Page 11 of Taunting Tarran (Wild at Heart #1)
THE BUTCHERBIRD
This wasn’t how I envisioned ending my evening after The Lickerish Lounge. When he left, after dumping me abruptly on my driveway, he gave me clear instructions that I wasn’t to remove my blindfold until he had disappeared.
What the actual fuck?
What happened next caught me completely off guard.
Before I had even counted to twenty, the car suddenly reversed with a screech, gravel flying chaotically as the wheels spun in defiance of the ground.
I could feel the car come to an abrupt halt, mere inches from my face, and I felt the rush of the warm, acrid breath of the exhaust brushing against my skin.
My heart thumped within its cage so hard, it was like a caged beast, frantically seeking an escape from its confined prison.
In a swift motion, the car door slammed, and he reached out and pulled me into his embrace, lifting me effortlessly, cradling me as he carried me inside with an urgency I couldn’t comprehend.
I hadn’t dared remove my blindfold, too afraid of the unknown, but I could tell he was taking me upstairs with determined strides, and moments later he ran a bath.
The sound of the water filled the empty, unspoken space.
The tap spitting before settling into a steady stream as the tub began to fill.
I could smell the steam rising, curling into the air and wrapping the room and my naked flesh in a comforting veil.
Fear rooted me in place, and I feared removing my blindfold, even when he lowered me into the water.
Neither of us spoke. His hands glided the sponge with both a firm and gentle touch.
I could hear the gentle dip of the sponge and the soft squeeze as he began to wash me.
As the water cooled, he dried my hair, his hands running through it as soft as a painter’s brushstroke.
The towel glided through the strands, absorbing the remnants of moisture with care.
Guiding me to sit, he plaited it, his fingers weaving through with artisan precision.
Finally, he guided me to bed, tucking me in, and as he exited the room, I was left in a state of confusion, trying to piece together the whirlwind of events that had recently unfolded.
‘Tell me you’ll never go back to that club?’ he groaned. ‘You’ll soon find out what happens when you don’t do as you’re told.’
The giddy screaming of small children distracts me for a few hours.
If it’s not the haunting memories of the lives lost that plague my mind, it’s now some stranger who has attached himself to my life.
Although, technically speaking, that would be rather presumptuous as it had only been the one time.
Nevertheless, memories of that evening make my heart skip a beat, my hands are growing clammy, and I’m gasping for air, because now he’s haunting my thoughts.
Am I scared or excited?
Is he following me? Do I want him to?
Will he come back?
He knows where I live!
FUCK!
What is wrong with me?
In the bathroom, I splash cold water onto my face. Steadily, I run my finger gently over my shoulder, where the scab from the slowly healing dental impression marks the bite. I wince.
‘You do not go back to that club!’ his voice echoes in my mind, stern and unyielding. I shake my head, brushing off the memory like a pesky fly. Composing myself, I step back into the classroom, my heels clicking on the polished floor, notifying my colleague of my return.
‘Ms Pinegrove?’ the young teacher beckons as I see her holding an envelope.
‘Yes?’
‘This letter came for you while you stepped out.’
‘Thank you.’ I take the letter, feeling the prickle of unease.
Slowly, I sink into my chair behind my desk, my fingers trembling slightly as I tear open the candle embossed seal of the envelope.
My eyes scan the room, wary and alert, as if expecting the walls themselves to tell me who the letter is from.
The stand-in walks out, and I suck in a sharp breath as I peel the envelope open.
‘Holy mother of God.’
‘Ms Pinegrove?’ one of the children calls out.
As the envelope trembles in my hands, a cold, icy dread coils around my chest. My heart palpitates, pounding louder with each beat.
I feel the blood drain from my face as my eyes lift to the child calling my name.
The normal buzz of activity seeming distant and muffled, as if I were sinking further underwater.
I want to scream, drop the envelope and run, but my body betrays me.
Instead, my eyes drop to its contents once again.
Teeth.
And a letter.
Shit.
