Page 81 of The Blood we Crave

From biological control to reducing the population of pests that threatening crop to medicinal treatments that require the sting of the bee to provide relief for those with chronic illness. They creep and slither across the earth, pollinating, recycling, always quietly doing their job.

They are these abnormal and contextually dark enigmas. Ones that I have always found myself drawn to even as a little girl. They are the only thread I have tethering me to the girl I was before my mother died. My only connection to Scarlett.

My fingers scrub through my scalp working in the product, while I let the warm water rush the stress away from my mind. Trying to let go of the weight of Conner’s offer that has been heavy on my mind.

I know I shouldn’t trust him, because of who he has aligned himself with. But he’d given me the opportunity to nurture the little light inside of me, to continue it for a career. One that I know would make me happy.

An opportunity that meant leaving everything I’d forged here behind. My friends. My life. My mother’s memory.

It would be a fresh start without my True Crime Network past making a constant appearance. A new life where I could be anyone I wanted to be. But also a clean slate without the people who’d seen me literally at my worst.

I’d be leaving them and all these troubled memories we’d created behind. Briar and Sage, the Loner’s Society. It would all remain in Ponderosa Springs where nothing but evil resides.

An entire map away from Thatcher.

No more early morning jogs with him setting the pace, no more sneaking into his dorm to steal sweaters or bodywash. I would be completely and utterly alone, without my obsession to keep me company.

My heart revolted against that thought. Threatened to nearly stop beating, but that soft glow of light inside of me hummed with happiness.

The sound of the heavy door creaking open interrupts the steady thrum of silence, making me jump. My thoughts drifting away and bring me back to reality. Footsteps clicking against the floor seconds later and I silently hope no one says anything to me about the pile of dirty clothes at the sink.

But thankfully, whoever else has joined me just turns on the shower in front of me without a peep. I continue to wash the grim of the day off my body, halfway done, rinsing my hair of the conditioner when I hear a stream of water start in the stall behind me.

I’d only heard one set of footsteps walk in. So it made no sense for them to have both showers running. But just as I am about to question the odd motive, another turns on. Then another, and another. Until all eight of the single stalls are running in tandem.

My chest tightens just as the lights go out. Fear bubbles in my stomach and all I can seem to think about is that I’m going to die as a cliche. Stranded, naked, and wet in a shower, like every horror movie I’ve ever seen.

The dark takes over my vision, barely allowing me to see my hand in front of my face. I quickly jerk the towel I’d brought in down, clicking the water off and curling it around my body.

“Hello?” I call out, my other senses heighten by the lack of light. My ears straining to hear any slight movement, but silence is the only reply.

I tell myself it’s just someone playing a stupid prank. Try to repeat that repeatedly, in order to convince myself of that truth, but with women’s body parts appearing out of thin air, it’s hard to think of anything other than that.

My fingers tighten into a ball, curling into the fabric of the towel as I pull back the curtain slightly, peeking my head through. I’m met with my darkness and the keen awareness that someone is here with me.

Watching.

Chills tickle my arms, making the hair stand straight up. My throat tightens a bit, as I feel the presence of someone that isn’t supposed to be in here. I silently pray it’s a ghost. Which is a new low for even me to sink to.

If I could just get to my phone, I could call someone for help. I’d left it laying out on the counter just a few feet away from the shower, I could reach it in time. Couldn’t I?

There was only one way to find out.

I take two steady breaths, just to steady my wobbly confidence before I dart out of the shower. My wet feet smack against the titled floor and I hope to the Gods I don’t slip and crack my head open because of a ghost. Or worse, I make a serial killer’s job that much easier.

The sprint to the sinks feels so much longer than they’d been moments ago, and without the use of my eyes I hurl myself forward using my body to determine my location.

My stomach collides with the marble, knocking the breath out of me. I try to suck in air as I use one of my hands to swipe across the cool surface in search of my phone.

Just as my fingers discover the familiar device, I feel the looming energy of someone standing behind me. Without little options, I spin around with my phone facing outward so the bright glow will show my tormenter’s face.

At the very least, I can see who will take me to meet my maker.

“Rule number three.” He mutters, “Always have your guard up. How do you expect to sneak up on a target, when the target may be sneaking up on you?”

Thatcher’s face is illuminated by my screen, his angular jaw filled with tension as his eyes peer down at me. In this light they are so dark, almost black and filled with something I’ve never seen on him before.

I clutch the towel to myself, shaking. “You couldn’t have thought about giving me a lesson without the heart attack? Or are those things tethered?”

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