Page 95 of Beautiful Prey

Too bad the tools were in the garage where I suspected Emery to also be, judging by the sounds from above. Creating more traps, I assumed. More ways to slow down those who might try to rescue me.

When I had no other way but the stairs up to the house, I got the courage to creep up the steps. As I got to the landing, I opened the door, realizing a crate of junk was blocking the entrance, grounding against the floor, making a groaning sound. The garage door was wide open only a few feet away. Emery walked into view and saw me. He paused to watch me, a drill in his hand.

We froze like two animals meeting in the wild, waiting to see which one would move first. Then I promptly closed the door and went downstairs.

I flipped my eggs as I heard a door open and shut above. After my failure to find a way out—and knowing now I wouldn’t find one upstairs without him catching me—I set my frustrations on cooking. I was starving, the bars not keeping me full for very long, so I opened the cupboards, sifting around for pans and slamming them down on the stove. If he came down to stop me, I’d scream in his face again.

I lowered the gas, then took out some bread and popped it in the toaster. I took out the single tomato in the fridge and set it on the counter, then searched the drawers for utensils.

The second I opened one drawer and saw the small cutting knife inside, I froze. I took it out, gripping it firmly.

The thought of hiding it came to me instantly. But the thought after—the one where I take a chance to drive it into Emery’s chest or neck when he wasn’t looking—made me feel sick.

Moving over to the counter, I began to cut the tomato into slices, trying to ignore my shaking hands. I turned my thoughts instead to our last conversation. The memory of his eyes when I had pushed back, basically telling him he was a nut job, was like driving a dagger in him with my words. There was guilt, but only a little. He had to know. I was done with him using his ghosts as a reason to hurt me. His past and mine were very different and yet we both had inner scars that needed healing.

Him finding out about the necklace was shitty timing for sure. That he even had to make that discovery was a laughable coincidence. I cursed whatever god was toying with us. But mostly I cursed my brother for giving it to me. Snatching a precious gift like that from a child to give to his sister? How did I never see how big of an asshole he was?

Maybe I had refused to see it. Just like I refused to see how arrogant and entitled and, honestly, cold my father could be.

And now I was paying my father’s price.

Guess it doesn’t matter, does it? Come tomorrow…it won’t matter.

Those words filled me with dread.

I hadn’t thought much about my birthday or about the anniversary of the Harper Pointe massacre. About the eve of Halloween. I’d been so occupied with getting hunted and kidnapped by a madman, about being locked away and stalked by him, that it had slipped my mind.

Tomorrow, he was going to act.

But I wasn’t going to let it end the way he wanted. I wasn’t going to let him win that easily.

I tried to take hold of my emotions, my anger, fear, and sadness and become numb again. I pushed those thoughts away.

Instead, I considered the necklace again. I should just let it go but something in me was suddenly driven to find it. To have it for tomorrow. To prove I hadn’t thrown it out. That it had just been hidden away, put somewhere safe so it couldn’t be broken. A place with other childish but special things that I told myself I’d take back someday. Part treasure, part time capsule.

But I’d need to go upstairs to get it and I doubted Emery would let me out of this basement, let alone to the top floor.

As I pondered over other options, something brushed along my hair. Before I could move my hand up to investigate, that same something scuttled quickly over my forehead and across my face.

A huge fucking spider.

I shrieked as it came into view, my hands jerking in response. I felt searing pain slice through my fingers as the knife cut along them. Deep…real deep.

I swept my hand over my face and the spider dropped onto the counter. The thing was the size of my palm at least. I screamed as it flew across the counter, at first back at me, then away into the open drawer.

Emery rushed down the stairs. My heart caught in my throat as I threw the knife in the sink and shut the drawer where the spider had dropped. I turned on the water and shoved my hand under it, blood swirling down the drain.

“What happened?” Emery asked behind me. I was caught off guard by the actual concern in his voice.

“Nothing.”

“I heard you scream,” he said. His shadow cast over me as he looked over my shoulder. He didn’t make any comment about the knife. Instead, he turned away and slipped into my uncle’s room. He came back out a moment later with the first aid bagand set it on the table, taking out the antiseptic, wash cloth, and bandages.

“I can do it,” I said without looking at him.

“I know,” he replied. He came to stand beside me by the sink with antiseptic and cloth in hand. He poured some on the cloth, then set the bottle aside.

I didn’t protest as he took my hand and wiped away the blood, then cleaned the cuts. I winced as it stung.

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