Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (35 page)

Well … I guess I won’t really be alone though, will I? Not with my ever-present, just-as-creepy-as-the-stalker bodyguard, Mr. Martin, following my every move. I roll my eyes at the thought because I still can’t believe it. Me, with a bodyguard. I hate this so much! I can’t believe that this is happening to me. Who is this freaking weirdo and what does he want with me anyway? Why is he terrorizing me? I sigh heavily, feeling close to tears as the birds continue to chirp happily. I just want this torment to end.

I sniff quietly, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with my fingers, and I feel a pressing need from my bladder. Slowly, so as not to disturb Josh, I untangle my limbs from around his and maneuver gently out of the bed. When I look back, he is sleeping so peacefully and he looks so handsome, I have to take a moment to just admire him. Then, with a small, sad smile, I turn and walk toward the bathroom. And as I do, I can see the first glimmer of light coming through the curtains of my balcony doors. I look at the small clock in the bathroom as I sit to answer nature’s call. It’s not even 5:15 am. Two nights in a row now with virtually no sleep.
Bet I’m going to look really pretty today!

I know that I can’t keep doing this. Something has got to give. I’m tired, and I can already tell that I’m a little bit cranky from the lack of sleep. Why can’t the police just find this guy already? I roll my eyes again at that thought because I know why the police can’t find this guy. It’s because I haven’t given them enough information. Every time Josh asks me what I saw or if I can describe him, I draw a blank. I can’t tell him anything about my attacker; I can’t remember anything but a damn tattoo and the smell of cigarette smoke! I feel so useless. It’s no wonder Josh keeps getting so frustrated with me.

Examining my face in the mirror as I wash my hands, I can easily see the fear and anxiety written all over my face. It’s etched in the little worry lines above my brow and below my eyes. I hate this. I dry my hands on the hand towel by the sink and then run my hands through my hair as I sigh heavily once more. When I enter the bedroom again Josh is still sleeping soundly, and I think about rejoining him but, why? I won’t be able to sleep.

Grabbing my green silk robe and pulling it on, I quietly head out to the living room. The soft light coming through the windows gives the space an almost eerie glow. Spooky somehow, and I know it’s just because I’ve never seen my apartment at this time of the morning before. Glancing around, my eyes light on the huge bouquet of Esperance roses that Josh brought me yesterday. They look so beautiful sitting on the table. I walk over to them and reach out, lightly touching one velvety soft petal. Then I bend down and let my nose graze one perfect bloom, inhaling deeply the subtle, enchanting scent, and I smile.

Josh is so thoughtful. Sweet and loving and gentle. He makes me so happy sometimes.
He makes me happy all the time!
It’s true. Josh makes me feel extraordinarily happy. Something about him just reaches out and pulls me in; I don’t know what it is or why, but I am just so completely drawn to him. And I wonder again at his confession that first night we made love, when he told me that he doesn’t do relationships. Had never had a relationship before. I still don’t understand that. It just doesn’t make sense to me; he is such a wonderful man with so much love to give and so much to offer. Why would he willingly choose to cut himself off from sharing his life with someone? That’s no way to live; I just don’t get it. And I want so badly to understand. I really do. Will he ever open up and trust those secrets to me? Truly let me in? I sigh and absentmindedly run a hand through my hair again, glancing down at the roses once more. I’m honestly not sure that Josh will ever let me in. The thought is disheartening.

Trying unsuccessfully to push it from my mind, I venture into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. And as I stand thinking about my feelings for Josh, anxiously chewing on my bottom lip and staring out into space, I wait for the coffee to brew. I am lost, deep in thought, when I hear a strange shuffling noise at the front door and I jump about a foot. My heart is suddenly racing. What the hell
was
that? It’s barely 5:30 in the morning, what – or who – is at my door at this hour?

My mind briefly thinks about racing back to the bedroom and waking Josh, but then I roll my eyes at myself.
Don’t be ridiculous, Sam!
I take a steadying breath and rush over to the door, quickly standing on tiptoe to look out the peephole. And as I do, my racing heart kicks into overdrive. I see a man rising from a crouching position and turning to walk away from my door.
What?
He is dressed in nondescript dark blue workman’s coveralls and a baseball cap slung low over his eyes, and I watch as he strides quickly down the hall toward the elevator and disappears.

