That’s when I realized he was moving slower. He had pressed his face into my neck, and he attempted to bite me again, but he barely made contact before all of his weight went dead on me.
“Oh God,” I wheezed. He was so heavy, I could barely get my lungs to expand. It took everything I had to get him wiggled off me. Glancing over at him, out of breath from my workout, I saw him staring at me as he lay prone in the bed, face turned my direction. “Chet?”
I waved my hand in front of his face, but he stared unblinking. I shook him, but he still didn’t move.
Praying I hadn’t used too much and killed him, I rested my ear against his back. The sound of his lungs filling with air had me exhaling in relief. His eyes being open creeped me out, but it was necessary for a minute.
I shoved my hands under him to get in the pockets of his slacks for his phone. It wasn’t in the first one, nor was it in the next. “Shit!”
Scrambling off the bed, I ran to the kitchen and found his jacket hanging over one of the chair backs. In the inside pocket, I found what I was looking for. I rushed back to the bedroom and held the phone in front of his face, then checked. It worked!
“Thanks, Chet,” I whispered before I reached over and closed his eyes. As quickly as I could, I went through his text messages. Nothing. Next I checked his social media chats. Still nothing. Flipping from screen to screen, I worried that maybe he messaged on his computer or something.
Dammit, I suck at this!
Then I spotted the “misc” folder and opened it to find a messenger app. It was password protected. “Dammit! Please let it be facial recognition too,” I whispered and prayed as I held it in front of his face as I held his eyes wide with one hand.
The app popped open, and I tried to still my racing heart. I could not believe that worked.
At first I was confused. There were only a few messages from today, and they all referenced the recipient to a specific number. I could only assume he had deleted everything prior.
I rummaged around in his dresser and bedside drawers. I checked the closet, the spare bedrooms, the kitchen, everywhere—no other phone. “Maybe it’s a partner,” I whispered. The kids had said it was always him, though.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Think!” I tapped the phone against my thigh. Then I froze. Heart beating so hard I thought it would explode, I called the number in the messages.
It went to a voicemail that wasn’t set up. That was when I realized I’d heard vibrating. I called it again. The vibrating commenced. Trying to hold myself still and barely breathe, I tried to locate it. Three calls later, I found it under the bed. There was a small slit cut in the box spring liner. The phone was in a baggie taped to the inside.
“Holy shit!” I whispered as I lay with my torso under the bed. “What the fuck do I do now?” It was one of those cheap store phones. No facial recognition; this had a passcode. I tried the last four digits of his actual phone number. Nothing. His house number. Nope.
The bed shifted above me and I froze. Eyes wide, I held my breath. Looking at the time, I realized I’d been here longer than I’d planned. I had no idea how long he would actually be out. It wasn’t every day I drugged people.
When no further sound ensued, I cautiously scooted out from under the bed and slowly rose up to peek over the edge. Eyes still closed, he had moved his arm and leg a bit.
Having no clue what to do next, I erased the calls I’d made from his phone, wiped it down with a dish towel, then used the towel to drop it back in his jacket. I grabbed my shoes and purse and tiptoed toward the door.
The story of the tell-tale heart came to mind, as every little sound seemed amplified. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror in the foyer and cringed. I looked awful. Closing the door as quietly as I could, I speed walked to the sidewalk and hopped on one foot as I slipped on one shoe, then the next.
My plan was to go a few blocks over, then call a cab.
Except a truck pulled up next to me, brakes screeching as it stopped, and I shrieked.
“Get in.”
14
Snow
“Dying”—Stone Sour
Rage didn’t begin to touch what I was feeling. Seeing her on a fucking date with that fucking prick Edwards pissed me off. Following them to his house after dropping off my mom had me burning mad. Seeing her stumbling out of his house looking just-been-fucked had me ready to kill someone with my bare hands.
“I said, get the fuck in the truck, Hailey,” I growled out through clenched teeth. She stood on the sidewalk staring wide-eyed and wild like a deer caught in my headlights. “Now!”
She jumped, and I momentarily regretted snapping at her. She glanced around before she cautiously opened the door. Without a word, she climbed in and closed the door.
“Seat belt,” I demanded.
Her hands shook as she did as I said. Hitting the gas, I rolled up the window as we roared out of the neighborhood. I didn’t trust myself to say anything further.
With the rumble of the motor as our only background noise, I drove back to my house. Fury burned like flames through my veins with every second that ticked by.
“Are you going to talk to me?” she finally whispered, obviously unable to stand the silence.
Still not trusting myself not to scream at her, I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes
