Page 31

Dallas

SHELBY (3:32PM): I’m at the store, do you need meds? I’ll get you Gatorade. Can you eat yet?

ME (3:37PM): Doing better, I’ll try to eat today. Thank you.

I don’t have a stomach virus like Shelby thinks, but my nausea and lack of appetite cover it well. That, and the fact that I haven’t left my bedroom in over two days. How many Plan B pills can you take and not vomit them back up? I took three—so far, so good.

I missed class on Friday. By some miracle, there was one slot left at the student clinic and I had a birth control implant placed that afternoon. And then I missed Shapeshift. I would say I spent the evening crying over it, but I’d already been crying for close to 24 hours by then. I’ve stopped, but it’s only been replaced by hours upon hours of staring off into space, disassociating, falling asleep, and then waking up periodically to do it all over again.

When I close my eyes, I see Bowen and the smile that tugs at his dimpled cheeks, so wide that his eyes look closed. But then his face distorts and twists into the monster that took such pleasure in torturing me. I see the ceiling of my car and I can’t move, pinned beneath his weight while he squeezes my throat so hard I can’t breathe. But then I start seeing other things, too, like Evie’s face the last time I saw her, Colson screaming in the dark, Colson covered in blood, Colson trying to warn me…

Colson could wash the blood off of him, but the blood on my back seat is still there, and it won’t wash off.

And then I see another face, one that makes my chest cave and my heart ache. But as soon as I open my eyes, it washes away like dust in the rain.

I haven’t used my phone for anything except texting my roommates, almost like I’m afraid to look at anything else. But I know I can’t stay like this. Eventually, I have to come out. I stare at my home screen, at the photo of the four of us at Maddie’s 21 st birthday a few weeks ago. And then, after a couple of minutes, I do something that I know I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t find Jesse before because I didn’t know his name, and I won’t find him now because Jesse never existed. But there is a Bowen, and I know that he exists. I type his name into the search bar and, eventually, his face appears on my screen, sending another wave of nausea through my gut. I tap his name and steel myself for whatever I’m about to see.

To my surprise, his page looks oddly familiar. It’s similar to mine. I scroll down and study the posts, mostly streams of him and his friends gaming. They shit-talk each other back and forth, primarily referencing Call of Duty. He even shares posts from AJ.

GhostW@ke.

Before I realize it, I’ve watched a solid three months of Bowen and his friends playing each other in various skins like Cyber Bunny and Nicki Minaj. It’s clear who he is.

Osama bin Laggin.

I’d be jealous of how clever it is if I didn’t want to vomit.

There’s another handle that shows up more than the others, a guy named Jay Rhinehardt.

Finding Chemo.

Also pretty good.

I click on Jay and scroll through his feed. My breath catches when I see a photo of him and two other men in uniform, standing in front of a car with Canaan Police emblazoned on the side. What’s more, I recognize them.

Jay was at Blood Horse with Bowen, and so was his brother, Wells. The other man is older, but has the same last name, probably their father. And they’re all Canaan police officers. My hand is shaking and I have to put down the phone. But the longer I stare at the screen, something sparks in my brain, giving way to a brief moment of clarity.

Your brother tried to take what belonged to me.

This time I don’t wince at the thought of his voice. This time, it connects two memories, fitting perfectly like a key into a lock. Because right after I hear Bowen’s voice, I hear Evie’s.

Col doesn’t like him…he was really upset when he found out I was going to ride with him, so I didn’t.

I keep staring at the posts, mulling over the whirlpool of details swirling through my mind. Miraculously, it spurs me to pull back my comforter and sit up for the first time in 24 hours. And, fuck, I feel like Dracula stumbling out of his coffin with a stiff back.

Listening at the door, I turn the knob and peer through the crack into the hallway. Seeing no one, I shuffle down the hall to the bathroom and flip on the shower. Soon, the room starts filling with steam and I slide my shorts and underwear off onto the tile.

It looks like I’ve stopped bleeding. I run my hand across my lower belly, over the residual tenderness. At least the pain seems to be fading. It’s a wonder he didn’t crack my pelvis. But I can’t help but notice how familiar it feels, like I’ve felt this kind of ache before.

It happened once during freshman year of high school when my period randomly started one morning, accompanied by an uncomfortable ache just like this one. It only lasted for about a day before it stopped and everything went back to normal. But the unsettling sense of déjà vu is what gives me pause.

