Page 42 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
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“Oh,come on, you cannot tell me that over-processed plant gunk tastes better than a rich, smooth whey shake,” I insist, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly.
Everly widens her eyes with exaggerated offense from the other side of her pristine kitchen island.
“Excuse you, that 'gunk' provides clean and sustainable nutrition! Not like cows pumped full of hormones.” She scrunches her nose, lips twitching as she fights a smile.
Our latest spirited debate started innocently enough, with me restocking the supplement cabinet while Everly blended up her daily green concoction that looks like swamp water. But naturally our sparring resumed, each valiantly defending our preferred protein source.
Everly's phone chimes. She glances casually down to check it, and her smile immediately falls. I snap onto high alert.I am so sick of this being her new normal.
I close the distance between us and set a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Ev? What is it? What's wrong?” I press urgently.
Wordless and stricken pale, she turns the phone screen to face me with a badly shaking hand. I scan the chilling words with growing dread and rage. The phone slips from Everly's grip with a clatter as she retreats on instinct against the wall before sinking to the floor, making herself small.
I grab the phone and read again, bile rising.
“You look extra radiant working out lately - positively glowing! Love seeing what cute outfits you pick for Pilates. That strappy purple sports bra was quite flattering this morning. Anyway, I grow weary of our little social media footsie. Let's have a true introduction in the flesh, my love! I'll be seeing you so very, VERY soon. Perhaps sooner than you think... – Yours Eternally, EvBear.”
But the chillingmessage itself pales compared to the graphic photo attached. I feel my fists tighten with rage examining the gruesome image showing the bear made to look like Everly. It sits propped stiffly on a chair, costumed in a too-small replica of her favorite “Love Running” t-shirt.
But what wrenches a muttered curse from me is the stuffed bear's sloppily hacked off and reattached head...now cocked at a hideously unnatural angle secured by straining black yarn like a grotesque marionette played with mercilessly. One gleaming eye pokes outward slightly from clumsy restitching. Scraggly red yarn meant to mimicking Everly's fiery hair only enhances gruesome effect.
My gut roils imagining the psychotic man who produced this.
Everly blinks at the screen before she starts trembling.
This image sends a clear message of violence. The knife was clear enough, but this takes it one step further. We need to take more action.
Before I know it, I’m gathering her quaking and gasping form tightly to my chest. She presses her face into me, her defensive walls finally shattered.
“Shh, I've got you, Little Rose. You're safe.” Clenching my jaw against the rage surging in me, I struggle to keep my voice steady. I breathe into her hair, her fresh scent grounding me. I want to tear whoever terrified her this way apartlimb from limb.
“Cole, that chair, it’s in my bedroom,” she croaks into my chest.
I check the timestamp on the message, sent only twenty minutes ago. The intruder could be in the house.
“Hey, deep breaths with me now, okay?” I gently grasp her shoulders as chilling scenarios flash through my mind.
Her frightened eyes cling to mine like a lifeline. With immense effort, I try to project rock solid surety, locking down panic of my own. No monster will further traumatize Everly. Over my dead body...and likely theirs once I hunt the bastard down.
“Stay put. Don't move from this spot,” I direct her. Everly nods jerkily and peels herself off of me.
I move swiftly into tactical mode, listening for any sound or stirring indicating someone is near. I quickly sweep the house.
Returning empty-handed does nothing to quell the vengeance igniting every nerve. I brace my hands on the back of the wall behind Everly, shielding her from unseen harm with my body as I meet her terrified stare.
“There's no intruder here now, but we need to go,” I declare grimly. “Pack essentials quickly—we'll retreat to a secure location. I’m right behind you, Little Rose. OK?”
“We need to involve the police – this escalation is a direct threat,” I declare. Everly nods slowly.
I describe the disturbing photo to the dispatcher through gritted teeth. As expected, their hands are largely tied without evidence of physical trespassing. I end the useless call with a clenched fist.
“They said to keep them informed if we have any other incidents,” I update Everly. She sags a little.
“So where does that leave us, Cole?”
