Page 51 of Monsters

Chapter 19

By the time I’d crawled into bed I was hungry, tired and fed up. After the night’s horrific events, I was too sick in the gut to indulge in the Bolognese. Instead, it saw the inside of the garbage during my brief clean up in the dark. The power still hadn’t been restored, the whole street living in darkness with just the faint glow of candles shining through the windows. Having locked and triple checked the doors and windows and seeing the patrol car doing the rounds outside, I was satisfied, to a limited degree, that I could close my eyes and get some sleep.

What unease I did feel was placated by the large chef’s knife under my pillow. I wanted to protect myself in the event I woke to find Mason in my room once more. A part of me hoped he would resurface so we could put an end to the terrorizing. If he stopped for a moment and listened, perhaps he would back off and allow me to return to my life. The other part of me was having none of it. Reality told me Mason Carter was beyond reformation. He had chosen this path, and nothing was going to get in the way of his objective. To end me.

Sitting in bed, I unlocked my phone, a message from Peter waiting to be opened. I hadn’t had the chance to call him back. Opening the text, I read the four words it offered, and my heart plummeted.

Peter:We need to talk.

I cringed at the abruptness. I knew well enough what that meant. What I didn’t know was why, all of a sudden, he’d had a change of heart. Mentally and physically exhausted, I locked my cell, kept it close by my side, and stared at the black ceiling until my eyes closed and I slipped away in a dreamless nothingness.

~

I had arrived in Maine only a couple of days ago, albeit with a false sense of security. Now as I threw my overnight bag on the backseat of my car, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be leaving. My parents’ house was supposed to have been a sanctuary from those who threatened my life. Instead, I’d felt trapped with an even greater target on my back.

I approached my neighbor who was working industrially on mending the door. “Mr. Harper, I—”

“Gerald,” he gently reprimanded.

“Gerald, I can’t thank you enough for everything. I know my parents wouldn’t have been too impressed returning from their cruise to see their home vandalized.”

“I’ll be filing a report this morning with the department,” he said while polishing the glass pane.

“Sammy!” We both turned at the sound of Mrs. Harper’s voice. “Sammy! Where are you?” she called while scanning the yard.

“Who is she looking for?” I asked while shielding my eyes from the harsh morning sun.

“Sammy, the Maltese. Silly thing went missing last night. I think the storm scared him off.”

“I hope he hasn’t wandered far. Maybe check with the pound in case someone found him.”

“Will do, love. No choice but to find him. Glenys treats him like a human child. Eats at the dinner table, sleeps on the pillow. Even has a nightly shower with her. First time he’s ever run, though,” Gerald said, stacking his tools back in his toolbox.

There was no evidence to suggest it, so I didn’t. I didn’t even want to think about it. But that didn’t stop the sickening dread that took hold of my stomach, ruthlessly twisting and turning with the thought that maybe Mason had something to do with it.

“You all right, love?” Gerald asked, a frown marring his sweaty forehead.

“Yes,” I grimaced. “Anyway, thanks again.” I stepped forward embracing him in a friendly hug, which he uncomfortably returned with an awkward pat on the back.

“Safe trip back home and don’t leave it so long between visits.”

I nodded, though I doubted I would be returning anytime soon. I couldn’t involve anyone else in this drama.

“Bye, Mrs. Harper,” I called while taking to the porch steps. She returned my wave but was too distracted with finding Sammy.

Taking one last look at the house, I climbed into the front seat and started the engine. I had one final stop to make before I headed home. I prayed that at least would be drama-free.

After driving a short distance, I turned down the gravel drive and took in Christina’s quaint home. It was a small cottage adorned with roses and hedges lining the path. The couple she’d bought it off during her marriage were elderly and forced to move in with their son, the upkeep of the cottage being too much for them. When Dickhead Damian did a runner, Christina took over the maintenance, and so far, even with a nine-month-old baby, had kept everything running like a well-oiled machine. I didn’t intend to stay long, the guilt over the exhibition hanging over my head.

I took to the stepping stones with the uneven surface, my wedges causing my legs to wobble. Holding my arms out, I regained balance and knocked on the door. I waited for Christina’s typical sing-song voice but heard nothing. When half a minute passed, I knocked once more. With still no Christina, I tilted to the side and spied through a gap in the drapes. Evie was lying on her rug playing with a maraca, her little legs kicking out. Soon she would be walking but not quite yet. Scanning the room as best I could, Christina was still nowhere to be found. Returning to the door, I twisted the brass handle to find it unlocked. Letting myself in, I immediately heard the sounds of cartoons playing softly on the TV. Evie turned her head slightly, her gummy mouth opening in a cheerful smile as she cooed and shook the maraca with gusto.

“Hi, sweetie,” I cooed back, getting on my knees to plant a kiss on her soft forehead. “Where’s your mommy, my darling?” I tickled her cheek, and her smile widened. “Is she hiding from me?”

Rising to my feet and promising to return for cuddles, I went in search for my absent friend. The small kitchen was empty, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. On the counter was the promised peach sponge. At least she remembered our date, but where the hell was she?

Spying out the kitchen window, I could cross the backyard off the list. To my left, a dull thud sounded. I paused and listened. Only a few seconds later, an identical thud confirmed the first. Maybe she was doing the laundry. Turning down the hall, I wasn’t left with many options. All doors were open except the bedroom.

Each step I took, the louder the noise became. They were muffled, erratic sounds.

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