Page 25 of No, You Hang Up

“You’re fine,” I tell myself, lounging against the wicker back of the most comfortable lawn chair I own. “You’re fine, you’re home, and Aunt Hortense’s ghost is doing a terrible job of keeping Patrice away.” I scoff to myself. “So much for houses coming with poltergeists to ward away those who aren’t welcome inside.”

When my ears pick up a noise in the yard, I don’t look up. Not the first time, though my brain keeps track of the noise as I stare up at the bit of sky that I can see from this angle under the covered patio. I gnaw on another strawberry, pretty sure the rustling is coming from the thin line of trees and is most likely a cat or, maybe, a raccoon.

But probably a cat, since there’s more than one person around here who lets them be outside either part of the time or all of it. Sometimes I hear the telltale jingle of a collar, but tonight I just hear soft footsteps.

Maybe it’s Huxley’s last visit that has me on edge. That’s what I blame it on as I listen to the noise and lean back to stare at the sky. I’m tired enough that I feel my eyes cross a few times as I focus on darkness. So with a low sigh, I let my eyes close instead of holding them open to stare at the vast darkness with very few stars.

I’m not lonely, I tell myself.

I’m justalone, which is a completely different thing. This is something I chose. Ilikebeing alone, without my family, without my?—

The loud snap of a twig that sounds like it was broken by something much heavier than a cat makes me sit up, and my gaze scans the darkness of the yard. “Hello?” I ask, getting to my feet, knowing I’m overreacting. I know that there’s nothing here.

But then again, I’d never expected a murderer to be in my house two nights ago, either.

“No one’s there,” I sigh to myself, filling the night with the sound of my voice instead of just the noises that are freaking me out for no reason. “You’re fine. If it’s anyone, it’s Patrice. And all it would take would be a well-placed blow with any instrument of choice to knock her out.” But Patrice shouldn’t be back here. No one should, since I’ve always kept the yard gate locked.

But the next sound, clearly a step, has me bolting upright in my chair and nearly falling out of it. I shove myself to my feet and look around the dark yard, wishing I’d turned on the patio light instead of sitting out here in the pitch black of the chilly April night.

“Dear God. If this is a test and Patrice is back here without her life alert bracelet after having a fall…you should pick a stronger soldier,” I breathe, not being particularly quiet about the plea. My bare feet sink into the cold, damp grass as I walk across my yard, and my toes curl against the soft ground under me as I shiver.

There’s no one out here, I tell myself, both inside and out loud.

“There’s literally no one here. You’re just freaking out over nothing.” My heart beats too fast in my chest, and I finally make it to the back of the yard to peer at the trees over the fence.

Nothing.

There’snothing.

Satisfied and not having heard anything else, I tilt my head back and let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re fine,” I remind myself, turning. “You’re literally…”

My words trail off when the garish red slash of Huxley’s mask leers down at me. He leans forward to press one hand to the fence, his glove in place as he closes the distance between us.

“Fuck,” I murmur. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” Huxley agrees softly. He lifts his other hand to tilt up my chin with the flat of the hunting knife he carries, sending a tremble down my spine. “I’m absolutely fucking with you, and I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it. Are you going to run for me, pretty girl?”

“Should I?” I feel frozen in place, even as my heart beats rabbit-fast in my chest. “Do I need?—”

The knife twists so the point is just under my chin, only inches from my throat where he could kill me in an instant. My breath comes in small, nervous pants as I try not to move. My fingers curl against the fence and yet again I find I can’t breathe.

“Yes.” He leans in a little closer until his mask is all that I can see. “Yes, little bunny. Don’t you dare scream, because as much as I love your wit and self-pep talks…I won’t go to jail for you.Run away, little bunny. But don’t you dare make a sound.”

twelve

Icould scream.

Ishouldscream, even. If I scream, then someone out here is going to hear me, and even if he tries to make good on the threat of cutting out my tongue, at least?—

“Do you know what the bystander effect is, lovely girl?” He cuts off my train of thought, the knife point still pressing my face upward, so I’m looking at his mask. Huxley’s voice is cold, and I suddenly doubt my own impressions of him from the other night.

“Everyone born in the last fifty years knows what that is,” I breathe, unable to even move. I’m frozen in place with my hands pressed flat to the smooth wooden planks behind me as coldness seeps into the bottoms of my feet.

God, I wish I had shoes on.

“If you scream right now like you’re thinking about doing, the bystander effect is going to come into play. They’ll hear you”—he moves the knife, flicking it toward the house behind me, then the ones on either side—“but they won’t come out to check on you, even if it does wake them up. Surprisingly, the only one who might care is your favorite across the street neighbor. But she won’t come back here to save you. She’ll just bang on your door and threaten you with fines or violations or whatever.” I swear I can sense his eye roll behind the mask.

“Someone might call the cops.”

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