Revenge

by Anne L. Parks

  John has to die.

  "Kylie?" Alex calls from the hallway.

  I wipe the tears from my face, sit up, but I can't turn around. Even the sight of the box, knowing what's inside, scares the shit out me. "In here," I answer.

  He sits next to me on the chaise. "Hey, baby, I have a-", the smile on his face falls when he looks at me, and he swipes at the tears I missed. "What's wrong?"

  I point to the box on the table behind me. Alex walks over to it, the paper rustles, and he curses when he sees what's inside. He drops next to me on the chaise, the note in his hand, and peers at me. "Where did it come from?"

  I shrug. "It was here when I came in. I thought it was a surprise from you, so I opened it."

  Alex stands, walks out of my sight, and calls for Jake. The two men discuss the "gift" I've received, but I'm not listening to them. I'm gazing out the window which looks out over the large expanse of grass. A few leaves have dropped from the trees and are scattered around. I always feel so safe here, in this room, in this spot. I hate that will change now. The one thing from my past which still affects me so deeply, sitting in a box in my sanctuary.

  I catch the tail end of the conversation behind me. Jake asks Alex about a possible motive behind me receiving the flogger after all these months.

  "This isn't the first time I’ve received things like this," I offer, a quick glance over my shoulder, before I look out the window again.

  Alex sits next to me on the chaise, and Jake stands near the window. "Yeah, I know, Reyes told me about the dead flowers."

  I drop my eyes to my lap, play with the hem of my sweater, and recall the discussion between Reyes and Alex. They think I might be doing this—for what?

  "Has there been anything else, Kylie?" Jake asks. "Not just gifts, but other things you haven't told us about?"

  My thoughts freeze. I have no idea what to do. Tell them everything? See if they decide I'm losing my mind like Reyes believes? Or just handle it on my own?

  Handling it on my own has had horrible consequences in the past, and so has ignoring it—it's really a fifty-fifty split—I'm probably no worse off for telling Jake. Maybe he can do something. And if he doesn't believe me, well, he and Alex are already questioning my sanity.

  "The other night isn't the first time John's BMW has followed me. It happened in town, but nothing like the other night."

  I glance at Jake, with his arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow cocked. "Someone's been following me, too, but I can never get an ID on them."

  Jake looks down his nose at me, and I suddenly feel like a little girl being reprimanded for taking the last cookie and lying about it. "That it?" he asks.

  I bite my lip and shake my head. "Recently, I've been receiving emails from an unfamiliar address. They state basically the same sentiment as the note you're holding."

  Alex turns to me. "Why haven't you told me about all of this?"

  "I tried…the other night."

  He closes his eyes, drops his shoulders, and I look at Jake.

  "So, you've never seen the person following you? What about the driver?" he asks.

  I shake my head. "No, at first I thought the person stalking me was John, but I called the hospital, and he was always there."

  "Why would you think it was John?" Alex's tone is a little softer, and his frown isn't as deep.

  "I had the same eerie dread I always felt when John was near me." I shudder at the memories of John attacking me in the hotel, breaking into my house—always accompanied by fear.

  Jake points at the box behind me on the table. "This was here when you got home?"

  "Yes."

  Alex looks at Jake. "It wasn't here when we left. I turned the light off on our way out.”

  "And no one could have gotten past the security system," Jake says.

  Security system? "What security system?"

  Alex grabs my hand and squeezes it. "I had it installed while you were in recovery."

  "But I've never disarmed an alarm when I've come home," I state, my gaze traveling back and forth between Jake and Alex.

  "It works with the gate, the garage remotes, and the surveillance cameras," Jake explains. "It disarms when any of us drive onto the property."

  I nod, purse my lips together, and let the information sink in. It's not looking like Alex and Jake are going to be dissuaded from thinking I'm crazy and apparently stalking myself.

