Page 65 of Devious Delusions

The oval doorknob is the first thing that I see. The light reflects off the smoothed point, and I focus on it rather than the foreboding settling into my bones. The walls close in on me, everything narrowing and turning into a long dark tunnel as my mind forms every conceivable scenario possible.

Is he waiting for me?

Is he real?

He could pull the door open.

If he’s real.

And shoot me in the head.

Unless he’s really a ghost.

I’m such a fucking idiot. He could have a weapon and I’m unarmed unless I count my phone. The idiotic part of me that has been drawn to him grows and tells me it’s safe. It’s a dumb bitch ignoring the literal crimes he’s committed and only focusing on the fact that I’ve been left unharmed in eachinteraction. Well, the opposite of harmed, even if his pleasure is twisted.

I stretch my hand, holding my phone out to feel for the door and the hinges are stiff from disuse as they creak, but it opens. Natural light floods the room and the stairwell I’m standing in. The warmth of the sun is dampened through the darkened window, without preventing the space from being airy and open.

The floor is free of any dust, and I walk into another open-plan empty room. He’s not here and I hate that I deflate. There’s a bathroom, which is also fucking empty, and I turn the faucet out of curiosity, but no water comes out as the pipes hiss, expelling stale air. The sound of my steps is enhanced in the derelict building as I walk to the closet, hoping that he’s there.

I don’t have to open any doors and I freeze at the threshold. The wall beneath the window has a hoard of dolls lined up together, covering the full trim, and it’s creepy as fuck. There’s no continuity in their design, some have limbs missing, different lengths of hair. The only thing they do have in common is writing on their chest.

It’s the same typed print as the card, and my eyes narrow as I try to decode what it could mean. It’s not an area code that has any significance, and the corresponding letters don’t spell anything other than gibberish.

My phone rings, and I answer absentmindedly without looking away from the creepy dolls. Worry clings to Asher’s voice and he doesn’t allow me any time to speak as he says, “Are you home, baby? Lock the doors and go up to our room until the police get there.”

I’m already moving at the urgency in his tone, but I still ask, “What’s happened?”

I freeze at the top of the stairs at the thought of him knowing what I’ve done. He’ll hate me, he has every right to hate me, but the security footage was altered and I’m the worst person alive.

“The alert went off for the other building,” he says and takes a deep breath. “Just stay on the phone with me while I try to get the police.”

“It was me,” I whisper and close my eyes like that will do anything to get rid of the guilt.

He’s worrying about me when I’m the one literally chasing another man. My voice comes out stronger and the lie is too easy. “I was bored, and I thought it could be like a project to keep me busy.”

My husband is miles away, caring for his injured mom, his dad is AWOL, and I’m lying to him with a heat pad between my thighs. I look up as the back of my throat burns and he loses his worry, adding more fucking guilt.

“It’s a shithole, Lilo. Do you want to wait until I’m home, and I’ll clean it up for you to do whatever you want with it? All the dust and shit will make you sick.”

I’m going to hell because I’m already sick. I don’t tell him that our security system is faulty or that we have a freak breaking into our property to clean up. Instead, I continue lying to him and push away just how easy it is, how fluidly they build.

“I’ve already done it this morning. I’ll show you when you’re home.” Before he can end the call, I add, “I love you, Asher.”

Someone calls his name, stopping him from saying it back, and I end the call so he isn’t forced to feel bad about being there for his family. I have no idea what I’m doing, or who I can trust. On one hand, I need Asher to give me stability. On the other, I need Ghost for answers. Turning in a circle, I stare out into the trees that only cover the side of the building facing our house, and the other side is open. With the change in vantage point and angle, I can see further into them.

Everything looks so peaceful from far away and I stand at the window that leads to the walkway connecting the two buildings.The bolt goes into the frame at the top of the window, and I can’t reach it to open it, so I just stand there.

My bedroom window acts like a mirror with the harsh glare of the sun reflecting the image of me. I look as stupid as I feel, and I can see my own guilt. My arms are limp by my sides and my face is blank. The further I examine myself, the more it stops me noticing the figure inside the house until it moves. I can only make out the side of his head and he still has his hood on. But there’s no mask. No rubber or black respirator.

Leaning up on my toes, I try to reach the bolt on the window so I can see him, but the heating pad slips down my thigh at the same time my phone vibrates in my hand. The distraction makes me drop to the flat of my feet and I search each window for him. There’s no figure, no hood, in any of the windows. He’s disappeared.

I turn and pull the heating pad out through the leg of my sweats before I try to run. The soreness only allows a walk, but I have to know who he is. Gripping the edge of the wall, I take the stairs as my hand continues vibrating. A loud bang makes me freeze with only three steps left and the buzzing slows. I hold my phone in two hands to dull the vibrations echoing through the empty building as heavy-booted steps slowly move from the doorway towards me and a new message comes through with every step.

UNKNOWN:

You didn’t use the ice

Do you like watching me?

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