Page 4 of Lock Me Out

My heart is so full it clogs my throat with emotion. I have to look away from those tragic dates marking his short life, my gaze lifting to the trees farther out.

Where something moves.

An icy finger of dread runs up my spine, freezing me in place as though ice is spreading through my body. I know I’m not imagining it. Something is definitely out there—something big. Is there wildlife in this area? My eyes dart left, then right, but I’m alone here. Except for whatever that is in the trees. A bear? No, that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

A person? Why would they be hiding? Because without a word spoken, I know that’s what they’re doing. They’re hiding back there. Watching.

The last message I received flashes in my mind like a warning:Watch your back.

Are they really following me? Whoever they are?

A scream builds in my chest, fueled by rage and fear, growing and clawing its way to my throat. I want to shout at them:Who the hell do you think you are?

But instead of screaming, I yelp when a horn blares behind me. Colt. My head snaps around just in time to see him scowling and tapping the horn again.

I whirl back toward the trees, but the figure is gone. Nothing but deep shadows now. There’s no point in telling Colt about my fears, since I can’t give him yet another thing to worry about when there’s so much on his mind. He has no idea about the anonymous emails and texts I’ve been getting—the longer I go without telling him about them, the harder it is to come up with a reason why I’ve kept them a secret.

Somehow, I walk slowly and steadily back to the car, even as every nerve in my body screams at me to run. I need to let them know they’re not important. Let them know I don’t care.

They can’t see how I’m trembling inside.

3

NIX

That was close.For a second, I thought for sure she recognized me.

That’s stupid. How would she, with my face covered? Somehow, deep down, I get the feeling she would know. The connection we have—our ugly, dirty connection—would ensure she knew I was the one watching from a distance, lurking in the shadows, watching her every move and trying to understand what she was whispering.

I should stop. I know I should. That’s probably what every addict tells themselves before their next drink, their next pill, or the next time they slide a needle into a vein.Just one last time, and then I’ll stop.I keep telling myself the same thing. But there’s a difference between me and those addicts. I don’t believe myself. I know I’ll have to see her again.

She gets into Colt’s car, and they pull away. He’s in a hurry, like he can’t wait to get out of here. I can’t blame him. I don’t like coming here either, especially knowing there’s a headstone with my name on it up ahead.

It’s too bizarre. I’m dead to the world. A ghost walking the streets night after night. Watching her, watching him, watching life go on without me. Like now, stepping out of the tree line only when I’m sure no one will see me. Stepping into sunshine that doesn’t touch my face, thanks to the hood pulled over my head.

There are flowers at Amanda’s grave—and mine. I step closer, almost surprised to see white roses sitting at the base of the marble slab that bears my name and the dates of my birth and supposed death.

In a way, I did die that day. The Nixon Alistair the world knew ceased to exist once the house went up in flames. He’s miles away from the man I am now. The old Nix is barely a memory that gets fainter every day. I can’t remember being him when my current life is so completely different.

Why did she leave flowers for me? Her mom, sure, but me? After everything I did to her? Even now, months later, my body responds to the memory. I should be repulsed; I know I should. But the opposite is true. My pulse races, hunger slithers through me, and my dick hardens when I remember the dark pleasure I took from Leni’s body. Again and again.

Maybe I deserve to be dead.

I can’t hang around here too long. This is a newer part of the cemetery, meaning there are more visitors here than in the older sections. The grief is fresher. Over time, it fades. People forget. Graves get overgrown.

What about the people nobody mourns? Because I’ll never mourn my father. I don’t even think of him as my father after what he did.

That’s why Bradley and I went to the house that day and set the fire.

It was his idea. That’s the one piece of truth I cling to, the way I cling to everything else as I leave the cemetery on foot. I’ve done a hell of a lot of walking these past months, ever since I snuck out of the hospital where everybody knew me asJohn Doe.

I’m supposed to be dead, so I can’t just go out and buy a car. Still, I’ve made enough connections to pick up a used model with cash sometime soon. I doubt Colt could trace my bank activity, so there’s no danger in withdrawing cash. He hasn’t noticed it so far.

But I can’t keep this up forever. I know that. Eventually, Colt will find me, or I’ll take one risk too many and be discovered.

He already knows I’m not dead—he keeps emailing me, updating me on his life. Not every day, but a few times a week. I access the messages at the public library. Of all the things I miss from my old life, a smartphone might be the hardest to live without. But it’s too traceable. I can’t take that risk.

For so many reasons.

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