I thought about telling someone what happened while I was at the clinic on Friday, but decided against it. I might not have remembered what Bowen looked like when Colson held his phone to my face, but I never forgot what he said.

His family will cover for him, the police will cover for him, and he’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.

As if leveling an allegation against a man for rape isn’t dangerous enough, especially if he forced you to come while he did it. I cringe at the thought as the nausea threatens to return.

With some new shred of purpose, I finish getting cleaned up and venture downstairs. The aroma of popcorn drifts up to the hallway, and after not eating for two days, my stomach lets out a growl at how good it smells. I creep down the stairs, listening for voices, but all I hear is music. Once at the bottom, I make my way to the kitchen, my footsteps overshadowed by the music coming from Shelby’s laptop.

She’s the only one here, sitting at the table with the bag of popcorn next to her. Her eyes round when she sees me, braced in the doorway with wet hair, and turns down the music.

“Dallas!” she exclaims before shooting me a dubious look. “Are you better? You know I love you, but I don’t want to catch whatever the hell you have.”

I take a step into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’m not sick.” I clear my throat, having barely uttered a word in days. “Actually, I have to talk to you.”

I slowly pull out a chair and sit down. From the way she’s looking at me, I must look like a headcase.

“Something happened on Thursday,” I begin.

“What?” she asks, furrowing her brow with concern.

I stare at the tabletop for nearly a minute, trying to decide how to say what I’m about to say. But eventually, it just comes out tumbling out.

“I was raped by Evie’s murderer.”

Shelby just stares at me blankly. But after a few seconds, her jaw drops. “ What? ”

For the next few minutes, I tell her everything; about the fight at the funeral, what Colson told me about Bowen afterward, Shapeshift, Jesse, my shitty boss at Blood Horse, the pickles, the Civic, the old railroad bridge, and what happened just as Bowen lulled me into a false sense of security.

“You have to go to the police,” Shelby hisses, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll go with you!”

“His grandfather’s the police chief in Canaan and his best friend is an officer.”

Shelby immediately deflates. “But, still…there has to be…”

I shake my head, having already had the exact same thoughts with no resolution. And, before I know it, I’m swiping through my phone until I find what I’m looking for.

“Look,” I hold up my phone. “This is him.”

Shelby’s eyes dart back and forth between me and the screen, stunned and speechless.

“ Look at him! ” I growl.

She presses her mouth together and tries to focus. She probably thinks I’m in shock, but I’ve already done this part.

I want her to know what I’m dealing with, just like the nurse practitioner who did my exam yesterday knew why I was there without having to tell her. I give Shelby the same look she did when she saw the bruises and the aftermath of Bowen’s assault. But, this time, Shelby’s not going to brush me off like I did to her when she asked if I wanted to talk to one of the counselors.

Because I’m way past talking. I’ve already started making other plans.

“His name…is Bowen Garrison.”

●●●

“Are you working this weekend?” Kara asks as she restocks the glasses beneath the bar.

“No, I’m leaving tomorrow for Colorado, to see my dad and brother. I was supposed to go for Easter, but I had a project and two papers due that week.”

As if it really matters. Aside from chocolate eggs and a feast with giant tomahawk steaks, the Lutzes don’t celebrate Easter, per se. So, postponing my visit for a couple of weeks isn’t an issue. Mostly, I’m curious about seeing Colson.

“Didn’t you say your brother was up in Alaska or somewhere?”

“I think it’s Canada now.”

“What does he do?”

I exhale slowly, chewing the side of my cheek. What does my brother do?

“Last I heard,” I crack a smile, “he hikes around the Arctic protecting rich people from polar bears.”

Kara’s head pops up from behind the bar. “Say what?”

“Well, scientists, too,” I chuckle, “ allegedly. But from what my dad says, rich game hunters pay way more.”

“ Shit, ” Kara mutters, disappearing below again.

Suddenly, Sarah skids to a stop in front of the bar. “Dallas, can you please check on the patio for me? All this shit just hit at once!” she calls as she dumps an armful of bottles into the trash and flies into the kitchen.

I finish my drink orders and head out to the patio to make a sweep, clearing glasses and bottles and confirming no one is dying of starvation without their wings and pierogis. Finally, I reach the table in the back corner where a young woman with long dark brown hair is sitting, casually scrolling through her phone while sipping a lager. There are a couple of empty glasses in the middle of the table, so I prepare to sweep them up.

