Page 7 of Reed

The darkness is no longer as scary as it was when I was a child. Now, it feels like home. It comforts me like a soft blanket wrapped around my body. I have found that most people are too scared to look in the darkness, so I’m never worried about being seen. I’ve now become one of the monsters that used to haunt me. I have places to be and people to be torturing for a name or a location, but instead, I’m here, standing in the shadows that the broken light and lack of moonlight provide me.

I don’t know why I’m here, watching her, obsessing over her, but I stopped questioning it hours ago. My mind was made up the second I sent the email canceling all my other classes forthe day so I could follow her. Inside me, growing larger by the second is this need to take her, consume her, and make her mine. There is no question about it; Ali will be mine soon. I have never wanted anything more than that, not even the need for revenge, and I always get what I want. So I watched her. She was the picture of a perfect student, taking notes in all her classes, paying attention, and never talking to anyone. It wasn’t until I watched her eating a lunch she must have brought from home instead of food from the café that I started to dig into her past.

My searches left me disappointed and without answers. According to what I found, Ali Thornton, age twenty, was abandoned at birth on the steps of Mercy West Hospital in Fort Morgan, Alabama. She was placed in foster care after the doctors found no sign of abuse or neglect. According to the records, she had one foster family, but something doesn’t make sense. The records said she lived in Alabama until she was eighteen, but when she gave birth to her twin boys, at age eighteen, she was living here.

She was set up in an apartment complex on the north side of town. The first six months of her rent was paid by a local church. Who also helped her get the Jeep she is currently driving. It used to be the pastors, and he gifted it to her. Ali and the boys got assistance from the state through health insurance and food stamps until about two months ago. She had lost her job, was evicted, and seemingly disappeared. Then she reappeared at Carol’s Diner and the hole-in-the-wall bar. That’s it. That’s all the information I was able to find. Which pisses me off because even someone like me, who takes great pride in not being found, has more information out there. The lack of information and the conflicting age is a red flag. I plan to find out more about her and what she is hiding.

There is no information about her parents, the father of her twin boys, or the foster home she lived in. When I searched forthe foster family—Mr. and Mrs. Glisten—I found that they both died a year ago, leaving no living relatives but Ali. Since Ali was abandoned, there was no birth certificate, and running her social security number led to more dead ends. More questions, which I intend to find the answers to. After following her to her apartment after she left the university, I had to use all my self-control to refrain from busting down her sad excuse for a front door and stealing her away.

The apartment complex used to be an old hotel. The security is a joke because there is none. Anyone can walk up the stairs outside and be at her front door. From the comfort of my SUV, I counted three broken streetlights, six drug deals going on, and two hookers leaving an apartment right below hers. Finding the owner’s name was easy, and after a short phone conversation, my lawyer had the ownership papers waiting for my signature. I now own her apartment, but she won’t need it soon. No, she will soon be behind my security system and in my bed. Where I can keep her and the boys safe.

It’s now two in the morning, and my nerves are shot. I need to release all this tension and anger pulsing inside of me. Since I can’t take it out on her perfect ass, which has been tempting me all night, I’ve taken to smoking more than usual. After throwing my cigarette to the ground, I slip inside my SUV and pull out behind a truck to ensure Ali gets home safely. I note the truck’s license plate as it follows my girl, just in case. My phone starts ringing as Ali indicates she is turning, and I hit the button on the dash to answer the call.

“Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to be here over an hour ago. I had to spar with dollar store Dan instead.” One of my oldest friends, Nick’s voice instantly grates on my last nerve. I watch Ali park her rusted, surely about to die, white Jeep in an open spot. I pull up against the curb and kill the engine. The truck slows down but keeps driving past the parking lot.

“I had something I had to take care of. I’m on my way.” The lie rolls easily off my tongue.

“Yeah, buddy, sure you are,” Nick laughs, calling my bullshit quickly. “Whatever. You haven’t had time for us to hang out since you took up that stupid teaching gig.”

My eyes track Ali as she makes her way through the lot and up the metal stairs outside. She stops once to look over her shoulder, and I wonder if she can sense me. I hope she can. I want to consume her like she has me.

“Stop your fucking whining. You sound like my mother. For fuck’s sake, we work together. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll make time tohang outthis weekend. And that stupid gig provides us with the perfect way to get what we want, so stop crying about it. You’re butt hurt because they chose me over you for the job.”

“Fuck you, that hurt,” he says before a soft feminine voice comes through the phone, talking about getting out of there to go somewhere else, and I laugh.

