Page 43 of Fractured

The name sends my mind reeling, trying to remember why it sounds so familiar. He gets up quickly and leaves the room, but he left a slew of questions behind… I get the distinct impression he meant a lot longer than the five years I’ve known him. So when did he first see me?

sixteen

The control he holds over the game we play pisses me off. He knows it too. It’s why he does it. Why he comes into my room in the middle of the night and leaves me tokens of his presence… He gets some kind of sick pleasure from knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.

He’s even thwarted my plans of catching him on video. I don’t know how he knew I set up an old phone to record my room while I was sleeping, but the moment I found his present on the pillow next to me, I checked to see if I caught him on video.

I didn’t.

One second the pillow is clear, and the next, it has the items he left there. The video doesn’t have a time stamp, so I don’t know what time he came in. I don’t see any flickers of light. No details I can discern from him. No hints of how he pulled off the Houdini trick. A whole shit load of nothing! I bet he’s sitting back behind a wall of screens, watching me through my phone camera and laughing. Sounds like the fucked-up kind of shit my asshole stalker would do. If I was able to guess anything about him, that is.

I toss the useless phone across the room, angry that it failed me, and pick up the items from the pillow next to mine. There’s a file folder, and sitting on top of it is a gun case with a sticker of a raven on it. My eyes narrow on the sticker. It’s like he’s trying to make a brand out of it.

Pulling the case into my lap first, I open it right away. A file folder holds no interest when there’s a weapon around. Inside is a Glock, one of the most common guns sold. It doesn’t give me tingles of joy when looking at it, not like the gun I helped to develop. The one he already gave me… I have a feeling this one has a special task attached to it, and I’ll end up parting with it soon enough.

Closing the lid on the gun case, I slide it from my lap and pick up the folder. The first thing I see when I flip it open is a picture of a man I’ve never seen before. It’s a professionally taken photograph, one an individual would use on their work email or a corporate website showcasing the team. At the bottom of the photo is his name, Oliver Nix.

Oliver is wearing a suit and his hair is perfectly put together. He looks like the personification of the nine-to-five work week. I instantly don’t trust him. I’ve seen his type more times than I can count. It never fails to turn out they aren’t on the right side of morality. He’s the type you need to keep one eye on constantly.

The next page has all the details one would need to find Oliver and kill him. I’m surprised at the amount of detail that has gone into the page. In fact, it seems like I’m not the only person my stalker has been stalking. It has a full written description of him, including scars that are hidden by clothing and a birthmark on his left thigh.

Over the next five pages are details about Oliver’s routine for each day of the week. When he wakes up, when and what he eats for breakfast, the time he leaves for work… it details every second of his days, including when he’s taken a shit. You have to appreciate the thoroughness of it, even if that information is over the top excessive and way more than I’d ever want to know.

After that, is a detailed plan of how things will go down on the day he’s to be killed. The day I’ll kill him, if I decide to take this gift laid out before me. My stalker is going to deliver Oliver to a warehouse where he’ll leave him tied to a chair. All I have to do is go in and shoot him, leave my bloody clothes on a tarp for disposal, and get the hell out of there.

Honestly, I get all the fun of feeding my darkness without having to worry about any of the mess. My stalker is volunteering to get rid of the evidence. The only requirement is that I actually shoot the man with the gun provided for me.

Finally, the last page has the reason why I’m killing him. Oliver Nix appears to be a scam artist. He works for an investment firm, but on the side, he targets the elderly. He gets them to invest their life savings on a sure bet, and then he takes all of their money without ever even attempting to invest it. In order to avoid being caught, he moves to a new town every six months, and changes his identity to do it all over again, constantly keeping ahead of the law.

It seems karma has finally caught up to Oliver, and her name is Remington Halston. No. Her name is Raven. My darkness deserves her own name when seeking violence, vengeance, or the pure joy of killing.

A small tug of… something pulls at me. If I gave one shit about morality, that’s the name I’d give it, but I don’t. More like pride. I don’t want to be fooled into a situation of false pretenses. How would I look if I killed this man and it wasn’t even a true story? I think about it for a moment, tapping a finger on my bottom lip. Yep. I need to verify the facts first.

I pull up my text thread with Cole.

Remi: Hey. Can I ask you for a favor?

Coffee Douche: Of course. What’s up?

I wonder how much thought my stalker puts into changing the contacts in my phone, and how much of a kick he gets out of doing it. I quickly change his name to Cole, and write out my next text.

Remi: I need you to work your computer magic.

Licks that ice cream but not your pussy: Stalker needs to be put in time out again?

God damn it. Fucking stalker changed his name again not even two seconds later. Although I think his plan backfired because now I’m thinking about just how good he was at licking that ice cream. Or rather biting it… and how nice his teeth will feel on my clit. I won’t be picky though, my nipples, stomach, thighs, and neck are free game too.

Raven: Stop playing with my contact names!

Ravenmaster: Why? It’s too much fun.

Raven: At least give them regular names. Not ones that get me turned on.

Ravenmaster: My job isn’t complete if I haven’t soaked your panties at least once during the day. I love making your pussy weep for me when you don’t know who I am.

Raven: But it wasn’t thoughts of you that turned me on.

Ravenmaster: It was still me that caused the flood between your legs. You won’t think of him licking your pussy now without also thinking about me.

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