Page 8

CHAPTER 8

Birdie

The sky is dimming black, and the crisp air stings my cheeks. My footsteps echo on the sidewalk beneath the soft glow of the streetlights. I’m practically alone on a dark, quiet street, probably for the first time since I moved here, but I’m not afraid. Walking by myself gives me a sense of freedom I’ve long forgotten. I hold on to it like a lifeline. How long will it last, if at all? I dare dream. A happy ending of a story yet to be written, where I control the narrative. A book to call mine.

I check the security app on my phone. The feed from the rooms remains as I left it. The security alarm is beeping green. No one has broken into my house or left more promises of mayhem. I’m both free and safe for tonight.

A faint scuff on the sidewalk asks if I’ve spoken too soon. Is that a footstep behind me or a trick of the wind? I glance over my shoulder, but the street is empty.

Nonetheless, that elusive freedom slips away. The sick feeling that I’m being watched creeps up my spine. My pace quickens. Just my imagination. The wind is innocent; it’s my mind that’s guilty. I try to reason with myself that it’s all in my head. When you live in the dark long enough, the light becomes the monster you fear.

But then I hear it again. A crunch, somewhere in the pitch-black alley. Not a rat. Not a cat. A footstep.

My body tenses, ears straining over the sound of my racing breaths. Another step. The foot hits the ground firmly now. Deliberate.

I get my phone and a can of pepper spray out of my purse, but I don’t dare turn around or wait for the footsteps to reveal their owner. My body breaks into a desperate run. The decision to walk home turns into regret. I should have gotten a ride. I should have gotten a gun and carried it with me everywhere like Blake does.

Blake. My first thought is to call him despite everything. My heart hammers as the footsteps behind me advance, louder, closer, steady in their pursuit. They tap out a terrifying beat, like the pulse of fear thrumming through me.

I run as fast as my legs allow me. My lungs burn. The cold air does not help. Outrunning whoever is following me doesn’t seem like a viable option now. If I fall, I’m as good as dead.

Who is this? Why are they following me? It can’t be Blake. I know the sound of his footfalls like the back of my hand. He won’t be sending someone to follow me in the dark like a creep either. What if it is some random creep, though?

What if it isn’t random? What if it is Butterfly Man?

My feet freeze at the thought, and so do the footsteps behind. I can’t hear anything but the echoing of my heart. Think, Birdie. Every crime has a motive. Every goal needs an obstacle. Be the obstacle not the victim.

I clutch the pepper spray can with one hand, the other ready to tap Blake’s number. Slowly, I turn and aim the can at the shadows. I can’t see who is there because bright headlights down the street flash in my face. The roar of a motorcycle engine shatters the night. In a split-second, the bike screeches to a halt at my side, and a leather-clad rider hops off. He rips off his helmet, revealing his face.