Fatal Infatuation [18+]

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A strange man crouched down to Evelyn's unconscious body. He wore a dark green cap over his greying hair, and a dirtied green jumpsuit. "You okay, there?"

One of Evelyn's eyes lazily shot open. "Am I dead?" 

"Not dead." He laughed, his southern accent thick. 

She slowly stood up, wincing in pain and grabbing her bruised sides. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts from the fall, and her head was throbbing. "Who are you? Where am I?" 

"We're just outside of Goldenleaf." He replied, standing up next to her. "My cabin is nearby, you look like you need help." 

She nodded and her ears perked up at his words. 'Just outside of Goldenleaf, that means I'm close to town.' She thought to herself, and they began walking. She trailed behind him, a slight limp in her step. The sun shone brightly, and the birds were chirping, so she had been passed out until morning. 

The man, who she learned was named Eric, owned a small cabin in the woods, where he occassionally went to escape the bustling city. He was considerably older than her, but she trusted him enough. She didn't have much to lose, now, anyway. There was nothing for him to steal, and not much for him to do. She hoped that his kindness was genuine, and that he wouldn't expect anything in return. There was nothing she could give him. 

After a few painful minutes of walking, they reached the cabin. It was completely wooden with a small porch that held dimly lit outdoor lamps. He opened the door, and they walked inside. The inside looked... Strange. Oddly lived-in, for a man who said he only visited the cabin a few times a year. There were three rooms. A main room that held two wooden rocking chairs, a dirtied sofa that was pink velvet under all the dust and grime, a green circular rug in the middle, and framed photos on the walls. The photos were of a family, a husband, a wife, and two daughters. But Eric wasn't in the photos. 

She looked at the furniture and the photos with furrowed eyebrows, and he stood closely behind her. She turned around and jumped when she noticed him there. 

"Didn't mean to scare you." He apologized, holding his hands up in defense. 

She gave him a nervous smile and exhaled, "That's fine. Is there a bathroom here?" 

He nodded and pointed towards one of the doors. Evelyn scurried to the bathroom, looking back at him ever so suddenly to make sure he wasn't following her. She had many questions for him, such as, 'Why are you not in any of the photos?', 'Why does the door not have a handle?', but she wouldn't dare ask them. He was unpredictable, and if he was indeed dangerous, she wasn't planning on setting him off. Her plan was to quickly use the bathroom, grab something to wear, and leave. 

The bathroom only left more questions in her mind. Why were there children's drawings on the walls? There were no children inside the cabin, and in their brief yet fruitful conversation, he basically told her everything there was to know about him, so why would he leave out this important fact? 

She shook her head rapidly to rid the thoughts from her mind, and began stripping the dirty clothes from her body. There was a sink, a shower, and a toilet. All incredibly dirty, and there were cockroaches escaping from the holes in the walls. She could ignore it all if it meant feeling clean for the first time in a long time. 

She stepped into the shower and pulled at the shower curtain, before adjusting the water temperature. The water came out brown and murky at first, and she cringed and backed away from the dirty water as she waited for it to clear up. She was absolutely freezing, her bruised body exposed to the unheated cabin. 

Once the water began running clear, she stepped under the shower-head placed on the wall and exhaled loudly at the feeling of the warm water on her sore skin. There was no soap in the bathroom, but the water was enough to clean some of the dirt, grime, and blood off of her skin. It was the most satisfying thing she'd felt all week. 

Eric stood behind the door, his ear pressed against the hard wood as he listened in carefully to what she was doing. He was about medium height with a stocky build and a red-tinted skin color, which did nothing to compliment his greying hair. He was average looking, for someone his age at least. He reminded her somewhat of her grandfather, which helped soothe some of her skepticism. 

However, his intentions were confirmed when, unbeknownst to her, he slowly creaked the door open. She stood in the shower with her eyes screwed shut, tuning the rest of the world out and letting the water fall onto her face. She couldn't hear him over the sound of the water dripping down, and he used this to his advantage, creeping closer and closer to the shower. Without warning, he pulled the shower curtain to the side to reveal her naked body. She let out a shrill scream and attempted to cover herself with her hands, before he grasped the back of her wet hair and pulled at her scalp painfully, pulling her out of the shower and sending her body to the dirty ground. 

"Stop, let me go!" She screamed repeatedly until her throat felt raw and painful. The pain of her shredded vocal chords couldn't compare to the feeling of his hands digging into her sides. She desperately attempted to knee him in the loins but her legs were far too weak and her whole body stung. 

Suddenly, he keeled over to the side, groaning in pain and grabbing at his chest. He was having a heart attack. 

She hurriedly scooted away, her back hitting the cold wall as she watched him struggle and strain, his skin turning a deeper shade of red and his veins popping out of his neck. She sat there, panting, her eyes wide and her jaw agape. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that she couldn't process it. After a while of watching, she gathered her thoughts and stood up.

She stepped over him and ran into the living room, rapidly searching through each cabinet and drawer with trembling hands. She continued this until she found a small, old-fashioned looking gun in one of the cabinets. She let out a shaky breath and picked it up. She had never used a gun before, she didn't know how they operated or what to do with it. She slowly walked back to the bathroom, peaking her head over the gap in the door to see if he was still there. And he was. Still panting heavily on the bathroom floor, his body stiff and uncomfortable. 

She pointed the gun at his chest, her breaths shallow and irregular. He laid there defenselessly, looking up at her with a look that says 'Help me'. But she had no real reason to help him, he did nothing for her, and as a matter of fact, only hurt her more. Her thoughts were racing, and suddenly, a gunshot went off.