“Can I take these for you?”

She snaps her head up. “Yes, thank you,” she replies with a kind smile.

I start gathering the glasses in one arm when I feel someone brush against my shoulder.

“Oh, sorry.” I step aside when I realize it’s a guy returning to the seat across from her.

“You’re good,” he replies, leaning in slightly as he takes his seat.

As soon as I catch a hint of spearmint, my entire body tenses and I look over in horror.

Bowen looks up at me from his chair while he takes a long drag off a cigarette. One of the glasses slips from the crook of my arm and falls between my sneakers with a sharp crack. I look down, muttering a curse as I quickly step away from the broken glass.

“I see you’ve met Dallas,” Bowen says to the woman across the table.

“No, actually,” she replies. “Do you all know each other?”

My heart hammers as Bowen flashes me an impish smile.

“Dallas and I go way back. All the way back to high school.”

“Really?” The woman perks up and then introduces herself. “I’m Valerie. I’ve known Bo since high school, too.”

I don’t care who the fuck you are.

I give a polite nod and force a smile, trying to end this nightmare as soon as possible.

“Were you and Bo close?” She grins at Bowen like she’s about to learn some deep dark secret.

If she only knew.

“Practically family,” he mutters, sucking on his cigarette.

“Wow! When did you graduate?”

God, why won’t she just shut up?

“A few years later…” I look down at the glass still laying at my feet. “I’m sorry, I should really clean this up.”

“Let me help you,” Bowen says nonchalantly while rising from his seat.

“No, really—” My teeth are clenched so hard, they’re about to crack.

But he ignores me and kneels down to start plucking pieces of glass off the floor and placing them in a wrinkled napkin. I want to grind the jagged pieces into his eyes. But, more so, I just want to sprint out of here. I gather up as much as I can, but as soon as I turn my back, I hear his heavy footfalls behind me. And when I reach the trash can by the door, he’s right at my shoulder.

“You should be more careful,” Bowen chides, running his eyes up and down my figure, “so you don’t fuck up my beautiful skin.”

“So, if I have scars, you’ll leave me alone?” I growl under my breath as I chuck the glass into the trash can.

“If you have scars, I’ll excise them to make room for my own.”

I look down, my chest tightening at each word like screws into a coffin.

“Anyway,” Bowen glances around, “I heard you’re going to visit your brother.”

I’m sure you did, fucking creep.

He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I should give you a gift for him, since he really liked the last one I made for him.”

I still don’t answer, especially since I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about with his cryptic references. Whatever drama he has with my brother, I don’t care. Spinning on my heel, I jerk open the door and disappear back inside the pub.

Thankfully, Bowen doesn’t follow, and after a solid 10 minutes of deep breathing in the restroom, I return to work without further incident, making sure to avoid the patio at all costs. Why do I always end up in restroom stalls at the brink of a meltdown? It’s gross and depressing. Granted, this is the first time Bowen’s spoken to me since what happened at the old railroad bridge.

But I’ve seen him plenty since then.

It was unnerving at first. Shelby and I were walking back to her car after our afternoon classes. I grabbed the handle of her Cherokee and caught sight of a black truck sitting at the traffic light across from the smoothie shop. After a herd of students passed by, the guy in the driver’s seat turned his head and looked at me.

I recognized his black hair, those black eyes, and his black soul casting me a menacing smirk. And then, as soon as he appeared, the light turns green and he was gone. But that’s what Bowen does. He doesn’t linger, he doesn’t interact, he just makes his presence known and then vanishes back into the ether to visit his curse upon me another day.

But the truth is that I’m not scared of Bowen Garrison watching me.

People watch me all the time. Strangers peer into my bedroom through a camera lens and watch me for hours on end. I’ve come to terms with the fact that not all of them are benevolent. I’m aware that there are predators of all kinds, and I can live with that. But what I can’t live with is Bowen living on the wrong side of the camera with me and the constant uncertainty of when he will make good on his threat.

Stalkers don’t bother me—murderers do. And when one becomes the other, that just won’t do.

I’d rather die than live in fear of him. And if he’s going to torture me, then I have nothing to lose. I have to fight back. My way.

I keep living my life and I keep doing what I do every day, which includes catching up with AJ while I start packing for my trip to Colorado.

“When do you fly out?” he asks.

“Tomorrow after class.”

