Find Me

14 • Rose

I lay in bed with my eyes squeezed shut in pure terror. The hair on the back of my arms and neck stand straight up on end. The window to the bedroom has just been pulled open from the outside, and I'm too afraid to move, too frightened to see the person who's breaking into the house.

I make an effort to keep my breathing steady by gritting my teeth together. It also helps to keep any screams from coming past my lips. I want to scream, to yell for Mom in the other room, but I don't. Who knows what could happen if I did?

Please, go away, I think desperately, keeping my teeth clenched firmly together.

The sounds of sneakers slapping quietly against the floor make me want to turn my head and sneak a glance even more, but I don't. Maybe, they'll go away if I pretend to be asleep, or at least I hope.

When the footsteps fall silent, I sense a presence looking down at me with their burning gaze. My mind screams for me to look, but I don't. I can't, and I won't look at them.

The room's atmosphere is quiet for a while, like the person standing on the other side of my bed is just looking, contemplating whether to do something, or leave. The agonizing wait to see what will happen makes me want to cry, or scream, or both.

My breath catches in my throat as I feel their hand on my hair, stroking it gently. Whenever a finger brushes my neck, more goose bumps appear on the skin it had contacted. I swear I don't breathe for a good minute while this continues. My eyelids, still squeezed shut, beg to open again, but I don't allow them to do so.

The hand soon leaves my hair, but then runs over my left arm, causing goose bumps to rise and the small hairs to stand straight against my skin.

"Soon," he whispers as he strokes my forearm. "Soon, we'll be together."

When his lips touch my cheek, I scream in terror. Only, once I open my eyes to fend off the person in my room, there's no one to fight except for Mom, whose eyes are widened in alarm.

"Are you okay, Skylar?"

I can still feel the hand gliding over my skin as I sit up, breathing hard. Running my hands over my face multiple times, I make the attempt to calm myself down. It was only a dream...you're okay, Mel.

Or was it?

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a nightmare," I say quickly, trying to shake the horrible feeling that the dream had indeed been reality.

"Did you want me to stay with you for a few minutes?"

I shake my head. "No, it's okay. You can go."

I feel her lips touch my forehead, right above where my fingers are still covering my eyes. Then, she leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

Slowly, I lower my hands, glancing around the room. Moonlight filters through a slice in the curtains, causing a stripe to glow against the wall. Everything seems untouched, except for when my eyes land on the bedside table and I see an object I prayed I'd never see again. Staring at me through its petals is another pure white rose.

This discovery nearly proves my theory that he'd been in here...watching me. He must have been in my room, and I must have been awake, or at least half conscious at the time. It just can't be a coincidence that I'd have a nightmare like that and then wake up with a rose on my bedside table.

I reach over, slowly plucking the flower off of the table. The smell makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. The sickening sweet scent invades my senses, almost making me dizzy. I toss the rose in the garbage and turn back to the nightstand, where a piece of paper catches my eye.

I frown, swiping the folded paper off of the table. Quickly, I open the crease, reading the contents. There's a single word in the middle of the paper, one that sends more chills up my spine.

'Soon' is written in blood-red ink. The cursive writing is smooth and controlled, like someone had taken a long time writing that word neatly in the center of the page.

Shivering, I fold it back up and stuff it under my pillow. When Agent Callaway visits, I can show him the note. He may be able to tell me what to do.

"Soon," I whisper as I lay back down. "Not on my watch, bastard."

•••

Once again, I don't tell mom about the rose, and I don't mention the note. I want to, but some part of me is saying I shouldn't, to not worry her. That part of me seems to always prevail.

After eating breakfast quietly with Mom, I park myself on the living room couch. The leather feels cool against my skin, and for once, it takes away the feeling of the hand stroking my arm.

I watch the TV and munch on some peanuts I had retrieved from the cupboard. They do taste a little stale, but I still eat them, feeling too lazy to get up and grab something else to snack on.

About halfway into an episode of 'Supernatural', Mom appears in the doorway. She's clad in shorts and a loose tee. Asics shoes are strapped to her feet, and she holds a plastic water bottle in her hand, telling me she's going running.

"I'm going for a run," she states the obvious. "Keep the door locked and don't answer it for anyone while I'm gone, alright?"

I nod. She says this every time she's about to go somewhere without me, as if it isn't already drilled into my head. "Have fun."

I turn back to the TV, cracking another peanut shell open with my fingers. Mom leaves without another word, like she knows I don't want to talk. I don't.

A few minutes after I see Mom jogging down the street, my phone buzzes beside me, indicating that I have a new text.

Swallowing slowly, I unlock the screen and pull up the message, eager to see who it's from. I really hope that it's only mom, even if she's pestering me, I would rather deal with that than my stalker.

'Hello, Melanie. I see you've received my latest gift. Did you like it? Also, you should really padlock your window at night. Somebody could get in...'

I shiver as I read the last sentence. I thought I had locked my window last night, but apparently not. It would explain how he was able to get into the room, but how am I supposed to believe that I didn't make sure it was locked when I know there's a dangerous person on the loose?

Just as I'm about to reply to the message, there's a light knock on the door.

I quickly flip off the TV, breathing shallow breaths. I quietly slide off the couch, making sure not to make enough noise to indicate someone is in the house. More knocks rap against the door, almost causing me to jump. They seem louder and more insistent, which causes me to wonder if my stalker has decided to show up at my door, maybe to kill me.

I tip toe to the front door, watching my step. Mom told me not to answer the door and I'm about to directly disobey. Before looking to see who it is, I grab a knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen for protection.

With the blade shaking in my hand, I approach the door. Apprehensively, I turn the knob, poking my head through the crack in the door. I relax when I see who it is, and tuck the knife behind my back.

"Hey."

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MWHAHAHAHA cliffhanger!

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