Page 42 of Moth to a Flame

Lester.

He could be paroled.

He could be out here, in the streets.

He could—probably would—come for me.

My black sleepwear is drenched in sweat, and my heart is beating wildly.

The smell of rotten apples hasn’t left my nose.

The crippling terror still has my muscles straining, my jaw locked tight.

“I’m home.” I flatten my palm on my chest, rubbing the pain away. The beating of my heart slows. “I’m home. I’m safe. It was just a dream.”

It was just a vivid memory.

Two more raps on the door. Light footsteps growing farther away.

I force in a harsh, cleansing breath.

No more footsteps. Whoever’s there, they’re gone.

Eyeballs Person. Has to be them.

My hand flies to the Ruger on my nightstand. My beloved Jigsaw. At the feel of the metal, heavy in my palm, another breath of fresh air rushes in.

I’m out of bed, flinging my feet to the floor. The blinds are closed, so I switch on the lamp at my bedside.

A strange kind of comfort washes over me as I tiptoe my way to the door. Having eyeballs waiting at my doorstep is a horrible thing to be excited about. But, and it’s a big one, it’s not as bad as my nightmare.

My stalker doesn’t hang around to drag me into a dark area. Doesn’t try to rape and sodomize and kill me.

They won’t be there when I open the door. And I’ll be soothed by someone else’s horror.

Just in case, though, I peek through the peephole. The hallway is empty.

Doesn’t mean there’s no one out there.

As much as I trust my stalker, I have to be smart about it.

My fingers are glued to my loaded gun, and my hand freezes an inch over the lock on my door.

Calling Rosemary is out of the question. I’m the one with the firearm. She only has butcher knives lying around in strategic places around her apartment and Mojo, and I won’t sacrifice him for nothing.

Although, that’s not what really stops me, is it?

The thought that the eyes might belong to Landon does that to me.

It could be him. It’ll make sense, seeing that Marshall was first.

He wasn’t good enough for you.

My heart dives to the floor at that idea. I wouldn’t be comforted by a dead Landon. I really like him. He’s exactly what I wanted.

It can’t be him. No way.

The idea of anyone killing the tall, broad, and fierce Landon is ridiculous.

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