  "So, the box wasn't here when you left, no one can get past our super-secret, high-tech security system, and I'm the only one who's been here.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed. Judged. “I guess that means I left myself the one thing which terrifies me most in this world and forces me to relive the worst day of my life in vivid color, complete with sound, smell, and taste." I plaster on a fake smile. "Makes perfect sense to me."

  "No one is saying you did this, baby." Alex tries to placate me, which really just pisses me off even more. "We just need to know everything, so we can figure out what's going on."

  I stand and take both of them by surprise. "Okay, well, this has been great, but I have a raging migraine, so I'm going to get a large glass of something alcoholic, take some painkillers, and go to bed. You guys figure out if the boogeyman is real, living in this house, and deflecting attention by claiming to be the victim. I'll be on pins and needles awaiting your conclusions."

  I stalk past them, and head to the bar, fully aware I'm being immature, but also not giving a shit. The problem with declaring you didn't do something, it's nearly impossible to prove otherwise.

  36

  The house is quiet when I wake in the morning. Padding softly into the kitchen, I grab a coffee mug and fill it. No one is here, not even Maggie, which is odd. I grab my cell phone off the charger and text Alex.

  Where is everyone?

  The little bubbles appear next to his name. Jake and I came into town for a meeting. Thomas had some errands to run for me, and Maggie took the day off.

  Okay, well, I guess I have the house to myself. My phone buzzes again.

  We'll be home in about an hour. Don't go anywhere.

  Don't go anywhere? Why not? And where does he get off telling me what I can and can't do?

  Okay, I respond, but really mean "fuck off." I'll be gone before he returns home.

  The time is now. I have to stop hoping other people will fix my mistakes. Save me from my nightmares. I run down the hall, dart into the closet, and pull on a white sweater dress, and my dark brown riding boots. I quickly brush my hair and put on some make-up. Time is off the essence. The thought first formed last night in the shower, and was bolstered when I startled awake after another nightmare starring John.

  My attorney credentials are in my briefcase, which are in my office—dammit! The last thing I need is to see that flogger. I peek inside the room. No sign of the box. I breathe a sigh of relief. I don't know where they put it, and I don't care, just as long as I never have to see it again.

  I grab the keys to the Porsche, back out of the garage, and bolt down the driveway. By the time Alex gets home in an hour, I'll be getting my own answers—from John.

  37

  "Yes, I realize I don't have an appointment," I tell the receptionist for what must be the tenth time. "This situation just came up and I need to discuss it with Mr. Sysco. Can't you check with him and ask if he's willing to see me?"

  I already know the answer. No way will John pass up the opportunity to see me.

  The young woman narrows her eyes but picks up the phone. My heart is racing, and I have to force myself to stand still despite the nervous energy urging me to move. I can’t appear as agitated as I feel.

  The receptionist hangs up and smiles. "You can go through, Ms. Tate. The guard will take you back to the interview room."

  "Thanks so much for your help," I respond, my voice so sweet I'm almost making myself sick. "I'll be sure to make an appointment next time."

  Except there won't be a next time. After I leave here today, I don't ever
plan on returning. There won’t be a need to. John will never bother me again.

  The guard escorts me into an empty room with a table and two chairs. I take a seat, my legs bouncing under the table, and grab a legal pad and pen from my briefcase. I don't really need them. It's all just a ruse so I can get in here while looking like I have a legitimate reason for visiting. I need to get John talking—something he already loves to do. I have to figure out his plans. Derail them. Stop him and this mental fuck.

  A door on the other side of the room opens, and John walks in, and sits down across from me.

  "Well, this is a pleasant surprise, I wasn't expecting you," he says, his eyes wander over the parts of my body he can see above the table and linger on my breasts. "But I'm very pleased to see you."

  "This isn't a social call." I smooth down my hair and lower my voice so the three guards can't hear. "I know it's you, sending me the emails and the gifts…following me."

  A Cheshire grin slides into place across his face.

