Page 25

25

PATRICK

T ina urges me not to do anything rash or stupid. I promise her I won't. But here I am, sitting in Jake Bloom's living room, waiting for him to come back with a beer. His place is sparse but clean—definitely not what I envisioned when I came over last night. I don’t know why I’m even here, I let out a held breath and run my fingers through my hair. Is this some kind of rebellious shit? Like I’m going to hurt Michael by being here? I shake my head.

My first stop was to see Tina. She hugged me and let me cry it all out on her shoulder. We spent the next hour talking shit about Michael, and it felt good—at first. My heart wasn't truly in the shit-talking session because I still very much want him. For God’s sake, I really have feelings for that man. Even when they’re rather confusing feelings right now. Whenever I close my eyes, I see his face, smiling at me. I can still feel his lips on mine as we showered together and made love.

Why did he have to lie to me? I start wracking my brain for details. Had he said he wasn't dating other people? Was he even still dating that little asshole who ruined our romantic dinner? Ugh. There are too many possible truths to keep track of, and that's why I'm at Jake's place.

Spending the rest of last night with him was fun, but we didn't do anything sexual. Although I'm pretty sure he wanted to at least do some hand and mouth stuff, I wasn't ready for that. Not after he turned me down last time. Not to mention, my feelings for Michael. Truth be told, deep down, I hope there might be a reconciliation with Michael, but that doesn't seem likely since he hasn't even reached out to me.

Pulling out my phone, I check for a message. Damn, the phone is dead. How long has it been like that? Looking around the living room, I search for a charger that might fit my phone but don't find one. Oh, well. I'll be leaving here soon enough.

Jake walks back in from the kitchen with a cold beer in each hand. “Here you go,” he says with a smile. “We’ve gone through almost my full twelve-pack between last night and today.”

“Sorry about that,” I say. “I’ll definitely restock you when I get paid.”

He shrugs. “No worries.”

We clink bottles and take a few swigs in silence. My senses are heightened, and the energy in the room feels different. Jake's mood seems to have changed, although I don’t have any way to prove it. There's something about the way he sips his beer. What the hell is wrong with me? He's not acting any differently. Clearly, I'm still just paranoid from what happened at the restaurant last night. Not everyone is out to screw you over, I remind myself.

“Do you have to work today?” I ask.

Jake shakes his head. “I’ve got the whole day off.” He turns to me and wags his eyebrows suggestively. “How about you?”

My stomach tightens. Jake really wants to mess around, and I don't. I'll have to play it cool and figure out a way to get out of here without hurting his feelings. After all, he's been so kind to stay up all night with me while I bitched and moaned about my date with Michael.

“I’ve got to work,” I say. “I should have been on my way already, but the only one who really pays attention to the timeclock is Devon. He’s a freak about everyone else’s schedule.”

“God, he’s such a jerk. The other day he walked up to me and asked if I knew the difference between a Fuzzy Navel and Sex on the Beach. Supposedly, a client complained about the drink I made, and he threw a fit with me because he said I was dipping into his tips with my incompetence.”

“Dude,” I say. “Uncalled for. Did you tell him to back off?”

He smirks. “I leaned across the bar and told him in no uncertain terms that I would slit his throat and tear out his tongue if he spoke to me like that again.”

The look in Jake’s eyes is a tiny bit unsettling. Could it be the dehydration from two days of alcohol and no water? Or is he really as crazy as he just made himself sound? Trying desperately not to react, especially with my facial expressions, I blink a few times and laugh. It's not my best attempt at a fake laugh, but under the circumstances, I feel it's passable.

“I bet he didn’t sass talk you again after that.”

He shakes his head and gulps down some beer. “You bet your sweet ass he didn’t.”

My sweet ass? Here we go again. The look on Jake’s face gives me pause. Is it lust? Anger? Super hard to tell. I could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eyes, but they also seem really hard and a bit off-putting. I quickly down the rest of my beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, be my guest.” He points down the hallway. “It’s on the right.”

Maybe if I dilly dally a little bit in there, he will lose interest, and I can go home and get ready for work. Getting up from the couch is a little harder than I thought. Again, I must be dehydrated or something because my head is spinning. Somehow, I make it to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I look in the mirror and gasp. My eyes are super bloodshot, and my pupils are huge.

What the hell?

I turn on the cold water and splash some on my face. Next, I drink at least four full hands worth of water from the tap, which is definitely not something I usually do, especially at someone else’s home. Germs… especially in the bathroom.

The cold water tingles as I splash it again on my cheeks. My face feels like it's on fire, and the water is like hundreds of tiny needles poking me over and over again. I’ve never felt like this before. Am I sick? Do I have a fever?

