Page 96 of Right Number, Wrong Man
No footsteps. No voices.
Just silence.
Horrible, deathly silence.
A tingle squeezes my ribs as my mind conjures images of her lifeless body lying in a puddle of her own blood.
What if I’m too late? What if she’s hurt or dea?—
I swat those dark thoughts away like gnats. She’s counting on me.
My fingers wrap around the doorknob and my browsarch as the door clicks open.It’s unlocked?I raise my pistol, step inside and close the door behind me.
First stop is the kitchen. I sneak into the room with adrenaline roaring in my blood, checking the corners.Empty.Two grocery bags sit on the table and a busted tub of salted caramel ice cream melts on the floor. Clearly, she got ambushed.
Next, I patrol the living room.Empty, too. When I creep around the corner toward the bedroom, I notice flickering light coming from under the bathroom door.
Gotcha!
Admittedly, the bathroom is a smart choice. No windows and only one entrance.
My pulse jumps when I draw closer and a male voice reaches my ears. I recognize it instantly.
Justin.
Fuck, I should’ve followed him after the movie and taken care of him then, but I got caught up at work and couldn’t make an excuse without seeming suspicious.
I pause by the door and listen.
Hectic steps thud on the other side like he’s pacing, growing closer and then distant. Closer, then distant. His frantic whispers drift on the air, but I only make out bits and pieces of words.
“Won’t let you… what mother did to… her fault that father… whores like her deserve to die… you deserve… die too… all the same… cheating whores…”
Damn, that bastard is nuttier than squirrel shit. That makes him unpredictable and especially dangerous, yet also susceptible to mistakes. I’d prefer to do this quietly, but I reckon he locked the door and I’ll need brute force to get in.
I count Justin’s steps. Six away. Six back. When he comes closest to the door again I brace myself and kick.
Bang!
My boot hits right by the lock.
The door splinters open, hitting Justin as I planned. He howls, stumbling against the wall with his glasses askew and blood flowing from his nose. Candles on the edge of the tub dip the room into a warm light, and my heart soars as Hailey’s head pops up.
She lets out a muted noise through a gag, wriggling against the rope binding her arms and legs. At first glance, she seems uninjured. A trickle of relief bleeds through me, but I barely get a second to rejoice.
Justin screams, coming at me like a bat out of hell with a knife in his hand. I dodge—and fail.
Pain singes my left cheek and blood streams down my face. It’s a deep cut, but I don’t care if I get hurt.
Hell, I don’t care if I die.
For Hailey, I’d give my life with a smile.
“It’s you! The asshole from the movie theater! Why do you always have to ruin my plans?” Justin shouts and lunges at me again, but I spin out of his way. He only got me the first time because I was distracted. Shame on me.
He stumbles headfirst toward the sink and crashes into the mirror cabinet above, the impact bashing the glasses from his face and scattering toiletries across the floor. Dazed, he braces himself on the wall.
I press the muzzle of my pistol to the back of his head. This would be an easy, safe kill, but he ain’t deserving of a quick death. For what this disgusting waste of skin has done to Hailey, I want him to suffer.
