There were close-ups of my face, multiple shots taken from every angle and in every light. His lens had captured each emotion – happiness, joy, sadness, grief, frustration, doubt, anxiety, fear. He’d gotten photos of expressions I hadn’t even known my face could make.
Noneof those were as scary as the ones that had been taken from inside this very apartment. I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten in without Lexi or me ever taking notice, but there they were – unquestionable proof that he not only had access to our living space, he’d made himself fully at home.
There were shots of me cooking, singing along to the radio as I stirred pasta or checked the oven. There were images of Lexi and I taking shots of tequila.Laughing as we put on makeup and got ready for to head out for the night. Hugging tightly, with matching smiles on our faces.
They only got worse, the more I looked.
Hundreds of shots of me naked, as I changed clothes in my bedroom. More images than I wanted to count depicting me in the shower, fully exposed and vulnerable.
I had been the unknowing and unwilling subject of every image captured by his camera lens.
Themost terrifying photos were the ones of Finn and me. In each of those, Finn’s face had been harshly scratched over with sharpie or cut out with scissors. Several of them showed his face with a huge gun-sight target drawn over his face.
In a daze, I pushed the hanging photographs out of my way as I walkedover to the bed, my feet sliding as they searched for traction on the slippery photos covering the floor. There was a box sitting on top of my comforter amidst a pile of images, wrapped in shiny black paper. The lid was fixed with a matte black bow; I tugged on it lightly and it tumbled loose with ease.
I reached out to lift the lid of the box,bracing myself with the knowledge that whatever was inside was probably even more horrifying than the Brooklyn-collage on my walls.
I held my breath as I flipped back the lid, eyes scanning the contents disbelievingly.
He’d planned this carefully, no doubt wanting it to have maximum impact on my emotions. To simultaneously terrify me and confirm that all my suspicions had been correct.
He succeeded.
The box was full to the brim with black rose petals. Resting atop the sea of macabre flowers, there was a note. It had been written in formal calligraphy, the flowing black lettering beautiful in an archaic, timeless sort of way. It had been scribed on a piece of thick off-white cardstock, the kind used by the wealthy in the days of old when they’d send out handwritten invitations to their balls and galas.
It felt heavy in my hand as I lifted it from the box and read the slanting message.
A gift for you, since I ruined your last one.
Beneath the note and the petals, there was a beautiful dress folded inside the box. I recognized it’s green bodice and elegant beading immediately; this wasn’t any dress, it wasThe Dress. An exact replica of the one I’d worn the night I was attacked outside Styx – newly purchased and, terrifyingly, the correct size.
Iglanced back at the note; it was signed in the bottom right corner with only two initials:
E.S.
And then I knew.
There it was, in black and white.Undeniable.
He’d come back for me.
I turned to face the door, to find my phone, to do something,anything, to stop what was about to happen. But I knew, even as I spun and caught sight of him in the doorway – his face, the face of my nightmares, unchanged by time or years behind bars – that it was far too late for that.
The table was set, first course had been served.
Somehow, I didn’t think I’d make it to dessert.
Chapter Nineteen
Revelations
I’d struggled.
He must’ve hit me with something that knocked me out for a time, because when I woke up I was no longer in my bedroom. My arms ached, pins and needles shooting through my fingers due to a lack of circulation.
I thought that was odd, until I realizedwhythe blood wasn’t flowing to those limbs: my hands had been bound together with a thick, coarse rope, and strung up above my head. The rest of my body dangled in the air, with my tiptoes barely grazing the ground and taking a meager fraction of my weight off my wrists.
There was duct tape across my mouth, blocking my airway and my screams for help. Wherever I was, it was completely quiet. I didn’t move for several minutes, hoping that I was alone, and taking stock of my bodily inventory.