I pull open his medicine cabinet to see if he has any Tylenol. There are multiple prescription bottles, but nothing I recognize. Next, I open the vanity drawer and begin moving things around, hoping to find something to relieve my symptoms.

That’s when I notice it. How the hell did he get this? I pull on the lanyard and take a closer look. Sure enough, it’s my work badge, keys, and identification. My stomach tightens once again, and I turn back to the mirror. If Jake stole my stuff, then could he be… the killer? Oh shit, my mind starts swirling with all the possibilities. I’m instantly wracking my brain to make sense of it all.

My heart races as I lean in closer to the mirror. My vision begins to narrow, and I feel like I might pass out. Then it dawns on me. I’m not sick; Jake has poisoned me… he must have roofied me. What am I going to do? I reach for my phone again but remember the battery is dead.

Right then, the bathroom door crashes open. Jake stands in the doorway. I sense pure evil as he steps closer to me, eyes locked onto mine. There isn’t anywhere for me to run or hide.

“You shouldn’t go through people’s things,” he says.

I turn and reach for the windowsill above the toilet. If only I can get to it before he attacks, but my feet feel like they're stuck in cement.

“Not so fast,” Jake says behind me.

A thump to the back of my head is the last thing I feel as my vision tunnels and my world goes black.

The back of my head is throbbing, but the rest of my body feels like it's floating in suspended animation. My eyes are closed, and something tells me to keep them that way.

What just happened? Where am I? Why does my head hurt so fucking bad? I feel like I’ve been drugged.

Drugged! That’s right. Jake gave me a beer, and I drank it. He roofied my beer. I pretend to still be unconscious and open my eyes, but just a slit. I'm still in his bathroom, but I’m lying on the tiled floor. There's no sign of him, but surely, he is close by. What the hell do I do? My body slowly begins to feel like my own again; my arms and legs tingle as they come back to life. My internal fight-or-flight is kicking in hard. Sweat forms on my upper lip, and goosebumps spread across my body. I'm ready for a fight, but deep down just want to run away.

The bathroom door creaks as Jake enters the small room and stands over me. I’ve closed my eyes but can feel his presence. One foot on either side of my chest, he stares down at me. Is he trying to figure out the best way to kill me? I hear the shower curtain tear off the metal rings holding it to the bar.

I’ve seen enough true crime to know this isn’t good. Only time killers use plastic is to dismember and dispose of the body. I need to act and act fast. Within a few seconds, Jake takes the curtain and grabs ahold of my legs, dragging me out of the bathroom.

Where the hell is he taking me?

He pulls me down the hallway toward the living room. He must want more room to do the dirty work. I frantically search my surroundings from my current vantage point and find his bow and quiver full of arrows. There's one arrow lying on the floor next to the other items, and it looks like we are going right past it.

As he drags me past the weapon, I grab for it, my hand gripping it tight. He notices my sudden movement and drops my legs, lunging for me. Without hesitation, I stab at him. Over and over, I plunge the arrow tip toward him, but each damn time he manages to move out of the way.

He stands and backs up a step. I sit, holding the arrow in front of me like a shield from his onslaught. As I make it to my feet, my head swirls, causing me to stumble one step back. It's all Jake needs to move on me. He grabs me in an instant, pulling me around, his arm pressed against my neck. Gripping the shaft as tight as I can, I jab the arrow into his thigh. Never have I ever stabbed something, but I can tell I’ve done a little damage. He releases the pressure around my neck and screams in pain. Attempting to pull the arrow back out to do it again proves impossible. My hands are slick with blood and sweat, and I can't secure my grip. Instead, I elbow back and knock him in the jaw. He stumbles backward, holding his face in his hands.

I rush at him like we learned in the self-defense class at work, but as I reach for him, he sidesteps and sends me sprawling across the floor. Looking back, I watch in horror as he turns to face me, sucking air through his teeth. The savageness in his eyes scares me more than the arrow he pulls from his own body and now holds up like a dagger.

“Jake,” I say. “Please don’t kill me.”

He takes a step toward me.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I swear I’ll just go to work and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Another step closer.

I'm running out of space and time. I scramble to my feet and rush toward the front door. This time, I only manage a few steps when he trips me. Now, flat down on my stomach, he puts his knee to my back and ties my hands behind me with what feels like duct tape.

Jake sits me up against the wall and tapes my legs together as well.

“Don’t think for a second I hadn’t overheard you and Tina talking about your little bet. Who was going to get me to have sex with them first. Had you just tried a little harder the other night, we could have had something special… you and me,” he says. “But then… you went and found yourself a cop instead. Was I not good enough for you?”

I open my mouth to speak, but he slaps a piece of tape across it.

“Don’t say a word,” he says. “It’s too late for talking.”