Page 26 of The Devil's Playground

He’s not.

Damn it!

Is it Kieran? It has to be. I can’t imagine who else could be out there, and honestly? I could give a shit. It’s after midnight, a man in black is peeking into my window, and I’m so wound up from finding the dragonfly that I fucking snap.

The only thing I can think about is protecting myself. In Willowbrook, I had a baseball bat that I slept with under my bed. I didn’t bring one to Springfield, though I’m sorely regretting that now.

Weapon. I need a weapon.

Kitchen!

My mom has a huge knife block on her kitchen counter. Grabbing the handle of the biggest one, trying to avoid how my hand is shaking, I look down at the thick blade.

“‘He ran into my knife’,” I whisper, half-hysterical, quoting ‘Cell Block Tango’ as I twist the butcher knife, catching the kitchen light on the large blade. “‘He ran into my knife ten times.’”

Could I kill Kieran? I couldn’t. No matter what he did to me, that was never an option. Leaving was the most rebellious I could be… but I’ve had a taste of freedom. I’m not so sure that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep it.

But murder?

No.

I shake my head, dropping the knife back into its place in the block.

Okay. Knife’s out.

What else?

I know! Dropping down, I fling open one of the lower cabinets, grabbing the first heavy frying pan I can find.

Perfect.

If it’s Kieran, I won’t need the pan to protect myself. I have neighbors and a camera, and he’s not stupid enough to do anything where he might be implicated. A few sharp barbs and he’ll back off, wounded, like my defiance physically hurts him.

Of course, once he gets me alone, I’ll pay for it—but I don’t plan on ever being alone with Kieran Alfieri again if I can help it.

But if it’s someone else… my mom’s house isn’t in the best part of Springfield. She got it after her second marriage imploded, and joked through my early teens that it was the only good thing that came out of her three-year stint as Mrs. O’Donnell.

Lucky her. She got a house.

When she married Dave Alfieri the next summer, I got Kieran.

Talk about running on adrenaline. Instead of turning off the lights, hiding upstairs, and pretending to be asleep, I’m creeping around the side of my mother’s house, holding a frying pan, trying to sneak up on the psycho peering into my front window.

Part of me hopes that I’m being fucking ridiculous. That it was some would-be robber who got curious and went on his merry way. Even if it’s Kieran fucking with me, I’m praying he’s gone, and that when I tiptoe around the corner, there won’t be any man in back standing near the house.

At this point, I’d be a-okay if I imagined everything I saw on the screen…

I didn’t. I know I didn’t, and my bigger fear right now is that it is some burglar and I’m sneaking around in my sweatpants, with a frying pan in my hand, against someone who might have a gun.

Good going, Nic. What a time to think about that…

It’s been a few minutes. I’m hoping that that was enough time that they’re gone—and that they’re not sneaking around the back while I’m going around the front—but when I peek around the corner, I see a shadowy black figure still standing there, almost like he’s frozen in place.

And, yeah… I panic.

I totally panic.

Before he can turn around, I rush across the grass, cold grass biting into my bare feet because dumbass Nicolette forgot to grab shows in her hysteria, and I swing.

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