Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 48 The twinge of disappointment when I'm still alive a second later makes me realize shit's gotten bad again. Like really bad. The car shudders to a stop less than a yard from me, angled to the curb, its lights painting the door of the NEX frat house a lighter blue. Rain drums, cocooning me in the glow of light from the headlamps and the sound of my stampeding heart. The driver door opens, but I don't hang around to find out who almost killed me. For all I know, it could be a police cruiser, and that nosy cop is going to step out and ask if I'm okay.

I might stop lying for once in my life and tell him the truth. No, officer. I'm not okay. In fact, I don't think I've ever been okay. But that's what we humans do, right? We fucking survive. Look at me, surviving. I do it so well, no one's asked me if I'm okay in years. I hurry to the sidewalk, forcing myself not to look back as I rush up to the frat house door. My hand raises to knock, but I'm still aware of the car in the middle of the road behind me. So I grab the knob and turn it, stepping inside before I can second guess myself.

I close it quietly behind me, straining to hear if the car pulls away, but I can't make out anything except the rain outside, and the TV inside. A dramatically hushed true crime documentary voice-over reaches me as I press my back to the door to catch my breath. "...a remote ranch where they discovered the true extent of his..." There's a glow coming from an archway to the right, where I assume the living area or TV room is. Another archway mirrors it, a metallic gleam suggesting it's a kitchen.

In front of me, a sweeping staircase in dark wood, the wall dotted with dour, pretentious portraits of just as dour, pretentious pricks. "...mutilated bodies of the young..." Is that Kai watching TV? I doubt he'd wreak havoc and then come and chill. I should try upstairs, but I don't know which room is his. Someone flicks a lighter, and I follow the sound. snick I inch closer to the TV room, keeping my back to the wall as much as possible until I can risk a peek around the corner.

"...resembled a slaughterhouse..." There's a guy perched on the edge of the sofa, a bong pressed to his lips, water bubbling furiously inside as he takes a hit. The TV screen shows a dark room, possibly a basement, and since it's the only source of light in the TV room, I can barely make out the guy's features. He leans forward to put the bong on the coffee table and then looks straight over at me. I jump, my hand going to my throat. "...strung up with hooks attached to the..." "Lee?" He squints, slowly getting to his feet.

"That you, Haven?" It's Blake, the guy I met at the party on Saturday night. Wait...Blake stays here? My shoulders slump. "You're kidding me," I mutter, stepping out of the shadows, my arms crossing tight in front of my chest, pumps dangling from one hand. "You told Kai I was at the party the other night, didn't you?" Blake gives me a slow scan, a frown slowly creasing his brow. I don't let up. Why the fuck should I? "Was that why you took the picture? Did he want proof before coming over?" I shake my head, letting out a frustrated chuckle.

"The fucking nerve of you guys." Blake drags a hand through his hair. "Shit." Then a kind of dazed, "Yeah, sorry, man. Bro code, and all." "Bro code include helping them stalk someone?" I expect him to deny it, but he just gives me a lopsided smile. That must be some strong weed he's smoking. And he's been smoking a lot. It hangs in a thick haze between us and the television, thankfully blocking out whatever footage is being shown.

"...careful arrangement, the attention to detail..." "Where is he?" "Who?" Blake sits down again, looking over at the bong like he's considering giving it another go, his fingers gingerly brushing the side of his jaw. "Kai, who else?" "Oh, yeah, he's not here. Least, don't think so. Guys said he left." Blake squints at me. "Dude, you're like...soaked. You want a towel or something?" "I'm fine," I snap. "We got this blanket thing here⁠-" "I said I'm fine!" Blake tosses the blanket at me anyway. It reeks of stale beer, weed, and Doritos.

