I'm driving to work, when out of the blue, my dad calls. It's been months since we've spoken - nothing new. Since my parents' divorce, our relationship has been amiable.
We make small talk, then he asks if I can come for a visit. Reluctantly, I say yes. We agree to meet the following Saturday. He says a cheerful goodbye, and I continue on to work.
When I get to the office, a vase of long-stemmed red and pink roses sits on my desk. There is no note. Only a thin, strand of leather tied in a bow. I love the smell of leather. I remove the bow and smell it. It's a combination of machine oil and cheap cologne - hauntingly familiar - yet, I can't place it.
I slide the flowers aside, and sit down to tackle my email. I open my inbox. The most recent, came in at 3:30 am from YGGY2019@gmail.com. The address is unfamiliar. I scan it for viruses. It's clean. So, I open it. Subject: What goes around, comes around.
The message has no text. Just an attachment. I click the file. A video opens. It's night-vision. A woman sleeping. A masked man pulls back the covers. She sits up. It's Amy, my girlfriend. I cover my mouth. Amy screams - the screen goes black. Two minutes, seventeen seconds. Amy reappears. Bound and gagged. Her wrists and ankles bloody. She is crying. He holds a knife - he strokes her hair with the blade. His eyes are cold, fixed - I feel the glare meant for me. He paces around her. Heart pounding, I clutch my chest. He raises the blade. My body shakes. Before I can react, he stabs her in the stomach. Then, in her heart.
I scream, and click pause. Victor, my co-worker asks what happened. I point to the monitor - the masked man's beady eyes glaring. A notification. A new message.
From: YGGY2019@gmail.com
Subject: You Stole, I Stole
I faint.
I wake up in the hospital. A nurse checks my blood pressure. And, two police officers sit at my bedside. We greet one another, and a tall, black officer speaks. "We checked the email. We have a few questions." He said.
"Okay." I said.
"Where were you at 3:30 am?"
"In bed. Asleep."
"You have cameras?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Any computers?"
"Yes. Two."
"Who else lives with you?"
"No one. You accusing me?"
Before I say more, the blonde officer says, "The email came from inside your house."
My heart races, and beads of sweat form on my brow. The room is spinning, making me nauseous. I grab an empty tub, and projectile vomit a week's worth of meals. One of the officers leaves, and comes back with a nurse. She places her hand on my forehead. "I'll be right back. She says.
My head pounds, my body aches and my skin is cold. My brain refuses to comprehend a killer was in my house. Oh, God. Amy. A wave of sadness crashes my soul, and I burst into tears. Pain rips through me as my heart splinters. An alarm sounds. I panic. The nurse rushes in. She asks the cops to leave. A poke. Then, darkness falls upon me like a warm blanket.
Maybe I'm dreaming. I see her, my precious Amy. She whispers, "Not yet, Bella." She is gone. Overwhelming emptiness looms. Am I dying? What does it mean? I know he will come - it's just a matter of when. What does he want? Who is he? Probably money - I know I'm not his kind of wealthy. Before I muster another thought, light pierces my eyelids.
"Miss Fawn. Wake up." The nurse's voice, faint.
I open my eyes. White coats form a horseshoe. I frantically scan my surroundings. It's too bright. Am I crazy? The doctor speaks. Nothing but muted gibberish. My ears buzz. I can't speak. Throat parched. What is happening? The horseshoe parts. He is here. His cold eyes. The smell. My heart hastily pumps. An alarm sounds. Please, no shots. He will k...ill ... Blackness.
I awake alone. The television softly lights the room. A sudden knock. I hit my head. Anxiety in overdrive.
"Miss Fawn, you have visitors."
Keys clink, and heavy echoing footsteps. Two men in uniform pull up a chair beside me.
"Evening, Officers." I say.
"Miss Fawn." In unison.
"We went to your house." He says.
"Did you find him?" I ask.
"No, Ma'am." He says.
"He was here." I say.
"Describe him." He asks.
"I know his name." I say.
"You know him?" He asks.
"Yes. He's coming for me." I say.
"Who is it?" He prods.
Before I can answer, a nurse enters the room.
"Sorry, Boys. She needs rest." She says.
She administers a shot, and the world disappears.
My mind sways in and out of consciousness. For a brief moment, I think I see a shadowy, male figure standing at the end of my bed. Maybe I'm dreaming, or maybe it's the meds.
I wake up several hours later, no concept of time or space. How long have I been here? I look around the room. Focusing my eyes. A vase. Red and pink roses. He was here - he can't break me.
The nurse enters. "You're going home." She says.
Good, I hate hospitals - I'd rather be in a cage.
"Sign here." She says.
I get dressed. Then, I wait. The nurse brings a wheelchair. We get on the elevator. A squad car awaits - I don't want to be the bait. I stand up. As I lean toward the seat, two large hands snatch me. He runs. I land in his car. The Cops give chase. I need to get out. I open a side door - this is suicide. I jump out.
A squad car sees me. I get in. The killer gets away.
I get home. Still shaking. Utter chaos. Drawers open, things broken. There's Glass everywhere. My ears ring. Sweat drips. I am alone. I need a smoke. Did he take them? I open the freezer. A fresh pack. I take a long drag. I tremble. I sense him. My skin burns. Neurons pulse. Sweat pours now. I wait. Silent. Still. Does he know? Front door slams. Heart in my throat. Heavy footsteps. Heated breath. I get up to run, he slams me back down.
He works quickly. Tying, knotting, gagging. I am helpless. He stands before me. Removes his mask. "Hi, Princess."
I want to puke. He smirks - a permanent glint in his eye. Removes the gag. Cold blade on my cheek. I turn. Blood escapes - Something I can't do. He paces, pants. Holding back bile. The smell - cheap cologne and machine oil. He creeps beside me. I see them. Men with guns. I stare blankly. Face to face - I refuse to show my fear. He smiles. Raises his arm. Why, Daddy, why? White shirt, polka-dots red. Before I can scream, gunshots echo through the house.
His six-foot, six inch frame jerks in every direction as bullets pierce his flesh. He seems to shrink as his body descends, time slows to a snail's pace. Then he drops like a bomb onto the kitchen floor.
I let my head fall to my chest, and take a deep breath. Blood paints the walls an eerie mixture of salmon and red. Several officers storm through piles of glass, releasing my bonds. I stare at my father's lifeless body, I remember the subject of the email, "What goes around, comes around." It didn't make sense at first. However, I soon realize, I stole his future legacy.
