Page 48 of Monsters

“Will do. Ciao.”

My knee started an anxious bounce as I tapped the cell on my palm. If Mason was behind the parcel, that meant he still believed I was in town. Otherwise, he’d wait until I returned. This was a moment’s reprieve in a situation that was far from over.

My cell vibrated once more. Christina.

I hadn’t heard from her since the penis picture last week.

“Hey, lady,” I answered with a smile.

“Hey, yourself. So, here’s the thing…” it sounded like she was walking and was out of breath, but still felt the need to yell, “… I had to find out from Julie Summers… do you know who Julie Summers is?”

“No.”

“Exactly! I had to find out from Julie Summers, the daughter of Barbra Stevens, who happens to be best friends with Mrs. Harper, that you’re up staying at your folk’s house. Twenty minutes from me! And you never bothered to share that tidbit of information with me?”

“I’m sorry,” I grinned widely at her endearing outburst. “This isn’t quite a vacation. More a desperate need to escape reality.”

“Well, what’s the deal? You gonna swing by and see me? I know Evie will love it.”

“Evie is nine months old and won’t even know who I am.”

“Okay, fine. I will love it. Will you come by? Dickhead Damian is no longer here, and I could do with some normal company. But not tonight. I have beta house reunion.” Christina heaved in exasperation. “If you came here to shop, you can forget about it. This town literally has nothing.”

Laying down, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun. “Does ten suit?”

“Deal! I’ll have your favorite peach sponge waiting.”

Hanging up from Christina, I realized I needed to take more breaks from the big city. With Peter working away, there was nothing keeping me in the city over the weekends. Unfortunately for Christina, she had moved here for love. Shortly after they settled in Maine, fractures began to show in their relationship. When Christina got pregnant with Evie, those fractures turned into deep cracks that couldn’t, or wouldn’t heal. Christina had tried her best to keep her budding family together, but Damian had eyes and hands elsewhere. Three days before Christina went into a thirty-six-hour labor, her husband had packed his belongings and left without so much as a goodbye. He disappeared off the grid, most likely with his fling, and hadn’t made any contact or expressed any desire to see his newborn baby girl, hence the name Dickhead Damian. Christina was an independent woman, and she had picked herself back up knowing her daughter needed stability.

She was a woman I admired for her strength and courage. Two things I was currently lacking.

Catching up with my girlfriend was exactly what I needed.

~

The delicious aroma of Bolognese filled the kitchen causing my stomach to growl in hunger. I had slept through lunch, lost in a deep slumber, and when I awoke it was dark outside. Mrs. Harper had come knocking and left a slice of apple crumble in a Tupperware container on the porch table with a note. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t made an effort to see her, but my body practically begged for sleep. With some music playing softly in the background and a glass of wine, already almost empty, I felt better than I had in weeks. Singing to Fleetwood Mac’s, Gypsy, a CD already in my parents’ stereo, I stirred the homemade tomato and basil sauce into the beef.

Outside, the weather had taken a turn. What was a beautiful morning had welcomed an evening storm, carrying with it flashes of lightning, rumbling thunder and vicious winds. Holding the wooden spoon close to my mouth, I blew on a small amount of mixture. Steam billowed as the trees outside angrily scratched at the windows. Before I could taste my creation, I was startled by something hitting the glass French doors only a few yards from where I was standing.

“Shit!” I cursed myself for jumping. In my fright, the mixture had fallen off the spoon and splashed back into the pan. Little red spots marked my white shirt. Rookie error 101—wearing white while making Bolognese. Resting the wooden spoon on the pan’s edge, I rounded the counter to inspect the window. Whatever had hit, had hit with force, a small crack forming in the pane. Outside the wind howled, the trees bending, and all sorts of objects were acting as projectiles.

“Damn it!” Running my fingers over the fracture, I could feel the slightly jagged grooves. I would have to organize its repair before my parents were due home. A flicker of movement on an otherwise static figure a few yards beyond the door stilled me. A movement unrelated to the ferocious weather. It unearthed a wave of panic, a sickening dread. Frozen in place, I stared ahead, straining against the darkness to see once again what had caused my reaction.

All I needed was a fraction of a second.

With a flash of lightning, I saw his face. The face of a monster. A sinister smile told me he’d been successful in the hunt. Within a blink, he was plunged back into darkness.

Mason Carter was standing on the porch.

Blood drained from my face. I staggered away from the door, deciding between flight or fight. There was no escape. He’d always find me. Wherever I went, he’d either follow or be ten steps ahead. Trembling, I patted my pockets searching for my cell.

“Where is it?” I scolded myself for not keeping it close.

The living room exploded with glass that ricocheted like violent rain toward me. Shrieking, I dropped to the floor, covering my face. The palm-sized rock came to rest on the rug beside me.

Swallowing fear, I waited, my gaze locked to the darkness outside. I expected him to make an entry, to continue his hateful tirade, to settle the score believing I had betrayed the promise to keep quiet.

“Mason!” I yelled, my voice quaking. Outside the wind howled and a deep rumble of thunder sounded above. “Mason, you need to stop.”

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