by Brenna Zinn
“Whatever that was couldn’t have been sitting on your nightstand. It sounded huge.” He tried to pull away from her grasp, but she tightened her grip. “What? Why don’t you want me to go upstairs?”
She frowned and shook her head. “You don’t understand. I need a place I can go that’s all my own. A private place that’s just for me.”
So you don’t have to get too close to me. That’s what you really mean.
Impatience mixed with the adrenaline already pumping into his blood and muscles. “I do understand, but your safety is more important to me than your privacy. Let me go.”
“Okay.” Emma sighed as she removed her hold. She tugged on her blouse. “But I’m going with you.”
Unwilling to waste any more time, Chet nodded and ran down the short hallway. Emma followed closely behind. After reaching the bottom of the stairs, he used his long legs to his advantage, taking two steps at a time. He stopped at the second-story landing to catch his bearings. Never having been on this floor before, he wasn’t sure which door led to her bedroom.
“This way.” Emma edged past him, taking a sharp turn to the left.
With his free hand, Chet grabbed the back of her shorts and stopped her in her tracks. “Me first. I’m the one with the knife in my hand. Remember?”
Taking the lead, he grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He swung the door open, holding the knife high in the air, ready to strike.
Near a bank of windows a cardboard box lay on its side, its top flaps up and open. The contents of the box, mostly picture frames and knickknacks, littered the carpeted floor. The force of the fall had scattered pieces of broken glass all the way to the foot of Emma’s neatly made bed. Other boxes stood precariously stacked against the wall.
“See. No big deal. One of my boxes fell.” Emma knelt and picked up a large shard of glass.
The short hairs on the back of his neck rose as Chet entered the room and glanced around. When he saw the back wall, his blood ran cold. His grip tightened on the kitchen knife. Unable to utter a word, he tapped Emma’s back.
When she looked up, her gaze darted from his face to the wall. A full heartbeat passed before she caught her breath and let out a horrified scream.
Chapter Four
The room spun around her and for a dizzying moment Emma’s vision went black.
“Emma? You okay?”
Chet’s voice sounded distant, dim. He placed a steadying palm on her shoulder. Lucky thing. She wasn’t sure she could keep herself from falling over.
No, I’m not okay.
The words formed in her mind, but she couldn’t find the mental capacity to say them aloud. All rational thought scattered as soon as she saw several pictures of herself, pictures that should have been in the broken frames now lying on the floor, tacked to the wall with pieces of the busted glass. Each razor-sharp shard had been placed in the middle of Emma’s face. Liquid, thick and crimson, oozed from the puncture points, sliding down the wall like dark-red rain.
Blood.
In between the pictures, words were scratched into the wall.
She must be punished.
As though written by an angry giant, each jagged letter had been so deeply dug, chunks of the drywall showed through the floral wallpaper. Several white chalky pieces lay on the floor near the baseboard.
“Here. Lean back against the bed.” Chet eased over her. “That’s good. Now take a deep breath.”
Emma could see Chet moving her, but all feeling had left her body, leaving her a numb shell. She observed the scene as though watching everything from afar.
Then, as if a cotton ball dipped in strong cologne had been stuffed up her nose, the smell hit her.
“Do you smell that?” Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. Small wonder considering her heart was beating so loudly she could hear little else. “Smells like Polo cologne.”
Chet raised his head and sniffed. “Yes. You’re right. Stay here. I’m going to look around.”
Unable to do more than nod, Emma let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and pressed her back to the spindled footrest of her bed. The hard, rounded ridges made for an uncomfortable resting spot, but at least some type of feeling had returned.
Chet made his way around the large bedroom, checking the locks on the windows and looking into the closet and the master bathroom. Apparently satisfied nothing lurked there, he moved to the hallway and investigated the other rooms.
The gruesome scene on the wall and the pungent smell of cologne were too much. Nausea churned in Emma’s stomach, stirring the greasy macaroni and cheese from her lunch with the beer she’d just drunk. She pulled in her legs and wrapped her arms around her shins before resting her forehead on her knees. Swallowing hard, she attempted to keep everything down.
After a few minutes, Emma heard Chet’s footsteps on the stairs to the first floor and the sound of doors opening and closing. When he finally made his way back to her room, she looked up to see him place the knife he’d been holding onto the bed, then slide down to sit next to her.
“I didn’t find anyone.” He reached his arm around her shoulder and placed his other hand on her leg. His light touch instantly changed to a death grip. “What the fuck?”
“Huh?”
“What happened to all the blood?”
Risking the possibility of losing her cookies, Emma prepared for the worst and looked at the wall.
Though the pictures were still hanging, the blood had vanished.
She rubbed her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. There had been so much thick, red blood seeping from the pictures, the wall had looked like a macabre art project. Now the wallpaper looked as it had before. Nothing but cheery yellow-and-white flowers entwined by a thin vine climbing to the crown molding.
“I don’t understand. It was just there.” Her stomach lurched. “All that blood.”
“What happened to it while I was downstairs?” Chet asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I was going to be sick, so I put my head down. I didn’t hear or see anything.”
