It's raining. Hard.
The steady drum against the roof is louder than the clock ticking in the hallway, but both sounds are drilling into me, reminding me of what's coming. Or maybe what I'm imagining. What I hope I'm imagining.
I glance at my phone again, willing it to light up with a call, a message--something. An alert that will tell me it's fine, that he didn't do it, that the guards caught him before he could even try.
I told them. I did what I was supposed to do. I told the prison warden I had my suspicions about Ivan plotting an escape. Maybe I should've been more specific, but what could I say? Ivan told me he's escaping tonight. He dared me to leave my door open at midnight. I would've sounded insane.
My hand trembles as I close the kitchen windows, latching them one by one. The rain is blowing in sideways, dampening the counter and floor. I wipe it away with a dish towel, but the wetness on my palm feels wrong, as if it's not rain at all. I shake it off, move to the back door, lock it, then double-check the handle to make sure it won't budge.
Every time I glance at the clock, my chest tightens. Every tick echoes like a countdown. It's not real, I tell myself. He's not coming here. He can't come here.
But his words won't leave me. His voice, smooth, taunting, still rings in my head. "If you leave your door unlocked at midnight, I'll know you want me"
My breath catches as I approach the front door. The bolt is right there, inches from my hand. All I have to do is slide it into place, and that's it. Nothing can happen.
I hesitate.
His voice is in my head again, teasing me. "Haven't you ever thought of letting go?"
I bite my bottom lip, hard. The way he looked at me, the way his grin felt like a trap I wanted to walk into. I can't lie to myself. Not about him. Not about the pull he has over me.
My hand drops to my side, and I back away from the door. I leave it open.
I'm halfway up the stairs before I realize what I've done. My breathing is shallow, sharp, the kind of breaths that make your chest ache. He's a criminal. A murderer. What if he does show up here? What if he hurts me? Or worse?
What was I thinking?
I rush to my bedroom window, my hands trembling as I push the curtains aside. I scan the street, the driveway, the shadows under the streetlamp. Nothing. Just rain and darkness. But it feels like something could be there, just out of sight.
The clock strikes midnight.
My stomach twists, and the fear is suffocating now, wrapping itself around me like the rain outside. I bolt out of my room, down the stairs, my feet barely touching the ground.
When I reach the door, I don't hesitate this time. My hands are steady as I slide the bolt into place.
There.
If anything happens now, he can't get in. He can't.
I lean my forehead against the cool wood of the door, trying to steady my breathing. I'm safe. I have to be.
I make my way back up the stairs and to my room where I crawl underneath the blankets on my bed. I clutch them around me as if they can keep my mind from spiraling, from imagining things that aren't there.
The door is locked. My phone hasn't rung. He's not coming. He can't come.
I close my eyes and whisper the words again, letting them roll over me like a prayer. I'm safe. I locked the door. I'm safe.
Then I hear it.
A thud, low and soft, like someone shifting their weight on creaky wood.
My heart leaps into my throat, choking the air from my lungs. I bolt upright, the blankets pooling around my waist. What was that?
I wait, frozen, straining to hear more. Nothing. Just the rain tapping against the window. But I can't shake the feeling crawling under my skin.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand, my knees weak and trembling. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, gripping it tightly as I creep toward the door.
The hallway is dark, the dim light from the downstairs window barely reaching the top of the stairs. I swallow hard and take a step forward. Then another. My breath is shallow, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet echoing louder than it should.
Maybe I'm hearing things.
Suddenly, A figure slams into me, fast and forceful, pinning me against the wall. My phone falls from my hand, clattering to the floor. A hand clamps over my mouth, silencing the scream that catches in my throat.
It's him.
Ivan.
His hair is wet, dark strands sticking to his forehead, and a black hoodie clings to him, damp from the rain. The fabric is pulled tight over his broad shoulders, and under the dim light, I can see droplets of water sliding down his jawline. His tattoos peek out from the edge of his sleeves, winding down to his hands.
He grins, his lips curling in that familiar, infuriatingly confident way. "Hello, Liz," he says.
No.
My heart hammers against my ribs, my mind racing as I stare into his eyes. They gleam with something wicked, something triumphant.
He's here. He came.
Ivan leans in, his grin widening as his gaze sweeps over me. "You left the door unlocked," he says, almost like he's impressed. "I didn't think you would."
No. I locked it. I'm sure I did. Unless...unless he came in before I ran back downstairs.
I can't move, can't think. All I can feel is the press of his palm against my mouth, the heat of his body so close to mine, the scent of him--pine and cedar and something deeper, richer, darker.
"I'm going to drop my hand now, Liz." His accent is thicker as he adds, "You have to promise you won't scream."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, but I nod. He tilts his head, as if waiting. Then, slowly, his hand drops from my mouth. I gasp for air, stumbling back, my fingers trembling as I reach for the phone on the floor. I snatch it up, clutching it tightly, and take another step away from him.
"You need to leave," I say with a trembling voice. My heart is pounding so hard it's a wonder he can't hear it.
Ivan tilts his head, watching me like a predator humoring its prey. "Oh, Liz," he says, his tone mocking, almost amused.
"I mean it," I snap, my voice shaking just enough to make my threat feel hollow. I hold up the phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. "I'll call the police. I don't know how you escaped, but you need to leave. Now."
Ivan takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine.
I take a step back.
He takes another step forward.
I spin on my heel, bolting toward the stairs, my only thought to reach my room, to lock the door, to put some kind of barrier between us.
But I'm too slow.
I barely make it halfway up the staircase when I feel it--his hand tangling in my hair, yanking me back with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
I cry out, the phone slipping from my grasp as I stumble, and he's on me before I can recover. He pushes me up against the wall at the top of the stairs, his chest pressed to my back, trapping me there.
His breath is hot against my ear, and his grip tightens just enough to keep me still. "You really thought you could outrun me?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, as if this is a game to him.
My heart races, panic flooding every inch of my body. I squirm, trying to break free, but he's too strong. "Let me go," I say, the words spilling out, desperate, frantic. "Let me go. Please."
