Page 13 of Unhinged

I should have called the authorities instead of getting up and walking toward it.

I gasped and covered my mouth with a hand, shock filling me. My body jerked on its own like I was shocked with electricity, my thighs hitting the dresser and caused the disgusting bouquet of bloody fingers to fall and land on the floor.

The bouquet with the blood stained ribbon stayed intact—for the most part—but a few of the fingers fell out of the wrapped brown paper and rolled to the side of the package.

The stark white of the ribbon was marred with streaks of dark red that had long since dried.

My breath hitched in my throat. My next instinctwas to scream, to recoil, to be horrified at the sight of it lying there. A macabre gift. My pulse hammered in my ears drowning out everything else until it made way for a ringing that had pain pounding inside my head.

But the longer I stared at that bouquet, the more I felt something in me shift.

My fear and disgust altered and warped into this strange curiosity. It unfurled in the pit of my stomach and spread outward, covering every inch of me. My fingers trembled, not from terror but from...something else as I moved closer to the hand and crouched over it.

I had tunnel vision while I reached for the ribbon, gripping one end and rubbing it between my fingers. The ribbon, once silky, was now slightly stiff from the dried blood. I stared at that fingers again for long seconds. Before I knew what was happening, my arm was moving on its own, and I was touching the cold, lifeless flesh of one of the digits.

I found picking up the fingers that had fallen out, and placing them back with the others. I lifted the bouquet, the weight of it, heavier than I expected, didn’t repulse me. How fucking strange that reality was. This weird curiosity filled me as I sat on theedge of the bed and…admired my gift. Because that’s clearly what this was.

I could tell the fingers belonged to a male just from the sheer size of them. The knuckles were hairy, the fingernails long, yellow, and unkempt with dirt underneath them.

I traced the lines of the fingers, wondering briefly what the man had done to deserve this.

What have I done to deserve this as a gift?

I felt a peculiar, dark satisfaction blooming in my chest.

Somehow, I just knew.

Whoever the man was who assaulted me at the diner, this belonged to him.

He used these very fingers to touch me, hurt me—hardly physically but emotionally—and made me lose my job.

I exhaled slowly, the initial shock fading completely as something far more twisted settled in its place. It wasn’t horror I felt. No, it was something more dangerous, which had been lurking beneath the surface for a long time.

Something I’d buried deep under layers of memories I tried in vain to forget.

I sat there, still holding the severed hand, but I felt my gaze growing distant as I thought aboutthings I never admitted to anyone. I stood and carefully placed the bouquet on my nightstand instead of my dresser, and admired the grotesquerie of the sight for long moments.

My heart was still racing, never once fading as this rush of adrenaline slammed into me. I couldn’t keep this in my place for very long…but right now, it looked perfect. There was darkness curling up from the shadows of my past, like smoke rising from dwindling coals. I stared at the hand for a moment longer, my thoughts spiraling through old wounds, forgotten scars, and the heavy weight of everything I endured back then.

I closed my eyes and breathed through the memories of my past. But no matter what, my past was always there, a whisper that was incessant in my ear. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t run from the memories.

Instead, I let them in, made them a home deep in my soul, and accepted my reality. The pull of something inevitable, something that had always been a part of me, rose to remind me of who I really was.

7

ISLA

Several days later

Although days had passed since I’d found the bloodied fingers, I didn’t even try tonotthink about it. I let it consume me during every waking moment. I couldn't help but let it take over my mind.

My new serving position had kept me busy these last few days, and so I’d thrown myself into my job. It wasn’t rocket science what I was doing, but it was mentally and physically exhausting. By the time I got home, I crashed and didn’t wake up until hours later.

This diner was just like the last one I worked at. It had the same peeling linoleum, the same greasy smell that clung to not only the walls but also to myclothing and my hair. But I was thankful I had this work to keep my mind at least a little busy.

It was something to distract me from the uneasy feeling that lingered because I knew someone was coming into my home and leaving me savage things.

The last hour of my shift dragged on, but when I clocked out, tossed my grease-stained apron on the back counter, and left, all I wanted was a scalding-hot shower, a snack, my book, and then bed.

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