A deep frown creased between his eyebrows. “It couldn’t have just disappeared.”
No, it couldn’t have. But it did.
Her brain kicked into high gear, thinking through the various logical explanations. There had to be a sane, rational answer for what was happening. If years of studying mathematics had taught her anything, it had cemented the understanding that everything could be explained in a sensible way.
Emma plucked the first reasonable thought that crossed her mind. “Hysteria,” she offered. “We thought we saw something that wasn’t there because we were nervous. There was an intruder in the house. Adrenaline pumped into our systems, and it altered our vision. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Chet pulled back, one eyebrow cocked high. “Hysteria? Seriously? You really believe we both saw blood on the wall because we were nervous? I’ve heard a lot of crazy nonsense in my life, but that takes the cake.”
Last year’s summer blockbuster, Men in Black, flashed in her mind. How had Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith explained the strange things that had happened to people who’d come in contact with aliens?
“Swamp gas?”
“Swamp gas? Seriously?” He sighed and shook his head. “A crazy person has been in your house and left a disturbing message on your bedroom wall, and you’re being funny? Unbelievable.”
“Don’t listen to me. I’m so scared I have no idea what I’m saying.”
“I am too. Which is why I’m calling the police.”
She sucked in a breath. “Police?”
He nodded toward the message scraped into her wall. “Yes. Some nut job has been in here. I don’t know how he got in or out without us noticing, but he did. Little doubt he wanted us to know he was in your place and meant business.”
“He?” An involuntary quake of fear shook her frame. “What makes you think whoever did this was a man?
”
“It may not be.” Chet squeezed Emma tighter, molding his solid frame to hers. “I’m guessing it was a guy because of the smell of cologne. Not many women wear Polo.”
Emma allowed her body to melt into his, attempting to shake the raw, unsettling feelings of violation and vulnerability. Someone, a stranger, had been in her house. Creeping around in her safe place and leaving threats in her bedroom.
She gazed at the message ripped into the wall.
She must be punished.
What did that mean? What had she done to provoke someone to do such a horrible thing?
As if divining her thoughts, Chet asked, “Any idea who did this? Maybe an upset student? Someone who wanted your job?”
“I haven’t met any of the students yet. Plus there’s no reason for them to be angry with me. The semester hasn’t started.” She sorted through her memories, sifting through people, even acquaintances for a possibility. There was no one. “I have no idea. Not a clue.”
Chet placed a finger on her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “The word punish suggests another Dom. Did you have other Doms before me?”
“No. You’re my first.”
“Your ex-husband wasn’t a Dom?”
“No. A pushy, first-class jerk, sure. But not a Dom.” Her muscles tensed. Her back became rigid. Memories of the terrible financial and emotional situations her ex had put her through poured forth like water from an overflowing bathtub. “You don’t think Rick had anything to do with this, do you?”
“I have no idea. But I’ll promise you this, if he’s responsible for writing that or causing you any more grief, I’ll make him wish he’d never met you in the first place.” He offered a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. We will find out what asshole did this.”
By the time the police arrived, Emma had followed Chet through the entire house again, checking and rechecking every room, closet or potential hiding place. They confirmed all the windows were locked, as well as the doors. How the intruder had made his way in or out was a mystery.
“Here’s your case number, ma’am.” Officer Boudreaux, the shorter, stockier of the two policemen wrote on the back of a business card and handed it to Emma. “This has my direct line on it as well. If you have any questions about the report, don’t hesitate to call.”
An eerie gray glow from the full moon illuminated the card. Emma rubbed her finger over the embossed lettering, trying to find some measure of security from the rectangular piece of card stock. Without the police around, would having one of their cards and a case number actually make her home safer?
The sound of cicadas and tree frogs quieted as the other officer stepped off the front porch and walked to the police cruiser.
“All you’re going to do is fill out a report?” Irritation salted Chet’s voice. “There’s a criminal out there. Is filing a few papers going to get the case solved?”
Sergeant Callahan opened the driver side door to the cruiser. “Whoever left that note on the wall left no evidence. We couldn’t find a point of entry or exit. Until there’s more to go on, there’s not much else we can do.”
Officer Boudreaux bobbed his head, making his chubby cheeks and extra chin waggle. “I suggest getting a monitored security system. That way if someone breaks in, not only will you know, but your monitoring service will know too. They’ll call us and we can be here within fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes? By then I could be dead.
Emma glanced at Chet. His jaw was clenched and a bright-red flush stained his neck and cheeks. He looked like an angry bull preparing to charge. Emma slipped the card in her back pocket, then put her hand on Chet’s arm, hoping to calm him down. Pissing off the police wasn’t going to help her situation.
“If you were my daughter and I wanted you to have the best security service, I’d call B&E Security. You won’t find any better provider in the area. Been around a long time.” Callahan tapped the roof of the police car before slipping behind the steering wheel and closing the cruiser door.
