Page 124 of Hide and Seek
I jumped straight back into my work and was killing it. I’ve kept on top of my new meds and have been to every scheduled therapy session with Dr. Preston, and while I hate being on medication and talking to people about my issues, they’ve done wonders for me.
My mind feels clear. There’s no more paranoia about seeing a masked stalker, no more fearing that bodies will pile up withcarved messages on their organs. I feel safe, not only physically, but mentally.
I feel like myself again, and that’s a feeling I will never take for granted again.
Work was great. I managed to get through two complete autopsies, finished both reports, and managed to get on top of some of the work that my colleagues didn’t quite finish during the day shift. Though I won’t lie, there was a moment of awkwardness at the start of my shift when I walked in to find Dr. McKullan waiting for me.
He wanted to chat, make sure I was doing alright and checking that these night shifts were really in my best interest. I eagerly ensured that I was doing better and wasn’t looking for any specific changes in my working hours, but he clearly still had doubts. He shouldn’t, though. He made it crystal clear that he had spoken to Dr. Carzy to ensure I was good to return to work, and she more than confirmed that I wasn’t about to lose my mind over a corpse again. She has faith in my journey to reclaiming my mind, and she fully believes that I can overcome this, and so should Dr. McKullan.
I suppose time is the only thing that will ease his worries, especially after having a front row seat to the infamous Harper-Rayn breakdown, but as long as he’s happy to give me a chance, then that’s all that matters.
Truth be told, if Dr. McKullan wanted to put me back on day shift just to keep an eye on me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. The day shift lines up perfectly with Knight’s normal working hours, meaning for the most part, we’d be home together, going to bed together, and rumpling the sheets together. Though considering how often he gets called out to be the big SWAT machine that he is, I don’t think it makes much of a difference.
Either way, when it comes down to it, I prefer the silence of the morgue. I prefer working alone without someone looking over my shoulder, and I prefer calling my own damn shots.
As I make my way through the parking garage, I search through the darkness, trying to remember where I parked my Honda as I feel around in the bottom of my bag, searching for my phone. It had gone off an hour ago with a new text, and seeing as though Laith has cooled his jets on the flirty texts, I can only assume it was Knight letting me know that he was on his way back home, but I was too caught up in my work to break for even a second to check it. He’d understand though. I hope. Actually, on second thought, he might be pissed.
Knight was concerned about me returning to work, but he trusted me when I said that I was feeling better. If he’s been nervous about it through the night and now I haven’t responded to his text, he could be thinking the worst.
Finding my phone in the very bottom of the abyss otherwise known as my bag, I pull it out to find Knight’s text, just as I had expected.
A stupid laugh cracks out of me, and I immediately start texting back.
I roll my eyes as I toss my phone back into my bag and grab my keys. It’s a little after four in the morning, and the sun hasn’t even started to think about joining us for the day. It’s still dark, and one would think that after so long working night shift, I would have started parking in the same spot to avoid this bullshit at the end of every shift. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
Finally spotting my Honda, I cut across the parking garage, more determined than ever to get home to Knight and have him rail me into oblivion.
I’m only a few feet away when a chill sails down my spine, and just as I take one more step toward my car, the chill turns into sickening shivers. I pause, my brows furrowed.
Something’s not right. This eerie feeling, there’s something so familiar about it, yet it’s different.
I swallow over the growing lump in my throat, my gaze shifting from left to right as unease leaves me shaken. I search in the shadows of the garage, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but after coming up blank, I realize it’s all in my head.
Maybe I’m not as far into my healing journey as I’d thought.
I try to shake it off and go to take the few final steps toward my car, when the darkness shifts, morphing into a person as he steps out from behind my car, the familiar mask crippling me with fear.
“No,” I say, sucking in an audible gasp, terror pulsing through my veins as I clutch my keys tighter in my hand, ready to use them as a weapon if it comes down to it. I shake my head, wide-eyed as my heart races a million miles an hour. This can’t be happening. I’ve been taking my meds religiously. I haven’t missed a single dose. “No, you can’t be here. You’re not real.”
I back up a step, shaking my head a little faster as though I could somehow shake him right out of existence. This isn’t making any sense. The doctor confirmed that he was nothing more than a sick hallucination. Was she wrong? Was Knight wrong? Was all of it real?
The masked stalker laughs, only there’s something different about it. His tone has changed. “Oh, sweet kitten. How easy it’s been to find you.”
“No.” He takes a step toward me, and I hastily back up again. “No. You’re not real.”
He laughs again, and his tone makes me sick. “You’re right,” he tells me, the darkness behind his eyes filled with a sinister evil, something I never noticed before. Something that’s . . . different. My stalker was always sick and twisted, but his eyes were a window into his desires. But this . . . His eyes are dead. There’s no window here, nothing to see. “Your stalker wasn’t real. He was a figment of your imagination, made up in that crazy little head of yours.”
“Then . . . Then how are you here?” I ask, my chest heaving as my voice shakes.
“Because I am not him,” he says. “I bleed just as you will when I finally make you mine.”
Confusion swarms me, and I clutch my bag to my chest as though that could somehow help me, realizing this is as real as it gets. This man isn’t the same one I made up in my head. This isn’t the masked stalker who I thought I rode in the club, the masked stalker who took me on Knight’s bed. This man before me, he’s as real as I am and using my trauma to bring my stalker to life.
“Who are you?” I demand, clutching the keys so tight that they cut into my palm.
He laughs again as though truly enjoying my fear, getting off on it somehow. “It was too easy to get your notes from the good doctor. You gave her everything. His size, build. His mannerisms. You even drew me a picture of his mask. You offered up every crazy detail from that messed-up head of yours, and now, there’s nothing stopping me from making those little hallucinations real.”
He steps toward me, and I find myself paralyzed by fear, unable to move as he closes the distance. “Why?” I say, the word falling from my mouth in a panicked whimper.
