Page 10 of Make Them Cry
Okay.
Immediately, another message.
Good girl. Now listen carefully.
Okay, wow. There’s… a vibe.
Before I can decide how I feel about it, the next message hits.
You need to leave. Now.
I freeze.
What?
Someone is on your floor. Wrong time. Wrong reason. Go. NOW.
“Bullshit,” I whisper, standing anyway. Because suddenly my legsbelievehim even if my brain doesn’t. I creep toward the peephole. The hallway is empty. Still, my heart is sprinting like it knows something I don’t.
You’re messing with me.
No. I’m trying to keep you breathing. Your neighbor with the loud dog? She left ten minutes ago. Someone tried her door. They’re three doors down now. Your door is next. MOVE.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I don’t wait. I don’t argue.
I grab my bag and shove my phone and laptop inside. I throw on my sneakers and hoodie and open the window by the fire escape. It’s a tight squeeze. My leg catches on the sill. I scrape my shin. Worth it.
The night air is ice. My breath clouds. I’m already regretting this.
My phone buzzes again. Mask.
Good. Now turn left. Keep walking. Don’t stop until I say. And River?
Don’t go back home tonight.
I stare at the message as I step into the alley behind my building. My hands are shaking. My brain is screaming that this is insane. That I just listened to a stranger on the dark web.
But my feet keep moving.
Because I believe him.
And I have no idea what that says about me.
Yet.
I don’t knowwhere else to go.
After climbing down the fire escape and walking five blocks in the dark with nothing but paranoia and my overactive imagination for company, I end up texting the one person I know won’t ask too many questions.
Me: u up?
Tasha: yeah, want me to put on tea or tequila?
She meets me at the door in sweats and a pineapple-print sleep shirt, one slipper hanging halfway off her foot. Her hair’s up in a messy bun that somehow still looks intentional. I walk inside, and the scent of sandalwood and popcorn wraps around me like a blanket.
“You okay?” she asks, squinting as I slide off my hoodie and plop down on her couch.
