“I’ll be fine, Mom.” I balance the phone on my shoulder as I grab a soda with one hand and the remote with the other.
“Lock the balcony doors and make sure the alarm is activated.”
“I will.”
“The windows, too, Nao. You always forget about them.”
“I won’t forget.”
Coughing comes from her end and it turns into a fit before she clears her throat. I want to tell her to stop smoking, that it’s bad for her health, but I’m horrible at showing concern. It’d appear as if I were picking a fight and trying to get on her nerves. I guess I take after her in that department. Because while I love my mom, I don’t tell her that. She doesn’t say it either. Declarations of affection have been rare between us since that red night that turned my life into a tragedy waiting to happen.
I used to never sleep until she read me a story or watched something on TV with me, and then we’d tell each other goodnight in both Japanese and English.
After that night, I withdrew from her and stopped saying goodnight. Mom tried to get through to me in the first few years, inventing new activities to do together, but since I wasn’t exactly cooperative, she stopped.
“I’ll remind you later,” she says once her fit subsides.
“Okay. Don’t you have a show to prepare?”
“I do.”
“Go on then.”
She hesitates. “Nao…”
I straighten on the sofa and pause with the can halfway to my mouth. Dread locks my muscles and all sorts of scenarios ran rampant in my head.
Did she find out that I hired a PI?
Kai wouldn’t have told her. We practically send emails back and forth daily and he tells me about where he’s been and the leads he’s following. So far, he’s processed the picture and can make out the license plate of the car in the background. He found out that my father might have driven a car with New Jersey plates, so my theory about him being an American is most likely true.
Kai found those details after a lot of digging. I didn’t know PI work took so long, but that makes sense with all the technical details and asking around he has to do.
Mom couldn’t have possibly met with him or found out through my bank withdrawals since I only do those in small doses and I pay Kai in cash. It’s just my paranoia talking.
“What?” The word scratches my throat on its way out.
“What do you think of California?”
“California?”
“It has great weather and you’ll be able to leave the small town you hate so much.”
“We’re moving?”
“I’m just asking, Nao.”
“More like, you already looked into a thousand houses and have signed with three real estate agencies so we can relocate.”
“Not three. Just one.”
“Mom! We’re supposed to talk about this before you make a decision.”
“It’s better for both of us.”
“I’ve been hearing that sentence since I was a kid when you relocated us from one state to the other and I’m so sick of it.”
“You’re angry. I get it. We’ll talk when I get home tomorrow.”
“Forget it. If you want to move, do it on your own. I’m no longer underage and I can live on my own. In fact, I should’ve moved out three years ago, but I stayed because someone begged me not to leave. Oh, let me think about who it was. You!”
“Nao-chan…”
I wipe at the tears trapped in the corner of my eye. “I have to study. Bye.”
“Okay.” She sounds defeated. “Gambatte.”
I slouch on the sofa, cradling my head with my hand as I finger my phone. I want to call Lucy, but she said she’d be out with her parents today.
I scroll through my last exchange with Sebastian about half an hour ago. When Mom said she wouldn’t be coming home tonight, I made the mistake of having a glass of tequila. Being alone always puts me in a weird mood. It gets me to thinking about parts of my life I’ve been trying my hardest to keep buried. So I thought, hey, a glass of tequila would make me feel better. Apparently, it made me foolish, too, because I sketched something from a scary part of my subconscious and sent it to Sebastian.
I hadn’t heard from him since he brought me home after the game last night. Something felt like it was missing all day long and I tried convincing myself it was because I’ve been conditioned to endure his constant bugging. That it felt peaceful now that he wasn’t shadowing my every move. But after that drink, I succumbed to my impulse and messaged him.
I showed him a part of me, even indirectly, and his response to that was to be an asshole. A perverted one. My cheeks heat as I read his last lines. I contemplate replying, but just like earlier, I find no words. Just why does he have this type of effect on me?
If someone else told me that or spoke about me sexually, I’d poke their eyes out. No kidding, I once got an unsolicited dick pic and I sent him back a monologue about how the sight ruined my evening.
If Sebastian sends me a dick pic, however…
I shake my head. Why the hell am I thinking about Sebastian sending me a dick pic?
I raise the volume of my latest true crime show. The ominous events play out in front of me, and I gulp as one of the surviving victims describes the circumstances of the night of her abduction.
My mind turns foggy, and I don’t know if I’m listening to her or actually replaying what happened. It was dark and no one else was there. I had to run until I couldn’t feel my limbs.
I’m such a sick person.
I can’t believe I’m replaying the thrill I felt that night in the forest when someone else suffered from something far more traumatizing in real life. When did I become like this? When did I turn into a glutton for something even I don’t recognize? Is my childhood catching up to me after all? Is the monster from my nightmares real now?
I finger my phone before I swipe up the screen. I stare at the sketch I sent to Sebastian, at the invisible eyes and the anonymity of it. All this time, I’ve tried to bury that part of me and when it kept appearing in my moments alone and nightmares, I fought it. Then I denied it.
And yet, it’s still alive.
In fact, it’s been festering inside me all along.
I shake my head to focus back on the documentary. There’s a blur of pictures before they move on to the retelling of events. The shot is dark, shadowed, and the suspenseful music makes my toes curl.
A dark figure appears at the edge of the screen and then…
The lights go out.
Not just the TV. The lights are out in the entire house.
I freeze as my heartbeat skyrockets. I fumble for my phone to turn on the flashlight, but it clatters to the ground.
“Shit.”
I fall to my knees on the floor and even that sound is haunting in the silent darkness.
My fingers are stiff and my pulse roars in my ears as dark images from the past shoot through my head. The smell of the newspaper, the weight of a body, and the blood.
Lots of hot blood.
My hand feels sticky, as if I’m touching it again, as if the motionless body is hovering over me about to tear through me.
I inhale a deep breath. It’s not real. It’s over.
Despite chanting those words in my head, I can’t stop feeling the stickiness on my fingers, the liquid heat, and the sound of droplets of blood dripping into a pool.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Then…there’s a voice telling me it’s all over now. That no one will hurt me anymore.
Or maybe, like the shrink said, I could’ve been hallucinating to make myself feel better. That’s what victims do. They escape reality to feel better.
But not me. No.
My sweaty palm finally latches on to the phone and I nearly cry with joy as my stiff fingers swipe for the flashlight icon.
That’s when I feel it.
Even before I turn around to see it, I sense a presence at my back, hovering, waiting, biding its time.
Maybe it’s been there all along. Since I was fighting with my mind to let me go. Since I was a fumbling, trembling mess.
I open my mouth to shriek, but a strong hand wraps around my neck from behind, cutting off my breathing. “Shhh. Not a word. We’re doing it my way tonight.”
