GILLIANS POV:
I've backup plans for my backup plans. This guys plotting something to kill me next, but I'm not scared. He can try his hardest, but I will have the last word.
Some days I pretend to leave the house, then secretly come back in through my garage, which leads to my basement. On most days nothing special occurs, he'll roam around the house, but never dares to enter.
One day I decide I'm board of playing cat and mouse and decide, all though dangerous, I'm going to lead him into his own trap. On a particular rainy day in early October I pretend to rush out of the house.
He's seen me lock my door every time, but in my frenzy I don't. I just close the door and run to my car. I'm all dressed up in my suit, pretending to leave to film.
I take the short drive to my usual hiding spot behind a bramble of trees near a school and hide my car. He can't see me but I can see him. I run to my house, stopping at the garage.
Normally it takes him about 10 minutes to make his first move, so I run into the garage, and hide in my basement.
It's nothing out of the ordinary, just me hiding behind boxes looking out a hidden small window from the basement. This house has always had it, and I always thought it was strange. But now it's coming to my advantage.
After the usual wait, I hear the door creak open. I know I shouldn't, but I smirk in the darkness. He's falling for his own trick. I hear the door shut very quietly, then footsteps on the wood floor.
He seems to be careless of the way he's stepping, not tiptoeing, just walking casually. I hear his footsteps echo in the hallway, and back into the kitchen where I'm under.
I finally see this man up close. His skin is a strange pale. Not white, nor peach. Almost grey, like the colour she turned that god awful day. His hair is black and thin, cut unevenly. His hands are stubby, the way a construction workers hands appear.
He's wearing the same brand of white button up that David wears under his suits. Though this guy only had the button up, no blazer, or tie. He appears as short as me, perhaps an inch taller or so.
He just stands atop the kitchen tiles, looking around him, and sniffing. He sniffs the air around him like some dog. I can see him very clearly, hoping he can't see my eyes staring aimlessly at him.
But then he stops sniffing, and turns his head down to the window. It's not very noticeable to the human eye, in fact it's tiny, it's the person on the other side who gets the clear image. It makes me wonder what this house was used for before.
He resumes to sniffing again, moving closer and closer to my window. Then his eyes jolt open. I can't help but nearly jump, noticing he's got one glass eye. The other one is bloodshot, while the glass one isn't even straight, it's crooked, looking up at my ceiling.
His eye, red from blood, is staring right at me. I know he probably can't see me, but how can you be so sure. He's panting now, staying still, not even daring to blink. After what feels like hours of endless staring, a book falls off my countertop.
It diverts his attention, sending his head flying to the counter. He takes one last glance back at me before fleeing. He doesn't know I've already called the cops. I told them to monitor my security cameras today.
They took them, and once he entered my house they sent cars. None of them distributed him though, considering I told them to lie low unless he fled , or actually did something.
So while he attempts to run for the door, the police bust it open. I run out of my basement, and up to the police. Asking questions about what happened, and I just observe the guy being put in handcuffs and escorted to the car.
The police get a statement from me, and test him for being the suspect of her near-death that night. The day is long, and once I finally get home I just fall asleep.
waking up to the disappointing empty sheets is something I don't want to get used to. While eating fruit loops, I wonder about her. Her birthdays coming up. All I can hope for is that she's around for it.
It's been almost a month since my call with the hospital, and nothing has changed. She's still in a coma, while I sit here eating fruit loops. The thought makes me lose my appetite, so I just get ready for another filming day.
I'm trying my best to act more normal, especially around David. I don't want him to worry about me, and he definitely can't find out. After getting home at 8pm I receive a call from the police station about half an hour later.
"Hello? Miss Anderson?" It's the same cop who was asking me questions earlier "yes? Have you guys found anything" I walk around my whole house (bad habit) I just get so anxious "yes actually"
My hearts almost jumps "we found that his fingerprints and the ones on the knife used to cut y/n, were identical" I actually crack a genuine smile "do you want to press charges miss Anderson?"
I almost scoff "I would love to, how long is he going to jail?" I play with the necklace on my neck "well since it's attempted murder, and we don't for sure he was going to do it to you"
I roll my eyes "he should be in for about a minimum of 10 years, at most he can be sentenced for 45"
I sigh, it's a start. "Okay," we negotiate a charge for him to pay, half is going to me, the other half to her family. Although I am going to split my half, and give them it.
He's going to court the next year in March. I will be there. I can only hope she'll be there too. It's difficult fall asleep tonight. Something won't let me feel good about this.
I should feel satisfied right? We got the killer. We got the one who was trying to kill her. But why am I uneasy about it? I should be happy. I guess I thought getting the criminal would make it all feel better, like having a bandaid on the scrape.
But it didn't. It doesn't feel right that she's not here to celebrate it with me. I thought catching him would bring her back. I know it's childish but a part of me really did believe Justice would bring her back into my arms.