Cheer practice just got out and I am exhausted. Coach is getting everybody ready for the season, which includes the starter pack of full body aches, bruises, tired feet, and raw hands that make you want to curse this woman out.
Walking to my car, I check my phone. Mom texted saying she would be home closer to eight tonight and that dad will not be getting back from his trip until next Tuesday. I nod my head, sending off a quick reply before pocketing the device into my jacket pocket.
The sun is beginning its descent and I couldn’t be happier to get home and do absolutely nothing. No school tomorrow means no obligations and no obligations means I can wear my pjs all day catching up on the newest season of Criminal Minds.
I plop onto my Grandpas old Ford Taurus worn leather seats. This baby is in charge of getting me back home in one piece, given that the engine doesn’t combust first. The car is ancient and continues to amaze me with its ability to function after so many years. But I mean, a car is a car, if it takes me from one place to another, then I’m all good.
I pull into my driveway, turn off the engine, and kick the car door open when it sticks on the latch.
“Darn thing,” I mumble under my breath as I step out. I reach in behind me to grab my cheer duffle and school bag, then make my way to my front door, fumbling with the keys. I open the door in a whoosh and release the extra weight off my upper body.
“I’m home.” I say to an empty house, releasing a sigh of relief.
Stopping in my tracks, I spot a vase of black roses, that have been placed in the middle of the floor in the foyer. If it wasn’t for the fallen petal crunching under my sneakers, I would’ve tried over the vase and nose dived onto the rug.
“Who in their right mind sends somebody black roses?” On closer inspection, I spot a pristine white card poking out the back, addressed to me. I open the little card as a chill rattles my bones. The script is small, but says—I will see you in a little while, my dear. I won’t make you wait too long.
The rational thought: this could be my mother. She is a bit of an eccentric person who did wear a black dress on her wedding day.
The irrational thought: some crazy murder, broke into my house and is now hiding somewhere, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
I prefer my first thought; less full body chills.
I pick up the vase with cautious hands, holding it away from my body, prepared for any kind of sudden reaction by the movement. I take the vase to the kitchen, my feet padding on the rug, and place the flowers on the counter. Giving them one last glance, I grab a glass of water while taking my phone out of my pocket.
I type out a response to Mom, asking if she left flowers sitting on the floor in the foyer. My phone lets out a small whoosh as the text goes through. With that, I slip my phone into my back pocket, taking a sip of my water, and made my way to the living room. My body collapses onto the cushiony couch, ready to watch an episode of Criminal Minds. With feet curled under my body,I press the on button on the remote.
I settle into the couch as the opening scene plays. Right as JJ and Reid break down the house of the suspect, my phone vibrates, sending a pang of fear through me.
“Ha. Nice one guys. Way to scare an already jumpy girl!” I say to the tv, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that has manifested itself from the minute I stepped through my front door to now.
With a racing heart, I swipe open the message app as the little red number one on the green icon indicates an unread message. It is from an unknown number. Curiosity piqued, I tap the message and scan the words.
Unknown
Hey Jess. It’s been a while, I miss you.
I have never given out my number to anyone I do not know well ever since what happened the last time I did. Every person who has given me a bad vibe gets blocked, and anybody I do not know gets blocked. Basically, anybody gets blocked, and moral of the story, only about twenty or so people can contact me. Hesitantly, my thumbs move across the screen, pressing send.
Who are you?
Unknown
Come on Jess, you know me. You couldn’t have forgotten me so easily, could you?
They must have gotten or written down the wrong number.
I think you have the wrong number.
I stare at my phone till a minute passes and no response has come through. The only sign I know whoever on the other end is still there, are the flashing three dots that haven’t disappeared from the screen. As more time passes and the dots vanish, I give up and place my phone, face down, on the coffee table. I try to refocus on JJ and Reid, who already have the man in handcuffs. From that whole pointless interaction, I missed the epic chase down! You have got to be kidding me.
Not even five minutes later and the ending credits scroll, the home phone rings, piercing my ear drums with a strident sound. Instinctively, I lean away from the noise. The knowledge of knowing the phone will continue ringing if I don’t check it and either answer or deny the call, I begrudgingly get up. Walking past the stairs and towards the foyer, I pick up the home phone without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?” I answer and wait for a response. They don’t say anything, but I know somebody is on the other line because I can hear their breathing.
I try again. “Hello?” I question. I count to thirty and receive no response.
Right as I am about the hang up and put the phone back on its stand, the unknown person makes itself known.
“Hello Jess.” I freeze at the voice, my handing gripping the phone tighter. “I want to know what you thought of my gift.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to contact me.” My hands shake and apparently my knees don’t want to miss our either. The shaking makes it all the more difficult to remain standing.
“That’s besides the point, Jess,” he says calmly. A calm that shakes me to my core. My stomach drop and my knees finally give out from underneath me.
No, no, no, no, no; this can’t be happening. Ryan Cox should have never gotten ahold of my phone number, let alone my home phone. Every since what happened, my whole family changed our numbers.
“Jess …” Ryan drawls from the other end.
Not thinking twice, I slam my thumb on the END button, the phone slipping from my sweaty hands and landing on my lap. I rake my hands through my hair, pulling at the roots, praying this is all a bad dream. My body rocks back and forth while hot, fat tears stream down my face in rivulets, blurring my vision.
