Page 11 of Do Not Open

“I’m a teacher, actually.” He stands, approaching the door and walking out without warning. I have no idea what just happened.

When he returns moments later, he’s holding my book. The pages are marked with multicolored tabs. Nearly every page has a tab on it, and from the looks of it, some have multiples. He opens it to one of the many tabs, clears his throat, and begins to read.

“Her flesh is sweet. Unmarred by the tattoos so many women ruin themselves with these days. No stretch marks. No scars. She’s beautiful. I can’t believe I’m the one who gets to mark her for the first time.” He puts his hand in his pocket and glances at me. “Do you know what happens next?”

I swallow. Eventually, the killer catches her and kills her, leaving his initials in her skin. But first… “He chases her.”

He closes the book, his eyes going dark. “Run, Mari.”

CHAPTERSIX

In the small room, there’s nowhere to run. But, at the command, he tosses the book and launches himself forward. I leap from the bed, crying out as I grab the lamp and throw it behind me, toward him. It bounces off his chest and slams on the floor. This time, the light flashes, then goes out. I’m suddenly very thankful for the dim overhead light I turned on after waking up. The idea of being alone with this monster in the dark is enough to make me dizzy.

I dart across the room, turning my back to him in front of the camera. “Please, Owen.” I don’t know what to call him. Owen isn’t his name, but there’s nothing else. Not-Owen, perhaps. “Please.You don’t want to do this.” I sidestep as he lunges for me, then dart for the bed and step up onto the mattress. As I take another step, the blanket twists around my ankle, tripping me, and I feel his hand grasp my thigh. I fall, kicking, and my foot connects with something. He groans, and when I look back, I see blood dripping from his upper lip. He wipes the back of his hand across it, grinning as I try to right myself and get onto my feet. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me. If you care about me, you wouldn’t do this.”

I fall off the bed and to the ground and crawl forward, feeling like a woman in a horror movie and hating myself for not behaving better. I should be smarter than this. Stronger. Braver than this.

“It’s because I care that Imustdo this, Mari. Soon, you’ll understand.” He towers over me, walking in my direction slowly. I grab the nightstand and haul it forward to the floor, creating a small barricade between us, but he steps over it with ease. I scramble to my feet and move farther away until my back is against the door, and I’m stuck. I’ve backed myself into a literal corner. He takes hold of my waist, and I become deadweight in his arms, hoping he’ll drop me. Instead, he tightens his grip, fighting to keep me upright.

I wish I’d taken a self-defense course.

I wish I’d paid more attention to the action films Declan loved so much.

I wish I’d never come here.

I wish I’d never opened that email.

I flail and throw punches and kick and scratch, connecting with more than I miss, but he seems entirely unfazed. It’s as if he can’t feel what I’m doing to him at all.

I throw another punch and he releases my body without warning.

CRACK.

My head connects with the floor with too much force. My eyes instantly blur with tears. The sound, or perhaps my reaction to it, snaps him out of his trance.

The darkness in his eyes disappears as he steps back, dropping to the ground in front of me. “Are you okay?”

“Am I…okay?” I spit out, completely out of breath and stunned at the look of concern on his face. “You just…tried to attack me.” I put my hand to my scalp, searching for blood. Thankfully, I don’t feel any.

“We were playing a game,” he says simply. “Acting out your book. I thought you knew.”

“Please”—I struggle to sit up—“I need to go home.”

He chuckles like I’m joking. “Don’t be silly.”

“This isn’t a joke. What you’re doing is a crime. You can’t keep me here.”

Ignoring me, he stands and lifts me up over his shoulder, carrying me to the bed. I should fight, but I’m afraid doing so will only restart the game.

He kisses my forehead, leaving a dot of saliva on my skin. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves the room, and I touch the back of my head again, an aching pain growing at the base of my skull. I hear the click of a lock that tells me he’s locked me in from the outside.

My elbow stings, and I realize I burned it on the carpet. With him gone, I take the time to check myself for other injuries now that my adrenaline is waning.

A bruise is already forming on my hip where I nicked something, but other than that, I’m relatively okay.

At least, as okay as you can be while being held captive by a nameless fan.

---