Page 12 of No, You Hang Up

I’m not crazy.

I know I put my phone here.

A low whistle, trilling like a bird, pulls my attention back to the man across the room, though I definitely want to focus on anything but him. Still, as my eyes connect with the black and red mask, he reaches into his pocket with the hand not holding the knife. His movements are smooth and easy; unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

But my heart plummets the instant he holds up my phone in front of himself, wiggling it at me in a tantalizing, taunting way.

Come get it,he seems to say.It’s right here.

Maybe if he didn’t have the knife, I’d try to catch him off guard and just run into him. At best, I could take him out and shock him into hitting the floor. At worst, I’d knock myself out instead and whatever is happening here goes even worse, even faster.

But the knife… My eyes drift down to where he holds it in his other gloved hand, and a shiver goes up my spine.

“What do you want?” I murmur softly, shifting along the edge of my counter with sideways steps. To my left, I can see the door to the patio out of the corner of my eye, and I think if desperation really sets in, I could ungracefully climb over my fence. Or I could scream for the help of my neighbors. At the very least, someone would hear me and come out.

Someone other than Patrice.

Before I even really give him a chance to answer, I whirl to face my counter, scooping up the clean plates in my hands. I throw one at him like a frisbee that he dodges, then I chuck the next like a knife. He curses at that, and his hand comes up to block his face so it shatters harmlessly on the floor.

I swear he starts to say something just as I throw the third plate, and this one actually manages to hit the edge of his mask. The impact causes him to jerk his face to the side, though he doesn’t fall or even stumble.

Taking advantage of his surprise, I whirl to face the patio door, flipping on the light switch with one hand and grabbing the handle with the other.

But neither action ends the way it should. I flick the patio switch on and off, on and off; yet no light illuminates the back of the house. It remains pitch black outside, just as the handle under my fingers doesn’t go anywhere.

“What…?” I murmur, looking down at it. It’slocked, I finally register, and though it should only take me a second to unlock it, the heavy boot steps on my floor indicate I really don’t have that long. I’m too afraid to take my chances with the door. Instead, I dart to the side with my heart pounding in my chest, and I grab the end table to slam into him as my brain works overtime to process the situation.

This time, he curses as I throw the furniture into him. When I realize he’s between me and both doors, I reach for the light switch in the hall and slide my hand downward in a jerky, sharp motion.

All the lights go off, save the TV, but given that it faded into sleep mode, it barely illuminates the couches in front of it, let alone the rest of the room and hall.

I dart into the short hallway, glad that all my doors are open. Somehow, I’ve given myself a few precious seconds, and I lurch through the open door to my guest room. I’m thrilled to not be wearing shoes, so my feet make no noise on the carpet under me as I make my way through the room. Using the illumination from the hall night light, I reach the closet and slip inside.

I pant silently with my eyes on the half-cracked open closet doors.Please don’t hear me, I beg. Closing the door a bit more, not making a sound, I press myself to the opposite wall behind the few jackets I’ve hung in here over the last few months.

My hands come up to cover my mouth, and I feel myself going a bit lightheaded as I work to control my breathing.

I can’t make a sound.

He’ll find me if I do.

My knees threaten to give out, and I sag against the wall with a soft exhale when I hear his slow, deliberate steps outside in the hallway. He turns, heading into the bathroom, though by the noise and the closing of my bathroom door a few seconds later, I’m assuming he’s come out.

“You know, little rabbit…” The voice from the phone sends a shudder down my spine, but I force myself to stay in place. In my view between the wooden slats, I can see him standing still, just outside the door of the guest room.

“There are only so many places you could be hiding from me.” He sounds almost conversational, like he isn’t holding a knife in his hand that occasionally catches any sliver of light it can. “And I can’t decide if I’m enjoying this game you’re creating, or if I’m getting impatient with you. Why don’t you come out now?” he muses, like he’s trying to appeal to my common sense. “It’ll be better for you if you do. I don’t think you want me to be impatient with you. But then again…” He leans back as if he’s gazing at the ceiling through the openings of his mask.

“I don’t think you want me to turn this into a game you can’t win, either.”

His words send a sharp shiver through my nerves and synapses, and my toes curl into the plush carpet under me. I won’t make a sound. I certainly won’t go out to him and make it easier for him to kill me.

There’s no way this man—who somehow figured out where I live from our stupid prank call—doesn’t plan on killing me tonight. I’m starting to think my karma isn’t good enough that he’ll do it fast, either.

It’s hard to see some of his movements with just the small light in the hall, but I do my best to keep my breathing soft and stay as still as I can.

I wish I knew how to make him go away.

But there are only so many rooms for him to check, and the man prowls into the room across the hall, my bedroom, to take his time looking for me in there.

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