Page 22 of Under the Bed

Without my permission, my hand closes around the remote. The television is on before Val completes her sentence.

My heart stops at what’s on the news ticker.

The manhunt for the dangerous killer continues.

Kaleb’s face fills the screen. It appears to be a recent photograph. He looks so…grown up.

Empty golden eyes. Hair cut shorter than I remember. His cheekbones are more pronounced, his jaw sharper.

He’s staring into the camera.

He’s staring straight atme.

A punch to the chest—that’s what it is, leaving me breathless.

The air is sucked from my lungs. My hand flies to my throat. Shock and terror sink their claws into me, choking me.

It’s more than that, isn’t it?

He’s beautiful. Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

A man.

Better than anything I could’ve imagined.

My thighs clench. My cheeks burn. If he were here, would I run away? Or would I lean in and kiss him? Let him touch me the way no other man has?

I’m just as fucked up as I’ve always been, aren’t I?

Jesus.

Fuck.

Val talks and talks. Begs me to turn off the TV. I hear her. I don’t listen to her; instead, I turn the volume up.

“…police reports confirm that Kaleb Blackwood has escaped from Berkshire Psychiatric Hospital.” The brown-haired broadcaster in the blue suit remains stern and unfazed while my world goes up in flames. “What was meant to be a one-hour round trip turned into something out of a horror movie.”

Val’s raising her voice, asking if I’m okay. If I need her to come over, I think.

Can’t be sure. Blood roars in my ears. I’m struggling to make sense of what the broadcaster is saying.

Murdered guard and driver.

Dangerous.

Suspected to be wearing a black hoodie and jeans that were stolen from the driver.

Do not approach him. Call the state police hotline immediately.

The number rolls on the bottom of the screen. White on red.

My breath comes out in shallow, wheezing gasps.

“Shiloh? Hello? I’m coming over, I swear.”

“No.” I’m a ball of fear. Of need and want. “Don’t.”

I didn’t—couldn’texpect this reaction. Couldn’t imagine my blood would run hot, then cold, then hot again. I want to run to him. Want to but stay away. Curse him. Punch him.

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