Grimacing, I bundle it in my hand and pretend to pat my arm with it. I'd rather go back out in the rain than really dry myself with this. Frat guys are so gross. "When?" I try not to sound like a total bitch, but I'm coming down from the high of almost being squashed to death by a car, and the booze is kicking in again. I don't want to be around this guy sober, let alone drunk. "Kai?" Blake shrugs. "Dunno. While ago, I guess." "Are you too stoned to remember? Or is this more bro code bullshit?" He slumps back on the sofa, giving me a very cold, very hard smile.

The chill that goes through my body has nothing to do with my micro skirt, or my wet hair, or the pouring rain outside. Or even the creepy as fuck crime documentary still running in the background. "I was too unconscious." "Jeez, you guys take partying to a whole 'nother level," I mutter. If Kai's not here, then where is he? Would he have gone back home to his folks's house? Fucking doubt it. He hated being home as much as I did. If his parents hadn't given him a curfew when he was a kid, I'm sure he'd have gotten himself a tent and slept in the woods as often as possible.

"Wish that was the case. Kai went psycho and knocked me out." Blake hesitates, then decides he will in fact have some more weed. snick "Want a hit?" "You two get in a fight?" Blake laughs, then starts coughing violently. The bong goes back on the coffee table, his head hanging between his legs as he tries to get his cough under control, a finger held up for me to wait.

"...manhunt continued for seventeen days, with police from three states coordinating efforts to..." I creep closer, reaching out a hand so I can pat him on the back or something, but he sits up in a rush and stares at me with this weird, considering look in his eyes that makes me freeze. "Fight? Fuck, no. I was trying to help him. But that fucking psycho thought I was trying to attack him or something." He shrugs, looks away, clears his throat. "Fuck only knows." "And then he left? Did he tell anyone where he was going?" "The hell do you care?" Blake snaps, his eyes darting back to me.

Yeah, Haven. The hell do you care? "I need to speak to him." "You and me both," he says, fingering his jaw again. Now that I'm closer, I can see a bruise on his pale skin. "But his phone's off." "...trail went cold somewhere near..." It's gone midnight. And the way Blake's sitting in the dark, it's almost like... "You're waiting for him." He snorts, shrugs. "Sorta." He slouches back and pats the cushion beside him. "You can wait here, if you want. I'll load us up a game.

You play games?" "Uh, no, I think I'll just⁠-" "Oh, wait, before you go." Blake leans a little to the side, stretching out his legs so he can get his phone out of his black jeans. On the television, an elderly woman croaks her way through an interview segment. "...was such a nice man. Tall and handsome, and so smart. Always helped me with my..." I shift my weight to the other foot. The hairs on my arms peel away from my skin as rainwater evaporates from my body in the warm living room. "Check this," Blake says. "Someone posted a new video." Oh God, what now?

I suppose it wouldn't hurt to sit down. Blake seems harmless enough, especially stoned as he is. I perch cautiously on the edge of the sofa, sitting as far away from him as possible so he has to lean across to show me his phone. The short black skirt I'm wearing rides up my thighs, so I sort of drape the blanket over my legs. I swear, if I get fleas... Blake doesn't seem to notice how reluctant I am to get near him. If he does, he doesn't care. "It's not porn is it?" I ask reluctantly, squinting to make out what's happening on the screen. "No, it's from the Rain Dance. Check." Oh, fuck.

Is this where Ezra collared me? I wave my hand, turning my head away. "I don't want to see⁠-" Music thumps out through the phone, tinny and distorted. But a second later it cuts off, the sound of a hundred voices talking all at once, someone shouting, then more and more. What the...? I turn back, morbidly curious. And my heart sinks right into the fucking bowels of the earth. Whoever's holding the phone is either shaking or being jostled as they try to focus on the DJ stand, where two figures are visible. One on his back, the other straddling him. Kai. He's punching Ezra.