“I’m sure whoever that is will kiss it and make it all better,” I say, hanging up. Ali shakes her head and starts walking again. Once she enters her apartment, I start my vehicle and head home. I have things to take care of, things that I have put off to watch her. But once again, I won’t feel guilty about it.

Two miles outside town, I turn down the gravel road leading to my hidden oasis. Another two miles and the shadow of my estate starts to form. The black iron gate comes into view, and I slow down, coming to a stop. Rolling down my window, I punch in the code and watch the gate swing open. Another short climb, and I pull up in front of the place I call home. A single light illuminates the black front door. When I found this land, filled with spruce trees that backed onto a forest, I bought it, not blinking an eye at the asking price. Six months later, I erected a house, complete with an underground bunker perfect for my work.

Pressing my finger to the scanner, the front door unlocks and opens straight into the open-plan first floor. I kick off my boots, put them on the shoe rack by the front door, and head left into the state-of-the-art kitchen. I punch in my security code and reactivate the alarm system using my phone. Sitting my messenger bag down on the aged wood table I had personally made, I pull out a pre-portioned meal my chef left and use the microwave to heat it up.

My phone alerts me that the motion sensor in the basement has picked up movement. It looks like my guest is awake, and now I have a great source of entertainment to relieve my frustration. Standing up, I place the plate in the dishwasher and turn the lights off via my phone. Heading to the basement, I pull off my t-shirt, leaving me in only a white tank.

At the bottom of the stairs, I stop to pull on the pair of old, stained leather boots. My footsteps echo down the small, concrete corridor. The basement is simply designed as a concrete box. Four rooms, two on each side of a small hallway. The walls are soundproof, but I did not need them that way because we are buried deep underground. Stepping into the first door on the left, the light automatically flicks to life. Walking to the back wall, I take a second to admire all my toys. They range from small pocketknives to serrated hunting knives. The room’s left wall holds my expensive gun collection, but I won’t need them tonight.

No, tonight I pick up my set of brass knuckles and a black-tipped hand-forged knife that was a present from my father. He got it personally made for my sixteenth birthday. The same night, I used it to be inducted into the family business. A family business that I took great joy in dismantling and burning to the ground. I might hurt people, but they deserve it, making me nothing like the monster that raised me. He took pleasure in hurting good people. Good people, he took advantage of byoffering them a way out of whatever was burdening them, only to make the situation worse. He got off on it while I do it in the name of justice. We. Are. Nothing. Alike.

Closing the door to my armory, I head toward my guest of honor. Taking the keys out of my pocket, I unlock the heavy metal door and slide it open. Once again, the motion sensors pick up my movements, and the lights pop on. The guy chained to the wall groans at the bright light. The smell of urine and feces greets me, but I don’t bat an eye. I’ve gotten used to the scent, and Hook, my cleaning guy, is great at getting the smell out of here.

“No. Please don’t. I’ve told you all I know,” Ben pleads. His voice is low and rough sounding, bringing me a sense of joy.

“See, that’s the thing. We checked out your information, and it led us to nothing but dead ends,” I say my voice dropping. It is basically a whisper, but I know he hears me because he starts thrashing against his chains. I throw my head back and let out a deep, dark laugh that bounces around the room. All Ben is doing is draining what little energy he has. There is no way out of this.

“A name,” I yell, getting even more frustrated than I was when I walked in. My boots eat up the concrete as I cross the room and stop right in front of him. Ben’s head hits the wall after I throw a punch against his jaw. The skin splits, and blood pours out. “One name! A name that actually leads my guys somewhere.”

“B… Blaze.”

This time, I aim my fist at his ribs. Underneath Ben’s dirty, ripped, and blood-stained shirt lay multiple bruises. My men and I have caused those bruises, but we have been careful not to break anything until tonight. Tonight, I need to hear the sound of bones breaking to help ease the demon inside of me. The small crack sound that follows the impact of my fist causes a dark smile to grace my face. Right now I love brass knuckles. “Last name.”

“Clarke. Shit.” Ben’s breathing turns labored and a little wheezy. “Blaze Clarke. I swear, man, he was my point of contact. That’s the only name besides Ned.”

Pulling my black knife up, I push it against his neck, forcing his head to tilt back. I dig the blade in harder, nicking his skin enough that a bead of blood runs down. “I swear if this is another game, I will kill you, but not before I make you beg for it. Do you understand me?”

“Y… y… yes,” Ben whispers, his voice catching on a sob.

I pull back my knife and leave the room. After slamming the door shut and ensuring it locks, I pull out my phone. Nick answers on the second ring. The sound of skin slapping and a woman moaning greets me. “This better be good,” Nick says with a moan.

“Dude, nut, and get off. I have a name for you to run down. Blaze Clarke.”

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