Page 11 of Cruel Cravings

“Ms. Hendrix, if you don’t mind, I would like to return to my quest?—”

“I’ve answered what I can. But I’ll reach out to you when I hear from my sister. Does that sound good? Goodbye, Detective! Thanks for stopping by.”

I walk her to the door, thoughts scattered, head spinning. The door rattles shut before the detective can edge any more words in, but she doesn’t leave straightaway. I sense her on the other side of the door, waiting a few more seconds before she gives up altogether.

It takes everything in me not to collapse on the floor.

Instead, I lean against the wall and huff air into my lungs.

The quiet in the apartment feels suffocating now, thick and oppressive, like the walls are closing in. I can feel eyes on me, even though the detective’s gone and I’m all alone.

The family photographs.

Rushing across the room, I rip them off the hooks nailed to the wall and stuff them inside the first drawer I come across.

But it’s not enough.

I’m still being watched. How else would the detective know to find me here? How else would she know to bang on this door and ask me about my sister?

I spin toward the large window to wrench the curtains shut. Heart hammering in my chest and breaths shallow, I pause to scan the street first.

The city bus happens to glide by, its long length obscuring the other side of the street. Once it passes and the buildings across the street come into view, I find nothing suspicious.

No one watching. No one lurking.

The sidewalk’s empty.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because even if the shadow were there, he wouldn’t show himself. He doesn’t ever let anyone else see him but me.

I tug the curtains shut and let darkness fall over the room like it’s night and not day. The unsettling feeling goes nowhere, gnawing at my insides, eating me up.

The only thing I can do is focus on my sister.

Retreating into my room, the four walls feel like they’ve shifted. The room feels smaller, the shadows thicker. My bed sits in the corner, the sheets a tangled heap.

I notice something I hadn’t earlier. Among the wrinkled sheets is a sleek black card. I lurch forward to scoop it up in my hand and turn it over.

It’s a room key from the Winchester.

It belongs in the trash. I must’ve forgotten to throw it away.

Just like I forgot to clean up last night and didn’t bother with PJs.

I toss it back onto the bed and move to pick up my dress from the floor. My gaze falls on the closet in the corner, the door cracked open.

The door had been closed before. I closed it once I had changed and then walked out to see who was knocking.

My stomach hardens to lead.

There’s nowhere left to run to or hide.

There’s no use pretending I don’t know what’s going on or where this is headed.

The agonizing silence is his precursor. The shadows spreading out across the room are dark and invasive like him.

No one else would ever believe me. Why would they when I’m the only one who ever sees him?

But I’m certain as my legs move like heavy stilts and I step toward the closet battling the cold wave of nausea washing over me.

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