by Ally Vance
We forgot. Or did we? We never could stand to see what we did after it was done, have we? Always running away like a scared little girl and hoping that we’d have the chance to start all over again.
“I forgot.”
“Do you know where she is?” he asks me softly.
“No.”
“Want some help?”
Before I have a chance to answer him, he leans down and presses his lips gently against mine.
Why did he do that?
“Why did you do that?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have without your permission. The thing is, I’ve been haunted by the sight of you running away from me when we were kids for as long as I can remember. When I would lie in bed at night, I would think of you—your naked body covered in old bruises, how fragile you looked, and the fear in your eyes when they met mine. I … I uh …”
He looks nervous, but I want answers.
“Fuck, Karolina. I used to touch myself to the memory. A lot. I was always careful that Mom and Pop never found out, though. You know how they were about pre-marital anything,” he confesses with an eye roll. “But don’t be afraid of me, okay? I won’t kiss you again unless you want me to.”
I press the lantern against his body, and he chuckles as he presses his forehead against mine.
“Back to my original question. Say yes.”
I turn my face away from him for a moment, but he keeps his hand gently placed against my skin.
“I want you to look at him first.”
“Okay,” Jack agrees as he lets go of me briefly. He walks around the table and I glance at him over my shoulder, watching him carefully as he inspects the decomposing body in the center of my bed.
When he runs his fingers over Charlie’s arm, I turn my eyes away again.
Is he touching Haight or is he touching Grace?
Why is he touching you at all?
I close my eyes tightly wishing that she would leave me the fuck alone for once when I decide to give him an answer.
“Yes.”
Jack walks back over to me and wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him.
“I’ll take care of both of you, Karolina. I think I might remember roughly where our parents took Grace. Let’s go see if she’s still there.”
Epilogue
I’m standing in front of a seemingly abandoned building, my hand in Jack’s as he knocks on the door again and sighs.
“I don’t think anyone is here.”
“What did that sign say?” I ask him quietly.
“Huh? Oh, the one in the front? Our Lady of Heavenly Hope.”
I inhale sharply and pull my hand out of his grip. I begin to use my body as a battering ram, shoving it violently against the door, until it finally gives way, ignoring his orders to stop before I hurt myself.
This is where she is. You’ve found her.
“Grace!” I shout out into the darkness.
When she doesn’t answer me right away, I begin to run through the hallways, pushing in every door I can find, followed by the sound of Jack’s footsteps racing behind me.
He’s calling out for me to slow down, to wait for him because he doesn’t want me to get lost, but this place …
“Karolina!”
“What?” I hiss back at him as I stop long enough in an attempt to steady my breathing.
“There’s a door over here.”
I begin moving immediately toward the sound of his voice and when I reach him, he leans down and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze.
“Stop running away from me. I’m getting sick of watching you leave,” he snaps in a hurt and somewhat angry tone. “Especially now that I can do something about it.”
“Open the door,” I beg him excitedly and he shakes his head.
“Promise me that you’ll stop running away from me.”
Do it; it’s the only way to get inside.
“I know. I promise.”
My words are rushed, two answers for the price of one breath, but it’s good enough for Jack, and he forces the door open.
I let him lead the way down the dark steps into an abyss that I’m unfamiliar with. But in the air hangs a familiar scent. It’s smells something like blood, but also something else that I’ve missed for so fucking long … or rather someone.
“She’s here,” I whisper as errant tears begin to roll down my cheeks.
Jack begins to push the doors open slowly, peering inside each one before we move onto the next. There’s a chapel with a smashed mirror on the wall, a room with nothing inside of it except for small, wrapped packages containing things that seem to have oozed onto the ground; all things that I know my sister has done and forgotten.
When he pushes the next door open and lets out a huff, I shake my head in frustration.
Keep going, Karolina. She has to be here somewhere.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jack suddenly says as the final door is pushed open. He pulls my hand up to his lips, gives it a soft kiss, then yanks me gently in front of him. “Wake her up.”
“What?”
I pull away from his grip again, but only because he allows it, and step into the room.
And there she is.
Immaculate.
Naked.
Crumpled on the floor in a heap of sin with death standing close by.
But I won’t let it take her from me.
“Grace?” I call out softly as I move quickly toward her. When she doesn’t answer, I pull my dress over my head and toss it on the floor next to her. This way she won’t feel the shame of being naked alone when she wakes up.
“Grace, it’s me.”
She gurgles slightly as I look to see what’s wrong with her.
That’s when I notice it.
It looks like the rope she had strung around her neck snapped in half. But not before it tightly wound its way around her neck.
I get on my knees and move her long, blonde hair aside as I dig my teeth into the rope and begin to gnaw on it as gently as I can.
