Stephen was now legitimately freaking me the hell out. What had started as just an annoying ex-boyfriend making some calls was now so far over the If he has a chance, he'll kidnap me and keep me in a basement line that taking Beth up on her offer to stay at her place was looking pretty damn good right now.
Speaking of, she had stepped up next to me and begun unwrapping my fingers from the receiver that I didn't realize I still had a grip on. She pulled the cord from the wall again.
"What did he say to you? You're as white as a ghost."
"I-um-I think I should go to your place."
"Of course. Let's go pack up our stuff and then get out of here." Beth stopped and took another look at me. "On second thought, I'll go pack and you can sit here."
I didn't bother trying to answer her since she was gliding out of the kitchen before I sat back down in the chair. Muffled voices followed by louder protests tried to break through my daze. It was probably Mark and Joshua being thrown out by Beth and ordered not to come back. I still refused to tell them anything about him or the level of threat he now presented. More loud noises and someone was cursing. Was that Mark's car leaving? The only thing I could hear clearly was Stephen's threat repeating in my thoughts.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Regan."
I had thought I was safe here from him, that the possibility of him leaving Houston to track me down in Maine was just too farfetched and absurd. But he had gotten the phone number here easily enough, what was stopping him from hopping on a plane and showing up at my door?
Maybe he was only trying to scare me into talking to him. Stephen didn't really mean he'd see me soon. He had gotten pissed at me for yelling and hanging up on him so he wanted to freak me out.
Mission accomplished.
It was a waste of time to try and sort this all out and give his actions any kind of rational train of thought. Obviously, my judgment of him couldn't be trusted at all. So it was better to be safe than sorry and I would be hanging out at Beth's place until further notice.
I hated Stephen for this! He was forcing me out of my safe place, my comfort zone. And during a time when I needed it the most. Beth's house didn't have all of my parent's pictures or Riley's old soccer and science trophies; nothing I needed to see and touch to keep myself grounded – as precarious as the grounding might be.
The longer I thought about leaving my house, the angrier I began to get until sitting around like a pitiful, hungover, waste of space became absolutely intolerable. Violently shoving my chair back, I jumped from the table, ready to tell Beth to forget it, I was staying here. If that bastard dared to show up here then he'd be sorry because he wouldn't be leaving without a good ass kicking.
Maybe that was the therapy I needed. It would be fairly easy to take him down. Stephen wasn't that much taller than me and had a rangy build, like that of a marathon runner. If Beth helped, it would be laughably effortless. I was already laughing while practically skipping towards the stairs.
I noticed my purse sitting forgotten on the entryway table and grinned.
Mace.
There was a can of mace in my purse.
Now I was cackling like a maniac, rummaging through my purse and delirious enough to probably yell My Precious! as soon as my hands gripped the can. I might still be a little intoxicated.
Except there was no can of mace. Tipping the bag over and letting the contents spill over the floor to be sure, no can was uncovered.
Fishing my keys from the pile on the floor, I darted out the front door, hoping beyond hope that it was in my car somewhere.
The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, the snow a blinding white landscape across the front yard. My eyes watered as I tried adjusting to the glare, everything reflecting the light. With the sun unhindered, a thin layer of water was forming over the icy tracks in the driveway, causing even more reflections but also very hazardous walking conditions.
Stepping carefully to avoid the most slippery-looking spots – I had once again trekked outside in only my slippers – the path to my snow-covered car was a long one. The red Prius was hardly visible under all the snow that had fallen since the last it had been driven. When I pressed the unlock button on my fob, it made a muffled beep and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a small miracle the battery wasn't dead.
Except now I'd need to figure out how to get the door opened. Based on the amount of ice on the ground and encasing the wheels, it was probably frozen shut.
I looked back over my shoulder toward the house. Was it worth tip-toeing all the way to the garage for an ice scraper? A pick axe might work better.
Giving the door a quick tug, nothing moved. I repositioned, widening my stance, gripped with both hands, and gave it a good hard yank. I just about tumbled backward onto my butt as my hands slipped off and the door didn't budge.
No gloves, no scraper, no coat, no shoes – clearly my hangover was addling my better judgement. If I even had any kind of judgment left anymore.
Giving up, I turned to shuffle back inside to collect the proper gear for my excursion.
"Hello, Regan."
I shrieked, arms pinwheeling to remain upright.
Stephen. He was here. Not a foot away from me.
He planted his hands on each of my shoulders, either to keep me from falling or to make sure I couldn't get away. His hold on me hurt, his ungloved fingers digging painfully into my collarbone. When did he get so strong?
"Ready to talk to me?"
Should I cooperate with him and allow a quick chat? Considering how hard he was holding me, yep – probably the better course of action. Instead, I screamed, "Let me go, you asshole!"