My phone chimes. I look at the screen, hastily wiping across my face, seeing a reminder to record the next episode of Survivor, so Mom and I can watch it once she gets back from work. It is already seven, so Mom should be home in an hour or two.
I swipe at my eyes again, tie my hair up into a bun that gathers only the top half of my hair because of the strands short length. Shakily, I pull myself up from the floor, using the side table as a crutch. Once on my feet, I smooth out my outfit, hoping to rid myself of the distress that he caused by a simple phone call that didn’t even last for a minute.
My chest moves up in down in rapid succession, and I have to stand still for a couple of minutes to get my breathing under control. Blowing air out from my mouth, I walk on unsteady feet back to the living to pick up the remote that was abandoned on the couch.
A cool breeze, drifting in through the open window, makes me stop in my tracks and the curtains dance with anticipation. That window wasn’t open when I went into the kitchen and I’m sure I would remember opening it, if I did.
Already on edge, I make my way over to the window and shut it with a soft click. That’s when I hear it; it being a noise that I can only describe as a fire poker being dragged along a wall upstairs.
The noise gets closer and closer, nearing the top of the stairs and all I can do if stand still, holding my breath. The noise stops, contemplating its next move, and resumes, but this time tapping against the stair banister.
I tiptoe over to the sliding door leading out to our deck and then out to the ocean. I reach the door, touching the handle when I hear a voice; his voice.
“Jess. That’s no way to greet me is it?” He tsks, tapping the metal rod against the banister one last time before striding over to me.
Frantically trying to open the sliding door, I hear his footsteps get closer; I’m going to faint, there is no way enough oxygen is getting into my body. Glancing behind me, I see him a good foot away and finally the door opens. I stumble onto the deck, the salty air caressing me.
I trip over my feet, catching myself on the railing before tumbling. My feet stumble across the wooden slats, picking up their pace as his boots make contact with the deck.
Next thing I know is the sting from my scalp where he grabbed my hair and yanked me backwards. My hands fly to my hair, unsuccessfully trying to remove his grip. He lets go and my body falls with a thud onto the hard deck. I groan, curling my knees up to my chest.
His muscular form blocks the setting sun from my view, casting a shadow as the waters chill wraps around me. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying this is all a dream, but his maniacal laugh broke me from my thoughts.
I look up at him, squinting as the sun’s rays peek around him, giving me hope. You will not give up Jess. You are stronger now—he will not win.
With labored breathing and an aching back, I scoot away from him, and with enough distance between us, I climb to my feet. Knees shaking, I straighten my back, looking him in the eyes, daring him to come closer.
With slow, calculating steps, Ryan circles me—assessing me. Refusing to back down, I stare ahead. He comes close enough to make the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“I don’t appreciate this game you are playing, Jess.” His warm breath fans my cheek. I clench my jaw and lean away from him.
“It’s just you and me,” he whispers, trailing his fingertip down my arm to my wrist, where he clamps his hand around my wrist, squeezing tight enough to make me flinch. “Nobody can save you now.”
He is wrong. He is wrong. He is wrong. I chant again and again.
“You’re wrong,” I stammer out.
Summoning up the shred of confidence I have left, I kick Ryan in the knee with all the strength I can muster. I see his body go down in slow motion, groaning. I stare at him with my chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
My body moves on its own accord, struggling to stay up right. I sidestep around him, leaving enough distance between us, so even if he were to reach out, he wouldn’t be able to grab me. Once I pass him, I break out into a sprint as best as my bruised and shocked body will allow.
I run down the steps, onto the sand. I can see my neighbors house, and make a beeline for their back door, kicking up loose sand in my wake. From behind, I hear him rising to his feet and yelling something indistinguishable. Glancing behind me, I see him limp down the stairs and make his way towards me.
A rush of adrenaline shoots through me and the next thing I know, I am in front of the McKinleys back door, banging on the glass as hard and loud as I can. It is about time the elderly couple would be getting ready for bed.
“Mr. and Mrs. McKinley! It’s Jess. I need help.” I can hear shuffling from the other side and the shouts of anger from him. I prepare myself to make a break for the next house over, but before I get the chance, Mr. McKinley opens the door in his robe with pyjamas underneath. He takes one look at me, and ushers me inside, locking the door behind him.
“Marie!” Mr. McKinley gets his wife’s attention who stands in the kitchen doorway with her hair curlers in. “It’s Jess.” He passes me off into the arms of his wife. “I’m going to call the police.”
Mrs. McKinley wraps her arms around me, bringing us over to the couch. “Help is on the way.”
***
This is the second time I told one of the detectives what happened, and tomorrow I have to go into the station to file a report. I have been pacing around the McKinleys living room for the past thirty minutes, biting my lip till it is raw and sore. My arms are wrapped around my waist in attempt to keep myself together.
My mom is one her way and he is in police custody. Mr. and Mrs. McKinley have not left my side since I came to their door. It is now eight thirty.
Everything has become background noise; the talking of the detectives, police belts clinking as they move around, waves crashing from the open front door, and Mrs. McKinley’s words of comfort.
I want my mom. She should be here right about now. Where is she—
“Jess!” Fresh tears spring to my eyes as my mother gathers me in her arms. “My baby.” She repeats as she strokes my hair pulling me even tighter. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” We sink down to the carpeted floor and stay like this, in each others arms, until the world doesn’t seem as bad anymore.
Write with Alice 