  "I assure you, if I had gotten out of here, I wouldn't have come back. Unfortunately, they have state-of-the-art surveillance here. They catch every move I make, including in here." His tone is jovial, as if catching up with an old friend.

  I hate him.

  My fingers grip the pen until they tingle with numbness. "Then you have someone helping you."

  "Perhaps," he draws out, an evil twinkle in his eye.

  A chill runs through me, and I shiver at the thought of someone doing this to me. I've come to expect this from John, but who else wants to hurt me this way?

  My chest tightens and my breathing accelerates. "Who is it?"

  I know he sees how he is affecting me. I know he is reveling in my fear. But I can’t seem to pull myself together and calm down.

  "Come now, Kylie, do you really think I'm going to give up my accomplice?" He shakes his head. "Not likely, considering everything is falling into place so well—if I even have an accomplice. Or is it all in your beautiful, screwed up head?"

  My heart is pounding. "Meaning what?" Tension seizes every muscle in my body. I’m jumpy. And fatigued. I should leave. Right now. Run out of here and never look back.

  If you do, you will never be free of him. He will always control you.

  "Meaning, I haven't just been doing this because it's good sport—although it's been very satisfying, in that respect. I have it on good authority that—for your own safety, and the safety of those around you—you're going to be a patient here soon. With me."

  What? My breathing is heavy. How? Why?

  “I wondered if Alex would ever get so worried about you he would seek to have you institutionalized.”

  Pain rips through my chest. Alex is going to have me committed? I can feel the room closing in on me. Is that where he went this morning? Is that why he told me not to leave? No matter what I do, I can’t think. Nothing makes sense. Everything is a jumbled mess in my head.

  Is he on his way to the house with an order that will put me here?

  What is wrong with me? Alex would never do that to me.

  John rubs his chin. "How will Alex cope, knowing you're here, so close to me I can reach out and touch you anytime I want?” His eyes dance with malice. “It'll probably drive him insane. He'll be consumed by thoughts of what's happening to you in here, all the things I might be doing to you, and taking from you.”

  He leans back in his chair, relaxed, and evidently pleased with my hands clenching and unclenching on top of the table. “And that will leave him vulnerable. It'll be easy for my person on the outside to make a move on him. He'll never see it coming. And will be unable to do anything about it."

  Oh, God, what does this mean? Has he hired someone to kill Alex?

  "You can't do this, John." My body is trembling. Fear takes over. Do I leave here? Warn Alex?

  "Oh, Kylie, that's where you're wrong. You always underestimate me." He leans a little closer, but not enough to get the guards’ attention. "I can, and I will. I told you, I will never let you go. You are mine. Stop fighting it. Accept it because I will never stop coming for you. Never."

  He slaps his hands on his thighs and stands. "It's been wonderful to see you," he says, his voice chipper, and a grin plastered across his face. Leaning farther across the table, he lowers his voice. He’s so close. Too close. "I'll look forward to seeing you again—soon."

  I’ll kill him.

  And that’s when my head finally clears. I know what has to happen. I have to take back control of my life. I have to stop allowing John to wreak havoc in my life—I will no longer look over my shoulder, wonder what he's planning next.

  My pen is on the table. I will not let you control me anymore! The long barrel. The sharp point. And I will protect Alex. My fingers wrap around the pen. I have one shot at this. One chance to rid the world of this demon.

  I'll lose Alex forever, but I'll save his life.

  I bolt from my chair. . I have to kill John. He nearly falls out of his chair, but I’m around the table before he can fully comprehend what I’m doing. My arm swings in a wide arc over my head. My vision locks on the target—John's chest. I lunge at him. I envision the blood draining from his body like mine did. His life extinguished before my eyes. All I feel is joy. And peace.

  John's forearm blocks my arm. His free hand grasps the pen. He twists my wrist to wrench it away from me. Two guards grab his arms and drag back before he can take the pen.

  His chest is exposed. He's subdued. And I have a clear shot. I charge at him, the pen now a dagger poised to pierce the demon’s black heart and hurl him back to hell.