“Did you install that software I told you about? Did it work like you wanted it to?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect. And the interface is really intuitive.”

Not only is AJ fun to play games with, but he’s a wealth of knowledge when it comes to technology. I’m a decent hacker in my own right, but I don’t have his brand of skills when it comes to high-quality mics, voice changing software, and graphic design.

“I’m sorry you have to use it, but at least you don’t have to sit on mute anymore.”

He’s right, it sucks and I shouldn’t have to do this. I should be able to traverse online gaming as a woman, but once I manipulated my voice to sound like a guy and uploaded profile pictures to match the persona, the incels on the gaming platforms deemed me a god.

“There’s no going back.” I smile to myself. “Those bitches bow down to me now.”

“ Jesus, Riley,” AJ chuckles.

I start gathering my charge cords and packing my various devices into my backpack. “Anyway, what are you doing tonight?”

“Driving home. Just had dinner with my family, so now I need to go home and disassociate.”

“Are they a lot of drama?” I’ve always been amused by how exhausted AJ gets with human interaction whereas I thrive on it.

Granted, I didn’t used to be. It took a few years to get back to being any semblance of the person I was before Evie died.

“Not really,” he muses. “There are just a lot of them…all talking…at the same time. Oh, ” he stops short, “I saw something that reminded me of you.”

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes with a text. But when I open it, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s a picture, and a beautiful one at that, but what’s in it makes my stomach drop and sends a wave of goosebumps skittering down my arms.

It’s a picture of a hillside, with colors so vibrant that they don’t look real. And in the foreground, zoomed in, is a cluster of flowers of the same radiant colors. Sunflowers, paintbrush, lupine, lilies, larkspur…and a small blue flower that pops against the fiery hues behind it.

The longer I stare at it, an intense dread seeps through my veins.

I didn’t tell Bowen, but I know the Comanche story of the bluebonnets. It was a story my mom read to me when we still lived in Colorado. But Bowen is wretched and vile, desecrating that story and its people with his twisted games.

“You there?” AJ asks before I realize I haven’t said a word in almost a minute.

“Why—” I swallow hard, my throat suddenly parched. “Why did you send me this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you send me this?” I ask again, this time with an edge to my voice.

“It’s a mural from JFK, I took a picture of it the last time I flew through there,” he replies. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Is it? Not long ago, I wouldn’t question it, but now a sinking feeling washes over me, along with a slew of possibilities I never would’ve considered before. Why did AJ just send me a photo of bluebonnets? Only one person on this planet would send me this on purpose.

No…no, no, no…that would mean…

“Um…” I hesitate, staring down at my half-packed suitcase, unable to articulate just how much I don’t want to answer his question.

Now, I don’t know if I can say anything to AJ.

If his name is even AJ…

I take a deep breath and bounce on the balls of my feet, trying to relax my muscles and calm my voice. “Something happened, and…and I…” and then the unthinkable tumbles out of my mouth, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Not know who you are.”

A heavy silence falls between us, my feeling of dread only growing.

“Hello?” For a moment, I think the call dropped.

“I’m here,” AJ replies. “What happened?”

He doesn’t sound like Bowen, but if by some nightmarish possibility he is, am I really going to rehash what he did to me on a phone call with him? But I know he’s not Bowen. He can’t be. He looks…

I don’t know what AJ looks like.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t tell exactly how tall AJ is because he’s usually sitting down. AJ’s muscular, and Bowen’s muscular. But AJ’s stockier…I think. I can see AJ’s hands. Do I remember Bowen’s hands? Do I remember the exact color of his skin in the dim light? I don’t think I’ve even gotten a good look at AJ’s hair. But AJ’s voice is different, isn’t it? I glance down at my voice mod setup…that AJ recommended.

When it comes down to it, there’s no reason AJ couldn’t be Bowen.

“It's a long story,” I begin. “But a few weeks ago, a guy made me think he was someone else, and then he trapped me in the car with him. He held me down, and—” my voice starts cracking as I try to finish the sentence, “and he raped me. Then he told me how he's going to come for me, and lock me away, and—and I don’t know the fuck what. Anyway, he has a tattoo on his arm of bluebonnets.” My heart is racing, but for some reason, saying it out loud feels like a relief.

“Who’s he? ” AJ growls.

I take a deep breath, preparing to tear open the wound again for someone else.

“The guy who murdered my sister.”

The silence returns. But I can hear AJ barely breathing on the other end of the phone.