Someone must have cared for her in the months that she’s been like this, otherwise she would have died.
I know who it was.
“Grace,” I say again, ignoring the bitch in my head. When she doesn’t answer, I lean down again and give the rope one more hard yank with my teeth until it finally breaks free.
Letting out a relieved breath, I sit down next to her, gently lift her head then place it on my lap.
I begin to brush her hair out of her face, hoping that her breathing will eventually become even and strong again. It reminds me of when I used to chase her in the woods when we had rare moments to be ourselves. Of how I would never be able to quite catch her but always able to comfort her as we hid from the two people who hated us the most.
“Is she okay?”
“She will be,” I tell Jack without looking at him.
Another hour passes, Jack sitting on the chair that had toppled under Grace’s feet during her show, Grace’s head is still in my lap, her eyes still closed, and my hope is that she’ll open them soon, when she finally starts to show signs of life again.
A sharp inhale.
A grunt.
A rub of her throat.
Her eyes begin to flutter as I wait with bated breath for them to open. It takes her a few tries, but when they finally do, I’m the first thing she sees.
She smiles as best as she can, then coughs violently.
“Grace,” I greet her gently.
She opens her mouth but closes it almost instantly. It’s as if she’s trying to get feeling back in her throat.
“H … ha ...ig … ht,” she rasps back, as her eyes attempt to close again.
“I’m going to take you home now. We both are.”
I look up at Jack who gets to his feet, then reaches down for my sister—our sister. He cradles her against his body then reaches a hand down to help me up.
As we begin to walk out of the room, I glance around bri
efly hoping that death can feel as cheated as it should when it comes to the Albertine sisters.
And when I see a small red light blinking somewhere near the wall, I can’t help but smile.
Amen.
About Yolanda:
Yolanda Olson is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author. Born and raised in Bridgeport, CT where she currently resides, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. Also an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books.
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Books by Yolanda:
Bones
Inferno
Nefarious
Take You
Brianna Hale
Blurb
All grown up…
The moment I laid eyes on Alaina after all these years, she awoke the beast in my heart. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I crave her, and it fills me with rage that she will never want me.
I’m ugly. Harsh. Rough. I have to make her want me, and for that, I need a trap. One so perfect that she doesn’t see the cage closing in around her until it’s too late.
Alaina, you’re going to be mine. I’ll possess you. Ruin you.
Take you.
And you won’t even see me coming.
Chapter One
Alaina
Alaina.
I’m coming for you. I’ll possess you. Ruin you.
Take you.
The note drops from my trembling fingers. It flutters to the floor, a neat, unfolded rectangle of white paper, pasted all over with letters cut from newspaper headlines. I stare at it on the carpet like it’s a snake that will strike if I dare look away for one second.
All the notes end the same way.
Take you.
Simple. Ominous.
Terrifying.
My gaze flits around the room, searching for more danger. The front door to my apartment is locked. I’m on the fourth floor and there’s a security guard at the front desk. I should feel safe.
Should.
I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me even now. Through a window. Through the webcam on my laptop. Stealing my privacy. Owning my every breath.
When the first note arrived three months ago, I showed it to Mitchell.
Alaina. Beautiful Alaina.
I need you to be mine. I want you, but you don’t want me.
So I’ll have to take you. Soon. Very soon.
“Is this your idea of a love letter?” I asked him, laughing. “Kind of sinister, isn’t it?”
But my boyfriend of eight years said he didn’t write the note or know where it came from. He’s been shrugging off a lot of what I’ve been saying ever since I moved from a sleepy suburb of Rhode Island to hectic Philadelphia to be with him three months ago.
When the second letter arrived and Mitchell swore up and down it wasn’t from him, the first tendrils of fear curled through me. I got the third note a week after that, my stomach spasming when I saw the same cream envelope in the mailbox.
I saw you with that moron yesterday. He didn’t try to protect your body from the stares of other men when the wind caught your skirt and flipped it up. I’ll treat you like gold, Alaina. I’ll never let you out of my sight.
Anyone who looks at you, I’ll slash their throats.
I’m coming to take you, Alaina. So very soon.
I took that note to the police. The police officer listened to me, his brow wrinkled in concern, noted everything in his report but pointed out that I hadn’t actually been threatened. As if I’ll take you isn’t a threat. After I made it obvious that I wasn’t happy being dismissed, he promised to investigate.
I never heard back.
Mitchell told me the notes would stop on their own.
They didn’t.
After the seventh note, I went down to the police station again and spoke to a different officer. Same procedure. Same non-result.