  Arms wrap around me from behind. The third guard tackles me, and we both go down. I land on top of John.

  An evil smile slithers across John’s face. His mouth forms a single word—"mine."

  My body hums with an intense strength I’ve never known before. A guttural roar from deep inside me rips from my chest, the sound bouncing off the four walls.

  I plunge the pen into his chest. Blood spurts from the wound and covers my hand. He writhes in pain as I twist and push the pen in deeper. His howls are music to my ears. I yank the pen out, raise it over my head, and this time, aim for his heart.

  Pain radiates through my skull. Black replaces the red rage coloring my vision. Darkness envelops me. And I succumb to it.

  38

  The annoying beeping has got to stop.

  My eyelids are heavy, and I'm sleepy. I manage to get my eyes open, but not more than a slit. There's a scant amount of light in the room. I'm not at home, and—what little I can see—doesn't look familiar to me.

  The jackhammer in my head isn't making it easy to focus. The pain is unbearable, and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open.

  "Stop the beeping," I murmur.

  Someone stirs in a chair next to me. A hand rests on my arm, and beautiful blue eyes gaze down at me. "Hey, beautiful," Alex whispers. "How are you feeling?"

  "Head hurts," I murmur. My mouth is dry, so my words are coming out broken. I reach my hand out toward the water pitcher on the cart, and point at it.

  Alex grabs the cup and pours water into it, adds a straw, and places it to my lips. "Do you want to sit up?"

  I nod, take a long sip of water, and release the straw. The bed slowly inclines, and I give him a thumbs up when I'm comfortable. This is actually helping my head a little bit, or the water is, I don't know which.

  "What's beeping?" I ask, able to focus a little better now, and glance around the room. "Am I in the hospital?"

  "Yes." Alex takes the cup from my hand and places it back on the cart.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "That's a good question?" The voice comes from across the room. A man stands and walks over to the side of the bed. Reyes stares at me, his lips pressed flat, and his stance rigid. "You don't remember what happened?"

  What the hell is his problem? I glance at Alex. He glares at Reyes, and scowls.

  "No," I answer.

  "What's the l
ast thing you remember, baby?" Alex asks, his tone soft, soothing, and non-confrontational or accusatory—unlike Reyes.

  "Um, we were at court for the verdict, then I went home. I was in the library…" I look up at Alex. "Was I talking to you and Jake? What were we talking about?" I pause for a moment, and let the memories come back. "The box. There was a box, and I opened it, and—" I gasp, and cover my mouth with my hand. My heart rate sends the beeping machine into a frenzy.

  "And?" Reyes’s eyes narrow. He glances between Alex and I and waits for one of us to answer.

  "The flogger," I mutter. God, I hate that thing. It's not even here in this room, and it still sends a shiver through me.

  Reyes shifts on his feet, his arms tight across his chest. "What about the flogger?"

  "Do we have to do this right now?" Alex asks, his jaw clenched. He angles his body in an attempt to get in between Reyes and me.

  "Yes, we do," Reyes sneers. He looks at me, his eyes cold and flat. "The flogger?"

  I don't know what happened, but it seems whatever feelings Reyes may have for me, are no longer warm and fuzzy. He's pissed, and I can only conclude it's because I'm still with Alex—not him.

  "There was a box in the library—I found the flogger inside."

  "Was it the only thing in the box?"

  I nod. He takes in a large breath, and exhales. "What happened after that?"

  "I had a migraine and went to bed. I didn't wake until the morning. No one was home…I texted Alex."

  Reyes drops his head slightly, rubs the bridge of his nose, unable to disguise his irritation. "Then what?"

  I breathe out noisily through my nose. "I got your text," I direct to Alex, who nods, and confirms my version of events. "I had a cup of coffee…where did I go?" I shift toward Alex and rub my forehead. "Did I pass out…hit my head?" My fingers run through my hair and find the tender lump. I hiss as pain fans out over the area.