Page 2 of The Stalker
She doesn’t hear me.She’s too wrapped up in her own little world, arms folded against the chill, eyes lifted to the sky like she’s waiting for something—maybe a sign, maybe forgiveness.Forgiveness she doesn’t need.
Not from me.Not from anyone.
“She’s waiting for you,”the voice hisses inside me.It’s male, deep, and rough with regret, as it coils around my thoughts like smoke.“She’s always been waiting.You were just too much of a coward to see it.”
“Who the fuck are you?”I whisper into the night, low enough that no one but me should hear.
“The one giving you what you need.The strength to finally stop hiding.The courage to step from the shadows and claim her.”
The world feels off-balance, like I’ve been tilted on an axis I didn’t know existed.Maybe it’s the town?Ashburne has always been like this on Halloween.Strange things happen and people do things they swear the morning after they never would’ve done.It’s the curse of living here, the blessing if you’re twisted enough to take advantage.
I must be twisted.Because I don’t fight the voice.I welcome it.
Her phone buzzes on the counter and she ducks back inside, shutting the window.The light shifts across the glass, and I catch a clearer glimpse of her face as she passes by.
My chest cracks open at the sight.
Her left cheek is smooth, perfect, and pale in the glow of the fluorescent lighting of her kitchen.Her right side ...the fire took that from her.Pink ridges claw down from her temple, over her jaw, twisting the soft skin of her neck.The doctors did their best, but some things can’t be smoothed over.She hides it from the world with her hair, her clothes, and the tilt of her head, but she can’t hide it from me.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And she’s mine.
I press a palm flat against the glass, just for a second, leaving a smear that will vanish with the dew come morning.My reflection stares back, shadowed, my eyes burning.I barely recognize myself but maybe that’s a good thing.
For too long I’ve been Griffin Hayes, the good boy who loved too quietly, who watched from the edges, who let her slip away to the city without saying a word.But now, that boy is dead.What’s left is something darker.Hungrier.
“Take her.”
The voice is a growl now, vibrating through my bones.My cock twitches in my jeans, thick and ready, because every word feeds the beast inside me.I imagine her under me, fighting, clawing, and then giving in.I imagine her scars burning against my mouth as I kiss every broken inch of her.
My breathing turns ragged, fogging the glass.I want to smash through it, grab her, pin her to the floor and finally end this torment.
But I don’t.Not yet.Because she leaves the kitchen, and I know where she’s going.
I’ve memorized her routines.
Every night she steps out onto the porch, just for a few minutes.She smokes sometimes, though she pretends she doesn’t.Tonight, she’ll probably just watch the trick-or-treaters wander the street, hiding behind her own shadows while the world passes her by.
And I’ll be waiting.
I circle to the front of the house, silent as a predator.The autumn air is sharp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves, pumpkin rot, and smoke from someone’s fireplace.Laughter rings down the street, kids in costumes running wild, their parents trailing behind with beers in hand.
No one notices me.But they never do.
The door creaks off to the side, and there she is stepping onto the porch, sweater wrapped tightly around her curvy form, arms folded like armor.Her hair slips forward, hiding her scarred cheek, but I know what’s beneath.Her eyes flick over the street, soft and sad, and she exhales like she’s trying to breathe away her loneliness.
My fists clench at my sides.I want to fix that look.I want to tear the sadness out of her until the only thing she feels is me.
“Now.”The voice is insistent, pounding through my head like a second heartbeat.“No more waiting.Tonight, you claim her, or you lose her forever.”
I step out from the shadows of her porch, the boards groaning under my weight.She startles, spinning, her wide cerulean eyes locking onto mine.
“Griffin?”Her voice trembles.She hasn’t said my name in five years, and it crashes into me like lightning.
I should say something normal.Something soft, something safe.“Hey, it’s been a long time,” or “I just wanted to check on you.”That’s what the old me would’ve said.
But the old me is gone.
