Enigma

Chapter 3

Judah

Soft.

I'm laying on something soft and plush when I wake up which is stark contrast to the cold tile of my kitchen floor. When I open my eyes, I have to blink a few times to adjust my eyes to the warm golden light streaming in through the window as opposed to the last whispers of sunlight in the late evening like one would expect.

I'm in my bed.

Once my eyes have adjusted to the light, I look around to see I'm in my own bedroom. The sight of the familiar sage green walls and framed Marvel posters is unreliably comforting and I let out a small sigh of relief, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees, as I hug them tightly.

It was probably just a bad dream...

I had terrible night terrors as a young child so I might just be relapsing into those once again. I've read that nightmares and night terrors alike can be caused by stress and my life is rather stressful compared to others.

I'd believe it if moving didn't send a stabbing shoot of pain through my skull, the area where I'd hit on the tile throbbing and sending a pulsing pain through my temple to the rest of my head. A small noise of pain escapes me at the sudden pain and I bring up a hand to clutch my aching temple only to feel something soft and gauze like on the spot where I'd fell.

What the hell?

When I go to get up, it sends another shoot of pain through me and I grind my teeth and try to ignore it to the best of my ability. On my bedside table is a bottle of water and two white Tylenol pills with a small off-white piece of card stock, not much bigger than an average business card.

I don't remember putting that there...should I take it?

My hand moves seemingly with a mind of its own, picking up the water bottle and opening it with some difficulty before I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow them with a swig of the water. 

The water is the same brand that I buy off campus...

I pick up the note, feeling unnerved as I blink at the unfortunately familiar graceful looping cursive print.

My love,

I left you some pain medicine and bandaged your head, I apologize for having startled you to the point of injury. I will try to be more subtle with my next gift in hopes you might like it better.

, forever yours.

My stomach clenches painfully at the realization that a murderer was in my home and anxiety wells in my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as if I'm being watched and I throw the covers off my legs to see I'm in only my underwear before looking to see my shirt's been changed into an older, soft, light grey T-shirt displaying my university name.

He was in my apartment.

I was unconscious and there was a killer in my home and he could have murdered me which isn't entirely unreasonable seeing as I seem to be his type. He undressed me and changed me into clothes that he had to go through my stuff to find. He bandaged my head and left me pain medicine and my favorite brand of water on my night stand, not to mention a note apologizing for having scared me.

It doesn't make sense.

Why did he traumatize me just to take care of me directly afterwards? Why kill someone then apologize for it? Why go through such dramatic lengths to display his work only to show remorse for one of his presumed victims afterwards?