“I don't know who you are,” I continue. “I've never seen your face. And now I don't know if I want to. I can’t talk to you anymore until I know that you’re not…” I trail off, clenching my jaw in frustration.

“Ry…” he drawls, almost painfully.

My voice suddenly turns hectic. “Does it ever bother you that you don’t see my face, either?”

“Of course,” he replies. “But I know your reasons for doing what you do.”

Well, now they’ve changed. Fake names and masked personas no longer offer the freedom they used to. Maybe this is it. Maybe I’m the first one to blink in our proverbial staring contest to see how long someone can have an anonymous friend on the Internet before they can’t stand the suspense.

Or maybe AJ’s not who he says he is. Maybe he’s some con. If he’s not Bowen infiltrating every aspect of my life, maybe he’s one of Bowen’s pals who’s been keeping tabs on me. The thought is enough to make my stomach turn.

“I’m coming to see you,” AJ finally says.

“What?” I croak in astonishment.

I am not prepared for this response.

“You’re still going to GalactiCon, right?”

“Yeah?” It’s only the biggest gaming convention in the region, and my friends and I made sure to get tickets.

“I’ll be there. Just give me until then.”

I listen to the sound of my own breaths, over and over while I mull over his proposal. I don’t want my suspicions to be correct. I want AJ to be AJ— my AJ. I want him to be who he says he is. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, I want him to remain my escape. Because that’s what he’s been for the past three years. For some reason, AJ’s anonymity brings me more comfort than most people I see every day. Part of me doesn’t want him to be real just yet. I couldn’t bear it if it turned out he’s…

“GalactiCon,” I agree. “But that’s it. If you’re not there—”

“Baby, I’ll be there. I promise.”

His sudden term of endearment catches me off-guard and renders me speechless. He’s never said anything like that. It’s usually cursing and laughing and shit-talking. And I don’t know what to say except, “OK.”

“OK,” he echoes. “Let me know when you land tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I agree, but unsure whether his promise quells my anxiety.

After I end the call, the realization quickly sets in that things have changed in a fundamental way. How the fuck can AJ remain my confidante while I’m simultaneously suspicious of him? That’s another level of insanity altogether.

But I can’t think about this right now, I need to finish packing and get in the zone. I’m supposed to log on soon to play Dark Souls. After throwing a hoodie on top of the pile, I zip my suitcase and grab my headset.

How many lives can I live at the same time?

To Shelby, Maddie, Carter, and even Austin, the male profile and the voice mod is a way for me to freely interact without anyone knowing that I’m a woman. Still problematic, yes, but this is the world I live in. There’s also another reason they aren’t privy to; one with a more deliberate goal in mind.

As soon as I see the familiar handle show up on my screen, I confirm my settings and start recording.

Get your head in the game and deal with the mindfuck later.

“Hey, Bo.”

“What’s up, Riley?” he replies in his familiar, syrupy voice.

“Same shit, different day. You?” I quip in my artificially lowered tone.

“Just got home. Grabbed drinks with a girl I know.”

“Anything serious?”

“Nah, but she might prove to be useful one day.”

“Is she a SALAD?”

“What’s that?”

“A Sucks-A-Lot-A-Dick?”

“ Shit, dude! ” Bowen erupts in laughter. “That’s pretty good.”

My mouth opens with a silent, exaggerated cackle and ends with me sticking my tongue out at the screen, which he can’t see. This is how it usually goes; I mock Bowen’s asinine voice in mime fashion while I kick his ass on screen. To Bowen, I’m Riley who he met playing Call of Duty and then quickly turned on to Dark Souls— slowly bringing him over to my world, so to speak.

It’s surreal talking to him, but in a strange and macabre way, I think it helps. Maybe because this way, I control the narrative. This is how I’m slowly infiltrating Bowen’s life, just like he did mine. I’m becoming his mirror image, and this is how I will destroy him.

My way.

I’ll never know if I stood where Evie once did, on that overlook gazing into the eyes of a killer. But I won’t be tricked again. I’m still human, and I won’t fall victim to a monster like Bowen who seeks the ruin of souls. I won’t become hollow like him. I still have my humanity, and I won’t stop until I’m standing over his bloodstain like the character on my screen. He’s going to regret every decision he’s made, and I’ll be the one watching as he marches to his own ruin.

Because becoming a shapeshifter is the only way I’ll get out of this alive