Page 2 of Madness Blooms

When I can no longer push through the pain in my ankle, I pause for a moment beside a darkened house and desperately drag air into my lungs.

But before I can assess any damage, the figure leaps out in front of me, blocking my escape. I fall backward and let out a terrified scream. I hurl my bag at him and scramble frantically away from his grasp. Stepping forward, he still holds the knife, now clean of blood. The featureless white mask, with only a crudely scrawled smiley face and pits for eyes, gleams in the moonlight.

Pebbles from a decaying garden press into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to what that sharpened blade is about to do to my insides. I squeeze my eyes shut, part of me accepting the inevitability of death. After all, I was the one dumb enough to take a shortcut with a serial killer on the loose. Perhaps this is my fate—to rot here until I become fertilizer, or to become a tasty meal for some wild animal.

Cold metal slips underneath my chin, lifting it.

Oh my God, this is it. It’s all over.

I reluctantly open my eyes and see the man crouching in front of me, his shrouded black eyes devoid of emotion. Not that I can see anything past that stupid white mask. I can feel his gaze on me as I fail to hold back the tears that spill down my splotchy cheeks. I dare not move; the tip of the knife is just a hair’s breadth away from my neck. With a gloved hand, he reaches for me, and I squirm back, losing my balance.

My head hits the ground, and he chuckles in dark amusement. Black spots swarm in my vision as he hovers above me. I’m hyperventilating, openly sobbing now. I want to beg for my life, to appeal to any shred of humanity he may have left, but part of me wants this. My self-loathing takes over, overriding my reason. I turned twenty-one a couple of months ago. But I feel like I have accomplished nothing noteworthy; I’m already so far behind my peers.

So what’s the point?

The masked stranger tilts his head curiously as if he were trying to figure me out. Idly, he points the knife directly at my heart. I swallow thickly and stare into the voids where his eyes should be, waiting for the end to come. Time crawls forward in our tense stare-down, but nothing happens. For a moment, I convince myself this is just a hallucination.

Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

My survival instinct kicks in, and as I open my mouth to scream, the man is on me in an instant, pressing the knife against my lips to silence me. I cry again.

“Do you believe in God, Miss Lawrence?”

The dark, metallic sound of his voice takes me by surprise. His tone is dangerously suave, with a strange, unnatural static at the edge. A voice changer?

His gaze remains pinned on me, but I’m too afraid to say a word. So I nod, hoping it would suffice as an answer.

“Liar.”

Suddenly, he raises the knife high above me—before driving it down, the tip stopping just centimeters from my eyes. He then shakes his head and withdraws the blade, offering me his hand. Hesitantly, I grab it and he pulls me up. My ankle throbs as I stand, making me wince.

“If I were you, I would start. Miracles like this don’t happen every day, you know.”

I say nothing. My limbs feel like jelly, and I sway, struggling to maintain my balance. He allows me only a moment to steady myself before revoking his twisted aid. I can feel him sizing me up, probably smirking behind the mask as he takes some kind of sick, twisted pity on me. He’s probably getting off on the fact that I can barely stand right now.

He snickers as he wraps his arm around me, keeping me upright. For a moment, I’m able to gather my wits. But it’s not long before his grasp turns rough. He squeezes my waist, knowing exactly where to apply pressure to make me cry out in pain. Through the haze, I shoot him an angry look, my teeth clacking as I shake. His grip tightens, then loosens, and I crumple to the ground.

He wraps both of his arms around me as he arranges my body, and I try to blink away the fog as he props me against the nearby house. I hear him move something, likely my bag, and then he’s back in front of me. Squatting beside me, he holds a knife against my neck, causing a shiver to run through me from the cold metal.

“You got lucky tonight,” he hums, almost thoughtfully. Moving the mask aside, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I can feel a grin tug at his face as his breath tickles my skin. Nuzzling his cheek against mine, his stubble scrapes against my raw, sensitive skin.

I am frozen in place, too petrified to move. For a fucked-up moment, I relax into his touch—before he presses the blade into my throat. I yelp in shock as he cuts a shallow line into my flesh. Panic consumes me as he moves away, and I clutch my neck with wide eyes.

He stands up after adjusting his mask. “You might want to reconsider taking that shortcut, Little Bunny,” he warns. “Because if I find you around there again, I’ll slit your throat and let you slowly bleed out before putting an end to your pathetic existence.”

A car drives by, its headlights briefly illuminating a section of the yard. I’m too focused on stemming the bleeding from my neck to notice that the man has vanished into the shadows. Still reeling from his warped affection, I shut my eyes and lean against the house. My head feels like it’s about to split open, and I struggle to choke down the bile that is threatening to spill all over the lawn.

Everything hurts, and I can taste blood in my mouth. Desperately, I wish I could call my brother. Or even my flaky mother. I have to get home … Have to check on Austin. I attempt to peel open my eyes, but my efforts fail.

I feel myself drifting into darkness.

And after an unknown amount of time, I regain consciousness. I have no way of knowing if it had been seconds, minutes, or even hours.

As I wait for my vision to clear up, I stare at a neighbor’s chimney. Once I feel confident enough to not immediately collapse, I rise and steady myself against the house. I heft my bag back over my shoulder and make my way to my house on wobbly knees, my shoes scuffing on the gravel. Pain pours from every cell in my body, but I don’t stop for anything.

I dare not look back for fear of seeing that frightening white visage.

Chapter

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