The notes kept coming. Fourteen of them, and they started to get explicit. I went again to the station and spoke to a female officer. I begged her to believe me, sobbing into my paper cup of water as she jotted down everything and read the notes. Mitchell thought I was making it up for attention. Mom pretended she didn’t hear me when I mentioned it on the phone and kept talking about her sketchy new boyfriend. I felt nauseated as I remembered the parade of drug dealers through my house when I was growing up. It was awful enough when Dad was at home instead of in prison, as I was sick with anxiety waiting for him to be arrested again, but at least he didn’t grope me in the kitchen when Mom wasn’t looking.
The police officer swore that she’d follow up on it and that I’d hear from her the very next day.
But I heard nothing. It was as if the police reports were disappearing into a black hole.
I stare at the fifteenth note, on the cusp of a full-fledged panic attack. I snatch up my phone, unlock it with a shaking hand, and call Mitchell. The first call goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial again.
Finally, he answers. “What?”
“Hey,” I whisper, closing my eyes and trying to sound like I’m not on the edge of a breakdown. “How—how are you?”
No response.
“I got another note.”
He sighs, like he’s very, very tired. “We’ve been through this. They’re just letters. I don’t understand why you can’t just ignore them.”
“You haven’t even asked what it says.”
“What does it say?” he asks, but I can hear him shuffling papers around on his desk. He’s a lawyer, and he claims he can work and listen to me at the same time, but I hate it when he does that.
I consider lying and telling him that my perverted pen pal has threatened to put my head on a stick. Maybe then he’d take this as seriously as I know it is.
“I don’t want to look at it again. Can you come over? Please? I’m so scared.” We’ve never lived together because he left for college when I was fourteen. He’s the most intelligent man I know and his job keeps him insanely busy. I do my best to be understanding and I’m so proud of him, but I can’t wait until his current case is over so he can take some time off and help me move in with him.
“Are you for real, Alaina? You know I can’t do that. I’ve already told you, if the police say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”
“They haven’t said it’s nothing, they haven’t said anyth—
“I have to go.”
“Hello? Mitchell?”
I stare at the screen. He hung up. Tears threaten to overwhelm me. I’ve got nowhere to turn. No one to help me.
A face flits across my mind. A craggy face with startling blue eyes and a permanent scowl. Detective Rhys Thorn, a huge man at six feet four. He’s five years older than me and he lived just down the street in Rhode Island. Whenever I was scared or upset, I would run to him. He made me feel safe just by being close to him. If I was out after dark because no one cared if I wasn’t home, Rhys would always find me and take me back. Kiss my forehead and tuck me into bed. Stay with me until I was asleep. He was just a kid, too, but he was so protective of me. Even overprotective.
I chew on my lower lip so hard I taste blood. I can’t call him. He’s a Philly homicide detective now, a man who has put away dozens of murderers. He’s way too important to deal with my stalker, and besides, he’s probably not speaking to me.
My whole life he treated me like his little sister, until one day, he got so angry with me that he left without a word. I know he’d take these letters seriously. He can be as angry with me as he likes as long as he does something.
With a sob, I reach for my handbag and keys and order a car to take me to the police station. It’s late, but I don’t know what else to do. I need Rhys right now more than anyone.
Chapter Two
Rhys<
br />
“Who the fuck is here to see me at ten fucking o’clock at night?” I pinch my gritty eyes and glare at the police officer at the front desk. I’m into my sixth hour of overtime today. There are three unsolved murder cases on my desk, and knowing this city, there’ll probably be another body by dawn.
The uniformed officer nods apologetically at a brunette hunched over in the corner on a plastic seat. She’s wearing a tight black skirt and blazer and black stilettos on her feet. Slender legs. Gorgeous hair, too. Thick and chestnut brown, the sort of hair you could lose your hand in as it tumbles around her naked shoulders.
I frown as I head over to the woman. There’s something familiar about her.
“Yes? What?”
The woman lifts huge, tear-filled eyes to mine, and a jolt goes through me. Alaina Torres. I’ve barely seen her since my Rayleigh High days.
“Oh. Hey. Alaina.” I scan her again. There’s no blood on her clothes. No injuries. No reason that I can see she’d be at a police station this late at night. People don’t usually look me up to reminisce about old times. What do Alaina and I even have to reminisce about? All the times she cried her eyes out on my t-shirt because her father was sent to prison again?
“Rhys…” she whispers. “Sorry, Detective Thorn. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
I glare at her, thinking of the paperwork piled up on my desk.
Alaina turns pale and stands up. “Never mind. Sorry, I’m wasting your time.”
I watch her push past me and head for the exit, and her haunted gray eyes have me watching her go. As she reaches for the door, her hand trembles.
“Alaina. Wait.” Why did I say that? Teeth clenched in anger at myself, I take her by the elbow and steer her into an empty interview room. “Sit.”
