Page 33 of Carnival Shadows

Hours crawl by. He makes coffee, the rich aroma pungent. His hand grazes my shoulder when he brushes past me to reach the sugar. The touch, though brief, sets every nerve ending in my body on fire.

“Need anything?” His voice carries a hint of amusement, telling me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I give a sharp shake of my head.

He chuckles, low and dark. “You sure about that?” His fingers trail along my neck as he returns to his seat. “You seem tense.”

My hands clench in my lap. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” He sets his coffee down, the clink of ceramic against wood making me jump. “But that’s what got you here, isn’t it? All those pretty lies you told yourself while you stalked me.”

The room feels too hot and too small. Remy’s presence overwhelms everything—my thoughts, senses, and control—and he knows it. I see how he watches me, like a cat playing with its prey.

“I could help with that tension,” he says casually, but there’s nothing casual about the look in his eyes.

“No thanks.” My fingers twist in my lap. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The lie tastes bitter. Every night, sleep eludes me as I lie on the thin mattress, hyper-aware of his presence on the bed next to me. His breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets, it’s torture of the sweetest kind.

During the days he’s gone, I find myself drawn to his computer like a moth to flame. The photos stored there feed my obsession—Remy naked and stroking his hard cock. I touch myself to these images, imagining his hands instead of mine, his breath on my neck.

“Suit yourself.” He stretches, and my breath catches as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Damn, the trailer gets like an oven this time of day.”

I try not to stare as he settles onto the couch, flicking on the TV. It’s impossible. My eyes have a mind of their own, tracing the intricate patterns inked across his skin. Dark lines flow over his shoulders, arms, and chest.

The TV’s drone fades to background noise as I follow a particular design that curves around his ribs. All I want is to trace those lines with my fingers instead of just my gaze.

“See something you like?” His voice carries that knowing tone that makes heat pool in my belly.

I snap my eyes away, but the damage is done. He knows. I’m so obsessed with him that this forced proximity only makes my obsession more impossible to ignore.

I bolt from my seat, rushing to the bathroom. The lock clicks into place, and I press my back against the door, sliding down until I hit the cold tile floor.

My thighs rub together of their own accord, seeking relief from the burning need that’s consuming me. The mirror across from me reflects a woman I barely recognize—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips parted with uneven breaths.

What is wrong with me? Here I am, locked in a killer’s trailer, and instead of planning my escape, I’m fantasizing about his hands on my body. The collection of serial killer memorabilia in my apartment seems almost innocent compared to this twisted desire.

I study my reflection, searching for answers. My professional mask has cracked, revealing the pure obsidian depths underneath. Something that’s always been there, lurking behind carefully crafted podcasts about criminal psychology. I’m not just fascinated by the darkness anymore—I’m drowning in it, and the scariest part is that I don’t want to surface.

My fingers trace my collarbone where his touch still burns. The woman in the mirror stares back at me, green eyes wild with a hunger I can’t suppress. Maybe this is who I’ve always been – not the detached observer of darkness but a willing participant.

I close my eyes, but all I see is Remy’s knowing smirk, the predatory grace of his movements, the dangerous promise in hiseyes. He sees right through me, past all my carefully constructed walls, straight to the twisted core of who I am.

And that terrifies me more than any chain or lock ever could.

18

REMY

Ileave the trailer, my skin buzzing with electricity from hours of circling Eden like a shark. The night air hits my face, cooling the fever that’s been building all day. My muscles ache from the constant tension of staying out of her reach, watching her eyes track my every move.

I pull the white mask from my jacket pocket, running my thumb over the black detailing. The smooth surface reminds me of Eden’s polished exterior—pristine on the outside but hiding so many secrets underneath.

The carnival grounds stretch empty before me, rides still and silent under the stars. My boots crunch on the gravel as I pace, trying to burn off the energy crackling under my skin. Hours of watching her squirm, hearing her breath catch whenever I moved close—it’s left me wound tight as a spring.

I’ve been patient and calculated in every move. The mask was just another piece, carefully chosen to match the fantasies I found in her journal. She thinks she knows me and has me all figured out from her careful observations, but she knows nothing about the monster that lurks within. The perversity I hide and her fantasies? They’re my fantasies, too.

The trailer door creaks in front of me against the wind. I know she’s waiting, probably lying on her mattress pretending to sleep where I left her. My stalker is desperate for my attention; now she has all of it.

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