Page 9

8

DELILAH

H e’s real.

The ghost is real and I’m not crazy.

I don’t look away from him despite the way my shoulder aches. Or as my knees turn weak, struggling to support my weight.

He’s there watching me with his palm pressed against the glass.

I continue walking backwards. My hip hits the side table, papers and keys fall from being disturbed, but I can’t look away. If I look away then it’s not real again.

The gloved hand doesn’t give anything away. Neither does the dark hood and the mask covering his face. But he is real. And I’m not crazy.

He is real, with a sharp jawline, and sharper cheekbones to match, protruding out of his mask.

His eyes aren’t visible, and I continue walking backwards. There’s no movement on the other side of the glass as I reach the front door. Without turning and giving the ghost my back, I reach behind me for the handle, ready to run.

But he slams his hand on the glass, making me jump.

Slowly shaking his head, he slams his hand on the glass again and I struggle to take in a full breath. It comes in twos.

Knock.

Knock.

Fuck this, the creepy little fucker won’t be able to catch me with the size of the house. I turn, uncaring about anything. My sanity is intact, and I refuse to be some moron’s idea of a victim.

The front door clips my shoulder, but I don’t feel the ache as I run. Little stones dig into my socked feet, the cool air is warm against my skin, and my heart beats so loudly it fills the undisturbed air.

Sound is distorted as I pump my legs, running down the driveway. Asher took the car for work and the only thing I have to save me are my own feet. My legs burn to match my lungs as I run faster and phantom-booted steps chase after me.

I don’t turn.

My eyes remain ahead. As long as I can see I’ll be fine. There are no neighbors to witness proof of my sanity, but I can’t sink into the comfort of trusting my mind with the adrenaline and fear coursing through me.

A heavy weight slams into me and I hit the driveway, the loose stones crunching together as I slide across it. The weight is still wrapped around me, adding more heat to my overworked muscles.

“HELP!” A scream tears through my throat as I kick back. “HELP ME!”

The arms banded around me tighten, keeping my arms stuck against my ribs, painfully so.

“Knock. Knock.” The dark, gravelly whisper has me fighting harder. “Beautiful Delilah.”

The air is squeezed out of my lungs as he tightens his arms around me. His weight pushes me further into the small stones, they dig into my cheek as he straddles my ass. They continue crunching together as I kick and buck my hips while screaming.

But he overpowers me and presses his knees into my biceps.

The blood supply to my hands is reduced as he pushes them under his shins and bites out the same two words against my ear.

“Knock. Knock.”

His deep raspy voice is barely louder than my heart. It brushes my skin, and my cheek is cushioned by the gravel, bringing with it the smell of the sand and soil hidden underneath them as I lie, “My husband is inside.”

The ghost tuts and threads his fingers through my hair. The gloved digits slide through the strands effortlessly and I suck in a breath of earthy air as he yanks my head back. His free hand slides across my neck until he’s holding my throat. There’s no scent, or distinguishable marks. The long-sleeved tech t-shirt only highlights how muscular he is while the mask distorts everything.

“Don’t lie to me, koukla mou,” he whispers, full of threat.

I’m hyper-aware of how I’m currently dressed. Asher’s t-shirt has ridden up in our scuffle, but the man sitting on my back applies his force on my neck. Pulling my head further back, his fingers tighten around my throat to the point of pain. He doesn’t cut off my air fully as he adds, “Don’t lie to yourself.”

I nod, hoping it gets him to relax enough for me to run. But his fingers flex and I splutter, “Please don’t.”

They loosen a fraction and I throw my head back before my lungs can fill up fully. There’s a dull thud and my scalp burns as I pull my head forward, uncaring about the bald spot that will form. Kicking back for purchase, I shake and twist my entire body until I can get a foot to push myself forward and free my arms.

I don’t stop moving as the gloved hand presses against the side of my face and blocks my vision fully. One side has the gravel chips digging into my skin, the other is just pressure pushing me further into it. The heel of his palm presses deeper under my cheekbone, and I can’t open my mouth to beg him without the stones falling into the small crack between my lips.

“Knock.” He presses harder. “Knock.” He shifts his knees to straddle my thighs. “Beautiful.” Cool air kisses my icy cold skin as the -shirt is shoved up. “Delilah.”

My left hand is freed from the pervert’s movements and tears burn the back of my eyes as I swing back, aiming for his body. He catches my wrist as my fist hits air and roughly yanks the limb. It works in my favor as I’m turned, and I kick my legs free. My foot connects with his inner thigh, and I slip as I push myself to stand.

The stones make it the worst terrain possible, but I run. My steps aren’t cushioned and the crunch of his boots following me shows there’s barely any advantage. My hair whips behind me and I look over my shoulder, expecting a greater distance than there is, but he’s right there, hand outstretched reaching for me, and I scream as I pump my legs faster.

