Page 18 of Devious Delusions

The heel of my foot connects with something hard. The sick fuck is turned on. I aim my free foot into his ankle, but it doesn’t slow him down. Doing it again, I kick back into his nasty, infested dick at the same time and his fingers loosen on my ankle.

With both legs free, I attempt to run again, not accounting for the hold on my hair. He drags me back into his chest and wraps his arm around my neck. His forearm pushes into my windpipe and the gloved hand covers my mouth.

The edge of his mask is hard under the soft knit as he lines the portion of his lips up at my ear. “You always loved the fight, koukla mou, didn’t you?” His deep voice drops to an eerie singsong. “That’s why you always go back tohim, so that you have a reason to fight me.”

I don’t know what the fuck that means but I pause at the familiarity in his tone. He knows me. My ghost is real, I’m not crazy, and he knows me. I might be crazy because it makes me relax when he says, “Don’t say you’ve forgotten me already.”

His arm loosens around my neck as I push my head back against his chest to look up. There’s just a void where a face should be. The modified balaclava even covers his eyes and lips. There are no details in view like he doesn’t exist, and he really is a ghost, some devious entity haunting me that no one else can see.

My heart is hammering in my chest, and I squirm against him as he pulls me flush and grinds into my ass. His hand slowly moves down, and I watch the silhouette of his middle finger trace a path from my collarbone to my sternum. The stark-white -shirt is even brighter under the moonlight, and he tightens his fingers around my mouth.

“Have you fucked him again?” he asks.

I don’t answer and watch his hand as his fingers curl in to make a fist. He taps his knuckles against my sternum twice as he repeats himself. “Did you fuck yourhusband?”

He spits the word out as though it’s dirty and I stop being a dumb fuck. My arms are free, and I push my elbow back into his ribs as I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from my mouth. Itdrops to my neck, and he violently pushes the other between my legs.

My air is fully cut off and he taunts me. “This”—he squeezes both points of his hold—“belongs to fuckingme.” I try to pull his hands away, but he doesn’t allow me to and the edges of my vision blur.

A dark laugh makes me flinch as my head droops forward, applying more pressure into his palm. His chest vibrates into my back as he hums. “Hmm, if you don’t remember me, I’ll have to reintroduce myself.” The edge of his mask scratches against my jaw as he rubs his face against mine and whispers, “Be good, koukla mou, we wouldn’t want you to forget the fun.”

My mind turns hazy and the only thing keeping me up is his hold on me. It’s abruptly taken away and my limbs tingle as my knees hit the floor. Before my vision can return back to normal, I push every ounce of strength into my fist and aim for his pathetic dick. He rocks back and the stones clatter as I choke down air and crawl forward. There’s more crunching as he falls back, and I run forward, bent in half, unable to stand fully.

It takes a moment to get my bearings and to notice I’m facing the house. But I can’t change course and drag myself to the door. Slamming it behind me, I lock it and turn to see the glass door is open. My socked feet have stones stuck to them. They scrape against the wooden floor as I run to the back of the house and lock the door.

There’s nowhere for me to hide. With all the glass instead of walls, it makes me an open target. The phone Asher left for me is in the piano room and I’m fueled entirely by adrenaline as I charge up the stairs. There’s no movement inside the house, it’s deathly still, and I stick to the wall before dropping to my hands and knees at the top of the stairs. The wet dirt caked to the bottom of my sock sticks to my skin and the small stones tinkle as they fall off during my crawl.

My heart pounds, creating an echo chamber in my ears of false footsteps. Each thud is translated as the crazy freak coming after me rather than the means of my survival until the moonlight reflects off the cast-iron plate of the grand piano. My phone is there on the bench, exactly where I left it, but I don’t stand.

I continue crawling and snatch it up as soon as it’s within reach. The screen glows as I tap against it, and I wince at each press of 911. Sounds are amplified due to the murderous silence, and I slowly bring the phone to my ear. The dull light from the screen slowly illuminates the gloved fingers reaching over my shoulder.

Whipping my head to the side, I push myself forward and hold the phone with a white-knuckle grip as the connecting tone trills, but the fingers covering my mouth and nose are faster.

9

DELILAH

My eyelids stick to my eyeballs as I try to blink, and soft fingers stroke my cheek. I’m lifted against a solid chest and a groan parts my lips. It’s immediately followed by a gentle voice attempting to soothe me.

“It’s okay. You just had a bad night.”

Alertness floods my system and I push back at the same time as I force my eyes to open. My mind is foggy, and fingers wrap around my arms as I fall. My heart attempts to beat out of my chest and thickens the fog.

The fingers dig deeper into my biceps to prevent me hitting the floor. It takes longer than normal for my clouded brain to recognize the voice as I blink, trying to remove the image of the masked figure.

“Delilah, it’s me.”

Asher.

The room is darker with the drapes covering the windows, but it’s Asher in front of me. His features are filled with worry and his eyes move over my body. They pause as a sob weakens my knees and I grab his t-shirt in my fists.

He’s real. His heart is beating under my hands and he quickly wraps his arm around me as I sink both mentally and physically. My scraped knees sting as they connect with the floor. Hot tears burn a path down my cheeks and my stomach convulses, knowing it’s now safe.

Lifting me off the floor, he sits on the edge of the piano bench and sets me across his thighs. Both of his arms wrap around me as he pulls me closer and slowly begins to sway side to side. I cry harder. It’s stupid when the last thing I remember is trying to call for help, and I’m alive.

But it’s the only thing I can do because the light slowly filters through the gaps in the drapes, showing how much time has passed. Time I have no recollection of. Time that the masked freak was there with me unconscious.

Asher strokes my hair and kisses my temple as he whispers, “Shh, it’s okay.”

---