I take a deep breath and answer the child. ‘Nothing, darling,’ then slowly pull out the letter avoiding any contact with the teeth that I can tell have been freshly extracted. Then, as I open it, I know at once who had sent it .
I’m not one to make idle threats. Let’s hope next time I won’t need to punish anyone else.
As I read, the words echo in that same voice, mocking, probing into my life. More words to haunt my dreams, a spectral presence lingering in the recesses of my mind.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I tell the children as I stand, clasping the envelope tightly in the palm of my hand.
Next time? So this fucker will be back!
Do I ring the police?
And say what? That would only air my dirty laundry about the club, why I go there. No one would understand.
I rake my bottom lip between my teeth, while looking at myself in the bathroom mirror before opening the envelope again.
I pull back my top looking at the bite mark, the teeth, the bite mark, and the teeth again.
I find myself plucking a tooth out, twirling it between my fingers, then slowly attempting to place it over the impression.
My stomach churns, threatening to revolt, as the taste of bile lingers at the back of my throat.
I shiver uncontrollably, cold sweat beading my forehead.
My throat begins to burn; the taste becoming acidic and bitter, then, with a sudden, violent heave, the contents of my stomach are expelled.
I empty the remaining teeth into the toilet bowl, and then flush several times to get rid of them, remembering his last taunting words.
‘I’m not one to make idle threats.’
I had the substitute teacher take over and finish the class.
With a madman pursuing me, I don’t feel I’m the best person to be around children.
Their safety is and always has been my utmost priority, and the Head teacher recommended I took a short period of rest to ensure I can return back to work at full capacity, as he had noticed that something was clearly off.
He mentioned that my usual energy and enthusiasm were noticeably absent, replaced instead by a pallor and an air of distraction.
You could say that!
He observed my trembling hands, the tension in my posture, and the distant look in my eyes. And before I could contest his decision, he’s pushing me out of the door.
‘Get some rest, Tarran. I’ll give you a ring next week and see how you’re getting on.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I settle into my car. Initially, looking into the rearview mirror, behind the seats, and wondering if my pursuer is hiding in the boot.
I’m going crazy!
As a storm begins to brew, I race home, desperate to avoid the impending rain.
It’s not even been twenty-four hours since this man became my shadow, attaching himself to me, infiltrating my house – and now, he’s gained access to my mind.
Because I can’t stop thinking if he’s there at home now, waiting for me.
Juggling my briefcase and a few groceries I make my way towards the front door.
It’s closed. That’s something.
I unlock my front door as water descends from the clouds. Then, I slowly push the door open, my eyes taking in every detail, my ears straining to hear any noise from inside.
I sigh, running my hands through my hair as I step over the threshold.
The door was locked! I’m being so stupid.
I head for the kettle, flicking the switch, and I call out to an imaginary friend – just in case.
‘Want a cup of tea?’ My heart beats furiously.
My house has always been my sanctuary, it’s small but cosy, but more importantly it’s mine.
I reach for a knife out of the knife block, and grip it tightly as I expect someone to appear from the shadows.
Every creak and groan of the floorboards amplifies my anxiety, even though it’s me making the noises.
My heart beats faster and faster as my breath hitches.
I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears making me freeze on the spot, but the click of the kettle has me jumping out of my skin.
My eyes strain into the darkness; as the curtains are drawn.
I scoot back towards the kettle opening a drawer, and my heart skips a beat.
The familiar arrangement of knives and forks has been disturbingly altered.
I reach for the much larger knife, and frantically begin swapping the cutlery back to Forks, Knives, and Spoons .
He’s been here, touching my things. But when?
Today! He’s been here today.
I back away from the disarray while still clutching the knife, and there, on my dining table sits a neat stack of freshly laundered and folded linen.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against the fabric.
‘OK, FUCKER. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW!’
I lash out, the knife pointing outwards. My grandpa would be so disappointed. He taught me better.
No one replies, the house is eerily empty. There’s no explanation. Either I’ve lost my mind and imagined this entire scenario, or I have a stalker. And what’s even worse is, I can’t tell anyone about it. Because, what’s truly insane, is that this is the most excitement I’ve had in years.