“HELP!” My entire body aches and I hit a soft spot in the gravel that takes one foot out from under me. An unyielding hand grabs my hair, stopping my face from smacking off the floor. “Get the fuck off me!” I shout and kick my leg back.

Fingers wrap around my ankle, and I’m dragged backwards literally kicking and screaming. He doesn’t say anything as I claw at the ground and dig my knee into the stones. It leaves behind deep grooves and I push all my weight forward as I keep attempting to free my ankle from his hold.

The heel of my foot connects with something hard. The sick fuck is turned on. I aim my free foot into his ankle, but it doesn’t slow him down. Doing it again, I kick back into his nasty, infested dick at the same time and his fingers loosen on my ankle.

With both legs free, I attempt to run again, not accounting for the hold on my hair. He drags me back into his chest and wraps his arm around my neck. His forearm pushes into my windpipe and the gloved hand covers my mouth.

The edge of his mask is hard under the soft knit as he lines the portion of his lips up at my ear. “You always loved the fight, koukla mou, didn’t you?” His deep voice drops to an eerie singsong. “That’s why you always go back to him , so that you have a reason to fight me.”

I don’t know what the fuck that means but I pause at the familiarity in his tone. He knows me. My ghost is real, I’m not crazy, and he knows me. I might be crazy because it makes me relax when he says, “Don’t say you’ve forgotten me already.”

His arm loosens around my neck as I push my head back against his chest to look up. There’s just a void where a face should be. The modified balaclava even covers his eyes and lips. There are no details in view like he doesn’t exist, and he really is a ghost, some devious entity haunting me that no one else can see.

My heart is hammering in my chest, and I squirm against him as he pulls me flush and grinds into my ass. His hand slowly moves down, and I watch the silhouette of his middle finger trace a path from my collarbone to my sternum. The stark-white -shirt is even brighter under the moonlight, and he tightens his fingers around my mouth.

“Have you fucked him again?” he asks.

I don’t answer and watch his hand as his fingers curl in to make a fist. He taps his knuckles against my sternum twice as he repeats himself. “Did you fuck your husband ?”

He spits the word out as though it’s dirty and I stop being a dumb fuck. My arms are free, and I push my elbow back into his ribs as I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from my mouth. It drops to my neck, and he violently pushes the other between my legs.

My air is fully cut off and he taunts me. “This”—he squeezes both points of his hold—“belongs to fucking me .” I try to pull his hands away, but he doesn’t allow me to and the edges of my vision blur.

A dark laugh makes me flinch as my head droops forward, applying more pressure into his palm. His chest vibrates into my back as he hums. “Hmm, if you don’t remember me, I’ll have to reintroduce myself.” The edge of his mask scratches against my jaw as he rubs his face against mine and whispers, “Be good, koukla mou, we wouldn’t want you to forget the fun.”

My mind turns hazy and the only thing keeping me up is his hold on me. It’s abruptly taken away and my limbs tingle as my knees hit the floor. Before my vision can return back to normal, I push every ounce of strength into my fist and aim for his pathetic dick. He rocks back and the stones clatter as I choke down air and crawl forward. There’s more crunching as he falls back, and I run forward, bent in half, unable to stand fully.

It takes a moment to get my bearings and to notice I’m facing the house. But I can’t change course and drag myself to the door. Slamming it behind me, I lock it and turn to see the glass door is open. My socked feet have stones stuck to them. They scrape against the wooden floor as I run to the back of the house and lock the door.

There’s nowhere for me to hide. With all the glass instead of walls, it makes me an open target. The phone Asher left for me is in the piano room and I’m fueled entirely by adrenaline as I charge up the stairs. There’s no movement inside the house, it’s deathly still, and I stick to the wall before dropping to my hands and knees at the top of the stairs. The wet dirt caked to the bottom of my sock sticks to my skin and the small stones tinkle as they fall off during my crawl.

My heart pounds, creating an echo chamber in my ears of false footsteps. Each thud is translated as the crazy freak coming after me rather than the means of my survival until the moonlight reflects off the cast-iron plate of the grand piano. My phone is there on the bench, exactly where I left it, but I don’t stand.

I continue crawling and snatch it up as soon as it’s within reach. The screen glows as I tap against it, and I wince at each press of 911. Sounds are amplified due to the murderous silence, and I slowly bring the phone to my ear. The dull light from the screen slowly illuminates the gloved fingers reaching over my shoulder.

Whipping my head to the side, I push myself forward and hold the phone with a white-knuckle grip as the connecting tone trills, but the fingers covering my mouth and nose are faster.