Punching him so hard, so viciously, that it looks like he wants to drive his brother's head through the stage floor. My hand goes over my mouth. The crowd is growing quieter now, everyone in the shot staring at the stage like they've been hypnotized. A few people are yelling, some to call the cops, others to get Kai off Ezra before he kills him. But I can't look away as Kai's arm rises and falls, rises and falls, rises⁠- "Fucking rough," Blake murmurs, taking the phone away and tapping the screen a few times. "Serious unresolved issues, if you ask me." "Is Ezra...okay?" Blake shrugs again.

"Jace went to see him today. Sounds like he might pull through, but, yeah, he's probably gonna have trouble getting laid after this." He hurriedly clears his throat. "So you must be stoked about getting that grant, huh?" "Uh...yeah. I guess." I'm immediately on high alert, and it sucks. "Cool, cool," Blake murmurs. Read full story at Find_Novel(.)net A life of suffering and mental acrobatics has hard-wired me to be constantly on the lookout for threats. Kai. Professor Rooke. Even Blake, who's scrolling through his phone like I've ceased to exist.

My eyes drift to the flat screen where stock footage of a dreary forest is interspersed with still photos of police and crime tape outside an isolated ranch house. "...in all his years on the force, he'd never seen anything..." The fact that I'm still trying to act like a normal college kid is a cosmic joke. I wouldn't know what normal looked like if it lashed me to the bed and railed me...as Kai watched. "Hey, check this out." He leans over again, and I glance down at the screen. I recoil, my eyes squeezing shut, and then slowly open them again when my brain processes what I'm seeing.

"What the fuck?" Blake chuckles and starts scrolling. "Cool, huh?" "Um..." My cheeks are warming up, and I have no idea what the hell to do. I want to get up, but I'm stuck in place, my own fucking curiosity still trying to see how far it can push my luck. "She makes four figures a month. For this." He keeps scrolling. "I helped her with her marketing. Shit's piss easy once you got it figured out." I stare, rapt, as he scrolls through a seemingly endless collection of photos of some girl's...feet. Bare feet. Feet in gorgeous high heels. Feet with their toes being painted.

I see so many of them, they stop looking like feet. I've definitely inhaled too much smoke. My skin isn't itchy anymore. It's trying to crawl off my flesh like it's seen this horror movie and knows how it ends. As in, badly. "...not some kind of impulsive frenzy. It wasn't a slaughterhouse, but a grisly collection of his most prized exhibits..." Blake tugs at his jeans like he's getting uncomfortable. Is he...is he getting a hard on? Oh my fucking God.

"Yeah...I'm gonna go." "If you're looking for some extra cash, I could help you out." I was busy standing, and pause halfway, my butt sticking out, that's how shocked I am. "Ex-cuse me?" He sits back, his eyes on his phone as he keeps scrolling, the white glow making the bruise on his jaw stand out even more. "This chick doesn't spend more than a few hours a week taking pics, and she's making a killing. Sure you could use the money, right?" "I have money," I half-mumble, turning so I can keep an eye on Blake as I back up toward the front door. He glances up, frowns.

"You're leaving?" "Got an early start tomorrow." My shoulder knocks into the archway. I try not to let the jolt distract me from my retreat. Kai isn't coming back here. Not after what he did to Blake, I don't think. Either way, I can't afford to hang around here and wait. I can't arrive at Milo's food truck hungover and sleep deprived. So where would Kai be if he couldn't go home? Where did he always go? The only place either of us ever felt safe. It's a long shot, but I need to find him. I need to make him admit what he did. If I don't, then I know where I'll end up.

And it's almost as terrifying a thought as whatever happened to the murder victims in that true crime documentary Blake's watching. As I hurry to the front door, one last snippet from the TV reaches me as my clammy hand wrestles with the doorknob. I pause to listen, because I swear to God, I recognize the voice on the TV...and it sounds just like Deputy Thatcher. "...thing that gets me isn't what we found. It's what we didn't find. No prints. No DNA. Nothing. Like this demon went about his sick duty, then vanished back to hell without a trace." So it's possible to hallucinate on alcohol.

Cool, cool, cool.