“Ask for Mason. He’s one of the owners. Personal friend of mine. Was once a Marine. He’ll take good care of you.” After pulling up his navy blue pants until his belt buckle came nearly to his chest, Officer Boudreaux tipped his too small hat. “Sorry we can’t help you folks out more. But remember to call us if anything else happens.”
As the officers drove down the gravel driveway, Chet slammed the side of his fist against one of the porch support columns. “That was a fucking waste of time. They were one bald guy away from being the Three Stooges.”
“I’m not sure what else they could do. They dusted for fingerprints, checked outside for footprints and did a perimeter check. They didn’t come up with anything. Neither did we.” Emma eyed the closed storm door leading to the lit foyer. A stab of dread cut into her. “It’s as though a ghost ripped up my bedroom wall.”
“Well, you’re not sleeping here. Not tonight.” He stepped to the door and opened it wide, waiting for Emma to walk through first. “Pack a bag. Until you get a security system or the police find the nut job who did this, I want you to stay at my place.”
His directive set off sirens in her head. A war of emotions raged within her belly. The events of the last few days had put her relationship with Chet on warp speed. They were moving way too fast.
Emma looked up the stairs toward her bedroom as she entered the house. Anxiety and immobilizing fear blended together. Had her dream last night been real? Was there really something evil lurking in her new home, wanting to do her harm?
Don’t be such a baby. You’re an intelligent, well-educated woman.
There are no such things as ghosts.
There are no such things as ghosts.
Despite the mantra repeating in her mind, her knees shook when she placed a foot on the first step of the staircase.
Rubbing her tired eyes, Emma reviewed her options. It was getting late and she certainly didn’t want to stay in her house by herself. There was no way she could afford to stay at a hotel. Asking Chet for a loan to pay for one was out of the question.
But spend the night with Chet?
At his apartment?
In his bed?
Emma stepped through Chet’s apartment door. Charlie and Scott both looked up from where they lounged on the living room furniture. Similarly dressed in baggy shorts, T-shirts and flip-flops, his roommates had stretched their limbs over the couch and recliner, making them look like four-legged spiders. Beer cans and Burger King bags littered the coffee tables. The large TV in the corner of the room blared loud moans and grunts as a naked couple fucked doggy style on the screen. Just when it seemed her night couldn’t get any worse.
Luckily neither of Chet’s roommates had a hand down his pants. The thought of catching either one of them jacking off was enough to make Emma’s stomach squeamish again.
Charlie popped off the couch, his curly red hair springing from his movement, and brushed crumbs off his shirt. “Emma. This is a surprise. Didn’t expect to see you here.” He wiped his hand over the seat cushion, brushing heaven only knew what onto the floor. “Here. Take a seat. Can I get you anything? Beer? Soda?”
“No. But thanks.” Emma turned to Scott, whose exaggerated look of contempt pulled down his dark features. Still sitting, he drew in his muscular arms and crossed them over his wide chest. Though Scott had never exactly been a jovial sort, his pursed lips and the heat burning behind his stare left no doubt he wasn’t happy to see her.
Chet stepped into the living room, his hands on his hips. “What the hell, guys? This place is trashed.”
“Relax, man. We’ll knock this out before we hit Joe’s Brewery for the pool tournament tonight.” Scott turned his attention back to the television. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“She’s got some issues with her house, so she’s staying here tonight.” Chet reached for the remote control on the back of the couch, then pressed a button, turning off the television. “If you have somewh
ere to go, why not take off now? I’ll pitch in a twenty for the first few pitchers.”
Scott sat up. Contempt brewed behind his gray eyes, charging the air with tension. “So it’s okay for you to have Emma over, but holy fucking hell breaks loose if we bring over Trish for a little fun. Is that how this works now, Chet? You call all the shots on who is welcome here and who isn’t? If it is, I call bullshit.”
Emma’s eyes widened as an alarm clanged in her head.
Trish?
She’s back in town?
The familiar old feelings of hurt and betrayal she knew all too well from her marriage hit with staggering force.
“What’s this? You didn’t know, Emma? Chet didn’t tell you Trish is working at the college now? No?” A triumphant smirk spread over Scott’s face as he glared at Chet. “That’s right. She lives not more than ten minutes from here. And let me tell you, Trish is fine as ever. When that bitch bends over to be spanked, her legs look impossibly long. And that ass—”
“Scott, if you say another word, just one fucking word, I’m going to jump over this couch and beat you to a bloody pulp. Got that?” Despite Chet’s low growl, his arms remained relaxed at his side. He flexed and curled his fingers several times before he extended his large hand toward Emma. “Let’s go to my room and give these guys a few minutes to straighten up and leave.”
The strain between the two roommates hovered over the room like a menacing black cloud, exaggerating the unease already twisting in Emma’s belly for staying with Chet in the first place. Uncertain what to do, Emma glanced to the front door then back to Chet’s outstretched palm.
She wanted to leave. Run through that door and keep on going. Between the horrific night at her house and the earth-moving news that Trish was back in town, she wasn’t sure how much more she could handle before going bat-shit crazy. Better to avoid any further conflict and escape the tumult of emotions twisting her insides as if it were a tornado.
