Page 6 of Jayson
I think my mind blanks them out—protects me from the sound of it. But I see it. The flash. The way my father’s head bounces against the pillow. The dark spray that paints the walls like an artist gone mad.
I seehim, too.
The man standing beside my father’s bed.
He’s tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in black. Calm in a way that doesn’t make sense. One arm extended, hand steady, gun still raised.
Then he lowers it. Slow. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a human being he just ended.
I don’t move. I can’t. The only thing keeping me upright is the doorframe and the static ringing in my ears.
My father’s dead. And the oddest thing is, I don’t know how I feel about that.
The man turns. And everything inside me lurches. He isn’t what I expected—not that I had any image of what a killer would look like. But not this. Not him.
He looks young. Late-twenties, maybe. Light brown hair, alittle messy, damp at the ends like he came in through the storm. Strong jaw, high cheekbones. Skin sun-kissed like he spends more time outside than behind a desk.
But it’s his eyes that do it. I’ve never seen eyes that shade of blue. Like the deepest depths of the ocean. Cold. Dead calm. It makes the rest of him almost worse. Like the universe got lazy and gave a killer the face of someone you’d stop to look at twice.
If I’d passed him on the street, I might have smiled at him. Now I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating.
He sees me. We lock eyes. He doesn’t flinch. He just stares at me, like he’s trying to figure out how much I saw—how much I understand. The gun doesn’t lift right away, but I can see it twitch in his hand. His fingers shift. Tighten.
Then the barrel rises. Pointed at me.
I’m quiet for the longest time. I don’t even scream. I just shake my head.
He starts walking toward me, slow and quiet.
Something snaps inside me. My body finally catches up to what my brain’s been screaming.Move.I drop the gun and stumble back into the hallway. My legs are jelly but I try to run.
He’s faster. He grabs my arm—hard. I cry out, more in surprise than pain, and try to yank away, but he’s already dragging me down the hall.
“No, no—please—let me go!”
He doesn’t answer. His jaw is locked. I catch the faintest clench of his teeth, like he’s biting down the need to snap.
We reach the stairs. I twist, clawing at the railing, but he hauls me down without slowing. His grip is a vice on my arm. We hit the bottom step and he doesn't stop moving.
We’re outside. The grass is cold and wet under my bare feet as he pulls me across the lawn. I try to dig my heels in but they just sink into the mud. The rain has eased to a mist, but theground is soft, slippery. The cold snaps at my skin, but I can barely feel it above the fear.
“I won’t say anything!” I yell again, my voice cracking. “Just let me go—I don’t care what you did!”
He’s not paying enough attention, and he doesn’t even look at me as he drags me across the lawn.
That’s when I rip free. I don’t think. I just run. My feet pound the grass, slipping, sliding, but I keep going. Trees. Fence. Somewhere—anywhere—until something hits me from behind.
We crash into the ground. His body slams into mine, knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the wet grass face-first, a grunt tearing from my throat. My arm is twisted under me, cheek pressed into the dirt. He flips me over and pins me down. One arm across my chest. One knee pressing into my thigh. His breath is rough against my face.
I squirm beneath him, shoving, twisting, but he’s heavier. Stronger.
“You don’t understand,” I gasp.
He leans in closer. His eyes flash, sharp and hollow.
“I’ll kill you if I have to,” he says, voice low, steady. “But if you shut up and come with me, I won’t have to.”
Something flickers through me at his words. It should be fear.It is fear.But something else creeps in too—warmer, unwanted. A spark under my skin. His body is pressed into mine, hard and heavy. His hand is wrapped tight around my wrist. My chest is rising fast, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I hate that a part of me notices how close we are.
