them over there,” the man said, gesturing with a nod of his head again towards the closet door.
Travis tossed his clothes over by the collection of socks and underwear.
The man lowered his gun a little and reached behind his back with his left hand, pulling out a large hunting knife. He threw the knife down on the floor near Travis’ feet, the tip of the blade sticking down into the carpet and wood floor underneath it with a thunk.
Travis stared down at the hunting knife. It looked like something Rambo would carry around.
“Pick it up,” the man said.
Travis hesitated.
“Pick . . . it . . . up.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Travis blubbered.
“I know what you did to that girl.”
“What girl?” Travis asked, but he realized that there would be no talking his way out of this because the man knew.
“Pick up the knife.”
Travis bent over and pulled the knife out of the floor. It was heavier than he expected. The blade was shiny; the closet light winked off the blade.
“I want you to stick the knife into the left side of your stomach . . . stick it in there deep.”
“What?” Travis cried. He couldn’t believe this was really happening.
The man aimed his gun at Travis. “Stick the knife into your left side. Stab it in there deep.”
Travis sobbed, shaking his head. “I . . . I can’t do that.”
The man reached into a pocket and pulled out a few photos, fanned them out like a hand of cards, and then tossed them over to Travis. They landed near his socked feet.
“Pick them up,” the man said.
Travis did as ordered. He stared in horror at photo after photo.
“Those are pictures of your family,” the man said. “Your mom and dad. Your sister. Your aunts and uncles. Your grandmother. I know where all of them are. I can get to them as easily as I got to you. If you do what I want, I’ll let them live. They shouldn’t have to suffer for what you’ve done in your past. But if you keep resisting, then I’ll skin them alive. I will hang each one of them up by their wrists and cut long pieces off of them until they scream themselves to death. I can’t be caught. I think you know that by now.”
Travis cried even harder.
“Now, I want you to stick that knife into your left side.”
“How . . . how do I know you won’t kill my family anyway?”
“You don’t.”
“Please . . . you have to swear to me.”
“I don’t want them. I only want you.”
Travis swallowed hard, still sobbing. He looked down at the knife in his trembling hand.
“Hurry, Travis. Hurry or I’m going to start shooting your knees out. You’re going to do what I want whether you have your kneecaps in the right places or not.”
Travis still hesitated.
The man pulled the trigger. The gun spit again. Travis’ right knee exploded in a spray of blood and bits of bone.
Instant agony. Travis collapsed to the floor, dropping the hunting knife. He grabbed his ruined knee gingerly, trying to hold it together, a sob stuck in his throat. The world went away for a moment—nothing existed in this new universe except white-hot pain.
“I told you . . .” The man was closer now, aiming his gun at Travis’ other knee. “I have a lot of bullets. We can do this all night.”
Travis rocked on the floor, still trying to hold his mangled knee together, blood soaking his hands and arms.
“You have one minute, Travis. One minute, or I’ll blow your other knee to pieces. Then your feet. Then your balls. Your choice.”
“Wait,” Travis said, his mouth hanging open, a line of drool mixed with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He realized he’d bitten his tongue at some point when he’d fallen to the floor. The world seemed to be spinning. He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like he was going to pass out.
“Travis. You now have thirty seconds.”
“Okay!”
Travis rolled over onto his back and clawed at the floor for the hunting knife. He found it, picked it up, held it in both hands above his belly which was shiny with sweat. The point of the blade was almost touching his flesh now, the handle slippery in his blood-stained hands.
“Fifteen seconds, Travis.”
“Okay!” he yelled again. “I’m doing it!” He stabbed the knife blade into the side of his belly, biting back a scream.
“Good,” the man said. “You’re doing really great so far, Travis.”
Travis moaned, clenching his teeth. He was so close to passing out now, so close to slipping away from all of this.
“Okay now, Travis. Stay with me. Listen. Okay?”
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Now I want you to start cutting across your stomach. From left to right. You got that?”
Travis nodded.
“You’re going to have to saw really hard, but I think you can do it.”
Travis hesitated, moaning, still squeezing his eyes shut, breathing so hard he was hyperventilating.
“Do it,” the man whispered as he touched the barrel of the silencer against Travis’ good knee.
Travis started sawing.
ONE
Cathy
Two months later: Florida
Saturday
Cathy sat in the passenger seat staring out the windshield, watching the headlights do their best to push back the darkness as Phil drove their black Lexus down the lonely, two-lane road. This route was a shortcut that Phil liked to take when they drove to Polk County, but this stretch of road was remote, not much around except for woods, a few cattle ranches, an
d every once in a while a house set far off the road with cozy lights glowing inside the windows.
They’d both been quiet on the drive home after eating dinner with the Hendersons. Cathy looked at Phil as he concentrated on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “They’re not going to make it, are they?” she said.
He shook his head slightly without looking at her. “Probably not. Once trust is broken in a relationship, it’s difficult to get it back.”
And trust had been broken in the Hendersons’ relationship. Sheldon and Emma Henderson were most likely headed for a divorce. Emma had caught Sheldon cheating on her two months ago. He had admitted to everything after being caught, and they had worked on their marriage from there, but Emma told Cathy on the phone last week that even though she and Sheldon had gone to marriage counseling, and even though Sheldon had cried and begged her to stay, even though he had promised never to cheat on her again, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to forgive him, ever be able to stay with him.
Cathy asked Emma if they wanted to schedule a meeting with Phil . . . just to talk about things. Maybe Phil could help. But she declined. Phil guessed that they probably weren’t comfortable talking to him, a friend of theirs, about their marriage problems. But he could definitely recommend some other psychologists or counselors.
Tonight’s dinner had gone smoothly enough. The Hendersons didn’t drink too much. There were no arguments or insinuations; just a bit of playacting from everyone, all of them pretending that everything was okay.
“I don’t want that to ever happen to us,” Cathy told Phil.
“It won’t.” He still wasn’t looking at her.
“I’m serious, Phil. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”
He finally looked at her with a reassuring smile. He took her hand in his, holding it gently. “No secrets. I promise.”
“No secrets,” she repeated. She looked back out the windshield. “Look out!!”
Phil ripped his hand out of her hand and grabbed the steering wheel. He stomped down on the brake pedal and the Lexus’ tires screeched in the night air, a cloud of smoke rising behind them in the red glow of the brake lights.
A pickup truck had pulled out in front of them from a side road and Phil had nearly plowed right into the back of it, stopping only inches away from the rear bumper. For a moment Cathy thought they had hit the truck, but it was speeding up a little, pulling away from them and puttering down the road.
