The gun sounds again, and bark shoots off from the branch.
“Fuck!” I hiss, wrenching my headphones from my ears and tossing them onto the ground. One glance at my phone confirms that I have no service, not that I’m surprised. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere. How long have I been running? Seven miles? Eight? I haven’t even reached the lake yet.
I hear footsteps behind me, and I peek around the edge of the tree to see a broad-shouldered man huffing up the hill. He’s dressed entirely in black, practically blending into the shadows, and a facemask obscures his features from view. In his hand is a small, silver handgun.
Remaining silent, I wrap my hand around a rock, approximately the size of a baseball. Then, without preamble, I hurl it at the man’s head as hard as I can. As expected, he releases a startled curse as his free hand rubs at his cheek. I take his momentary lapse of concentration to jump to my feet and race through the woods as fast as I can fucking go.
I’m the wind. The rain.
The monster prowling through the forest.
I lose myself to the darkness currently shrouding the forest as the man fires off two more shots, each one sounding farther and farther away as I run like my life depends on it. Because it totally does. If he catches me, he’ll kill me. He’ll put a bullet straight through my eyes.
I lose myself as I race down the path. Nothing exists except for my rapidly beating heart, the air squeezing past my parted lips, and my legs jerking forward, one after the other.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
I continue to twist and turn until I’m well and truly lost in the middle of the fucking forest. But at least I don’t hear the shooter anymore.
Only when I’m positive that I escaped him do I place my hand over my mouth and scream my rage, anguish, and fear into my palm. Fury vibrates through me, an almost palpable entity, as I think about the shadowy silhouette I saw in the woods.
He hadn’t looked like the other man, the smoking one. That one had been thin, tightly compacted muscle visible through his dark shirt. Leaner almost, with hair as light as the sun. This one was significantly larger than the first, though that was all I could tell from first glance.
Are there…?
Are there two different attackers? Three, if you count my stalker? Four, if you count the serial killer from my childhood?
Fuck, what’s happening?
I feel as if I’m staring at a hastily put together jigsaw puzzle that is missing too many pieces for me to get an accurate view. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a dog or a farm or even an alien.
One thing is painfully clear—this attack changes everything.
CHAPTER 5
I’m panting with adrenaline by the time I make it back to my apartment. I check the parking lot five times to ensure that no one has followed me. Only when I’m positive that there’s no creepy man lurking behind one of the cars do I enter the building and take the elevator to my floor.
Like in the parking lot, I glance in both directions down the hall, only breathing easier when I’m back in my apartment with the door locked.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There’s no doubt about it. Someone is targeting me, but why? Why me? Why now?
My heart is racing as I double check the deadbolt before hurrying to Avery’s room.
“Aves?” I poke my head inside, immense disappointment filling me when I find it empty. That disappointment turns into white-hot panic. Did they go after him when they couldn’t get to me? Is he okay? His first class isn’t until ten this morning, so where the fuck is he?
I swipe my phone on and stare intently at the messages dinging on the screen. Less than an hour ago, Avery texted me.
Avery: Have errand. Be home after my class.
Errand? What errand does Avery have at eight in the morning? And why am I thinking about him with another girl when my life is quite literally on the line?
Shoving those thoughts away, I focus on what’s important. Namely, my attackers.
There’s no doubt in my mind that two different men have come after me. Could it be a coincidence? I know how the saying goes. ‘Once is a happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is enemy action.’ Didn’t Ian Fleming say that?
My mind drifts to the files I have on my iPad, and horror courses through me.
Could it be…?
I break into a run and enter my bedroom, grabbing the iPad from where it’s charging on my nightstand. I then hurry into my closet and slam the door shut behind me. With a flick of my wrist, I push away the collection of shirts hanging in the far corner, revealing a wall covered in photographs and newspaper articles. It’s turned into an obsession over time—this need to find the serial killer from my past.
Could this be why I’m getting targeted now?
Am I on to something?
I volley my gaze between the iPad and the wall, my stomach a tumultuous mixture of dread and anxiety.
“Fuck,” I hiss, scrubbing a hand down my face. With a roar, I throw my iPad as hard as I can against the far wall, the screen cracking down the middle. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Sliding down the wall, I drop my face into my hands, my body shaking.
“Fuck,” I whimper softly, my eyes drifting shut. In the closet, surrounded by the evidence of my obsession, I surrender to unconsciousness.
I WAKE to incessant knocking on my front door.
I jump, startled, momentarily forgetting where I am or even who I am. There’s an uncomfortable kink in my neck as I attempt to orient myself, stretching my arms above my head.
What…? Where…?
Awareness bombards me with a blistering speed as I realize I’m still in my closet, having fallen asleep sitting up.
The knocking sounds again, and terror
