Page 10 of Soul to Possess

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, sharp knife, the blade glinting menacingly in the low light. I pressed the tip gently against his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my touch. "Good, Harry. Because I have such wonderful plans, and I wouldn't want anything to interrupt them. You see, I want to feel the fear, the desperation. I want to hear the pleas for mercy and know that I hold their lives in my hands. That's the power I crave, Harry. The power of life and death."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat like a trapped animal. "Wh-what do you need me to do?"

"September fourteenth," I said, my voice a low, dangerous purr. "The south route. Bring me someone alone. Someone who won't be missed. You can spot them, Harry. The lonely ones, the forgotten ones. Bring me one of those, and I might just let you keep your tongue. But fail me, and your family will pay the price. Do you understand me, Harry? Do you understand what's at stake?"

He nodded, a jerky, involuntary movement, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Y-yes, Atticus. I'll bring her to you. I won't fail you."

I released him, stepping back to admire my handiwork. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. Good. He understood. He knew what was at stake.

"I'll be watching you, Harry," I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "Every move you make, every breath you take, I'll be there, in the shadows, ensuring you don't fail me. Don'tmake me prove my point, Harry. Don't make me show you just how serious I am."

And with that, I turned and left, disappearing into the night as silently as I had come, leaving him to contemplate the gravity of our arrangement and the very real threat that hung over his head and the heads of those he held dear.

As I drove back home, the world seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation and the promise of violence. I could feel it in my bones, in the very marrow of my being—the knowledge that something extraordinary was coming, something that would test the very limits of my sanity and push me to the brink of madness.

And I fucking loved every bit of it.

For now, I had to wait. To bide my time and let Harry do his work, to let the pieces fall into place as they would. It was a torture of its own, this waiting, this anticipation, but it was a necessary evil. For the hunt was always the most exhilarating part, the chase, the stalking, the knowing that your prey was out there, unaware of the darkness that was closing in around them.

I spent the next few days in a state of heightened awareness, my senses honed to a razor’s edge as I prepared for the unknown. I cleaned my tools with meticulous care, sharpening each one to a deadly point, ensuring that they were ready for the task at hand. I changed the plastic sheets in the barn, laying them out with precision, a silent promise of the blood that would soon stain them. I even went so far as to practice my strokes, my cuts, my strikes, each one a work of art, a testament to my skill and my dedication to the craft.

And all the while, I thought of her. The unknown. The nameless, faceless woman who would soon become my obsession, my fixation, my everything. I wondered what she looked like, what she sounded like, what she smelled like. I wondered what her story was, what demons she harbored, whatsecrets she kept. I wondered how she would taste, how she would feel beneath my touch, beneath the kiss of my blade.

The anticipation was a living, breathing thing, a monster that gnawed at the edges of my sanity, threatening to consume me whole. But I welcomed it, embraced it, let it fuel the fire that burned within me, the fire that demanded to be fed, to be sated, to be fulfilled.

I found myself pacing the floors of my house, my mind a whirlwind of dark thoughts and twisted desires. I would stand at the window, staring out into the night, imagining her out there, somewhere, unaware of the fate that awaited her, unaware of the darkness that was even now reaching out, tangling with her destiny, pulling her inexorably toward me.

I lit a cigarette with one hand and trailed the other across the rough wood of the porch railing, fingertips sticky with the faintest sheen of varnish and resin. Natalie hadn’t screamed until the end. Most of them didn’t.

But her mouth—those soft, curved lips—had become the centerpiece. I’d preserved them in clear acrylic, the curve caught mid-beg. Open. Aching. Beautiful. Her voice was gone, but that expression stayed. Suspended. Eternal.

She was on the wall now. A part of her, anyway. Hung above my drafting table like a saint’s relic. The rest of her—well. Art didn’t always have to hang. Some of it buried. Some of it burned. Some of it bled into the very foundation of the place. And yet she felt like a warm-up. A sketch before the masterpiece. The real next masterpiece hadn't arrived yet. But soon.

I took a drag and let the smoke claw at the back of my throat. The wind shifted, carrying the smell of pine and distant cattle—cover scents. I used to think that was enough, that layering the illusion of normalcy would keep me hidden. But now? Now Iwantedher to see me. Whoevershewas. The girl Harry would bring. A stranger. Unstudied. Untouched bymy system, my structure. No folder. No plan. Just instinct and chemistry. Just chaos.

And if she didn’t run—if she didn’t flinch—if she looked past the mask and saw the rot and didn’t look away? I’d burn the folders. All of them. I’d stop pretending I needed structure, or strategy, or secrets. I’d carve her into me. Carve me into her. One way or another. I flicked the cigarette off the porch, watching the ember spiral like a dying star into the grass. September 14th. One week. She was coming. And she didn’t even know she’d already been claimed.

Chapter Six

The house felt smaller today. Like the walls had crept in overnight, heavy with memories that didn’t belong to me anymore. The fridge still hummed like it had when I was seven. The same uneven floorboard by the pantry still creaked. And Maddie, my forever cheerleader stood in the doorway like she was trying to memorize me with her eyes.

“You packed the charger, right?” she asked, biting her thumbnail.

I held up my backpack. “Yes, Mom.”

Maddie rolled her eyes, but her smile was too tight to be amused. “You’re a brat.”

“And you’re going to cry as soon as I close the door.”

Maddie didn’t argue. She just looked at me the way only someone who’s known every version of you can—like she already missed me, even though I was still standing there.I glanced down at my sneakers. Too white. Too clean. Like they hadn’t touched all the places I’ve been—gas station bathrooms, hallway carpet where I’d curled up after fights, bus stop pavement slick with old rain. They looked new, but I wasn’t. I was worn in quiet places. I was unraveling in a way no one could see.

And maybe that’s why I was scared. Not of leaving. I’ve always known how to leave—how to shut the door gently, so no one hears the ache. But, I was scared of arriving. Scared of stepping off the plane and not knowing who I’d be without the bruises. Scared to be looked at by someone who might see all the parts I’ve hidden.

Because I want to believe that somewhere out there, I get to become someone new. Someone that gets chosen. Kept. But belief is its own kind of dangerous. And right now, I am nothing but a suitcase full of maybes and a heart that still hopes someoneout there is waiting to say:There you are. I’ve been looking for you.

“What if this is a mistake?” I asked quietly. The words slipped out, my breath falling from my lips in a sigh. “What if I just… disappear?”

Maddie stepped closer, pressed her forehead against mine. “Then you write. You scream into the void. You come home. Or you don’t. Just—don’t freeze. Don’t turn around just because the unknown feels bigger than you.”

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