He got so angry so fast that one second his face was only slightly flushed from the cold and the next he looked like he was going to explode. The blond hair that fell over his forehead trembled as he began to shake. His smug grin turned into a teeth-baring grimace and he tightened his grasp even more. I whimpered, bowing under the pain which just made his grimace turn back into an ugly grin, my discomfort bringing him obvious pleasure. I batted at his hands, desperate for him to loosen his hold before tears started streaming down my face.
"Not so stuck up now, are you?"
"Let me go. You're hurting me." I pleaded, pure panic taking over me. My feet were slipping out from under me, my balance completely off-center. His grip tightened even more, causing me to whimper. The pain was sharp and excruciating, his nails cutting into my skin enough to draw blood. I could feel it start to drip down my back.
"You hurt me first."
God, he was completely unhinged! He might really want to torture me. Or kill me.
With a heaving breath, I swung my fist towards him but he was too quick and easily dodged it. His nails bit further into my flesh and he bore down hard enough to make me fall to my knees. As I went down, I flung my other hand out, keys flared and swiped them across his face.
A sound unlike any I could have imagined bellowed from him and he finally let me go, hands going up to cover his face.
I landed hard on my knees, cracking the ice beneath me. No stopping the tears now but no time for them either. He was still there, towering over me, blood tricking from between his fingers where he held his cheek. Crap. I had just wanted to scratch him up a bit, not gouge half his face out. When he reached for me with his other hand, aiming for the ratty knot of hair on top of my head, my regret vanished. Just as his fingers brushed it, I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, the ice scraping my palms while I fought for traction.
"Beth!" I screamed. "Beth, help me!"
Goddamn my stupid slippers. My feet were just slipping uselessly behind me and without gloves, my hands were going numb very quickly from trying to dig into the ice. Blood was beginning to form beneath me on the ice and there was no way of telling if it was mine or Stephen's. If it was his, exactly how badly had I hurt him? I kicked out, sensing Stephen closing in quicker than I was getting away. He grabbed at my hair again, fingers looping through it enough to jerk me back.
"You're not getting away from me so easily," he growled, wrenching harder until he had me on my back and was dragging me along the ice down the driveway by my hair.
Grappling for control, my hands held onto his, easing some of the searing pain of my scalp. My fingers couldn't get around his, water and blood making his skin slick. I had no fingernails to speak of since they had been bitten to the quick and my keys had fallen out of reach. One of my slippers flew off while I desperately twisted and turned and kicked to knock him off balance or slow him down. Nothing was working.
So strong.
Too strong.
Not right.
God, was this was how I was going to die? It couldn't be. Half drunk and hungover, being drug to my demise by a psycho ex-fiancé. He wouldn't make it quick either. Probably torture me for months before he finally got around to offing me, maybe even years. This was not how it should happen. I knew just days ago I was pleading for it to be my turn so I could see my family again but not like this.
Not because of Stephen.
He had dragged me all the way to the far edge of the driveway, the side closest to the twenty acres of woods that surrounded our property. If he got me in there, that was the point of no return. I screamed and shrieked and kicked with no care that my hair was being ripped out of my skull with the struggles.
"No, no, no!"
"Shut up!" Spittle flew from his lips as he panted, still holding the side of his face I had cut with the keys. "Why don't you ever shut up?"
I snapped my mouth shut but not for him.
There. Just out of my reach was a jagged stick jutting up from the snow, ice coating the broken end of it and gleaming in the sunlight, beckoning me.
Look at me. I'm pretty and very sharp. Use me.
Just a few more steps and Stephen would drag me right by it.
Between gritted teeth, I said as sweetly as possible, "But I thought you wanted me to talk to you?"
One step. Two steps.
"Oh, we'll have plenty of time to talk very soon."
And one more – Got it!
He hardly registered the movement of me twisting to the side to grab the small spear, thinking I was renewing my struggle to get away from him. A few seconds too late he realized what I was really doing and when he released his hold on my hair to make a grab for my weapon, I switched grips and stabbed it into the hand reaching for me.
The feeling of the skin giving way to the tip of the stick made me wretch. His maniacal shriek of rage and pain forced me to recover quickly.
While he screeched and cursed, my fight to get distance between us renewed, the snow drift making it easier to get to my feet and stay there. I kept to the edge of the woods and hobbled as fast as my numb feet would carry me, yelling for Beth the entire way. I didn't dare risk a glance back – that was the downfall of all easy prey in horror movies, wasn't it? And this was my own real-life horror story. Even if it sounded like he was getting farther and farther away, I would Not. Look. Back.
My feet got me as far as a few feet from the front porch before traction was lost again and I took a tumble forward. With a jarring bang, my head hit the steps, my hands sliding over the ice and unable to stop my fall. As the bright sky above me began to fade, and Stephen's furious yells continued, I let my eyes close.
Maybe I'll see my family soon.