What the hell? And now all sorts of questions are running through my mind at once: Who was that? Was that my stalker? What should I do? Is he really gone? Should I wake Josh? And the one question my mind is screaming at me right now … What was he doing at my door? My skin begins to crawl with an overwhelming sense of creepiness and dread as I ponder that last question. Why is this happening to me?

Calm down, Samantha. Maybe it was just a delivery man.
Yeah. Right, of course. That makes sense. Except that no delivery service operates at this time of the morning. Do they? My mind is racing with questions and evil scenarios and I want to just swing open the door and confront whoever that was but, I’m way too afraid. What if it really is the stalker and he’s come here to find me?

This is silly. He’s gone. I know that he’s gone; I watched him walk away. I’ll just open up the door and look out. Decision made, with trembling fingers I take a deep breath and reach up to unlock my door, opening it slowly and quietly. Cautiously. Peeking out to the left and to the right. The hallway is empty. Whoever the strange man was, he is definitely no longer here. But glancing down, I spot a small, square box sitting at my feet and a cold sense of foreboding runs through me at the sight of it. It’s brown, like cardboard, with a big red bow tied around it. What is it? Why did he leave this here? Why is he doing this to me? Should I pick it up? Should I bring it inside? Should I wake Josh and tell him what’s going on?

Feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable standing in my open doorway, I know that I have to make a quick decision. Leave it and wake Josh, or pick it up and bring it in. It doesn’t really matter, I realize with dismay. No matter what’s inside that box, whether I bring it inside myself or wait and let Josh open it, I know it’s not good. I can feel it.

With another deep, anxious breath, I bend slowly and pick up the small, brown box with both hands. I’m surprised to find that it’s remarkably lighter than it looks and I wonder frantically what’s inside. One last quick glance down the hall to ensure that I am indeed alone, I look down at the box in my hands. It has no writing on it, no return address. The thought makes me frown as I realize that my address isn’t even on it. Whoever left it knew exactly which doorstep they wanted to leave it on. The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.

I step back into my apartment and close the door behind me, securing the lock right away. Then I take my small, unwanted, unmarked package over to the marble coffee table and set it down. I feel an incredible sense of relief to have it out of my hands but somehow, deep down, I know that relief is fleeting.

Chewing anxiously on my bottom lip, I reach out and untie the red bow, letting the ribbon fall onto the table. Then I swallow nervously as I reach out with both hands and take hold of the lid of the box, lifting it slowly as I try desperately to breathe through the waves of fear that are crashing over me.

When I peer into the box the first thing I see is a small, yellow stuffed cat and I frown. It’s a sweet, innocent child’s toy, plush and soft, with a big red heart on its chest. I sit the lid aside and reach into the box, picking up the cat to examine it further. But as I do, my eyes flicker past the cat to what’s hiding beneath it. Photographs. Sitting the cat on the table with the box lid, I look deeper into the box and see three Polaroid pictures, and I pick them up. And as I stare at them and my mind tries to comprehend the strange images I’m seeing, my senses are suddenly bombarded by the filth, and I gasp in horror and disbelief.

The pictures are graphic, obscene images of a man’s genitalia in various poses. Startled, I drop the photos back into the box and, as I do, I notice that there is something else in the bottom of the box as well, and I scream bloody murder at the sight of it!

Chapter Three

Joshua

It’s one thing to wake up with a start when an alarm clock goes off, or even when a loud noise shatters your dreams. But waking up to the blood-curdling scream of a woman you care about is something else entirely. As my eyes pop open, I know immediately that Sam is in trouble and that she needs me. But I’m also instantly seeing ghosts, fighting memories of being woken up from a sound sleep by the terrified screams of my mother as she struggled to keep that son of a bitch away from her. Fighting to keep those memories at bay, I am on my feet in an instant, gun in hand, not even slowing down to pull on my briefs as I dash, completely naked, out of the bedroom and toward the sound of Samantha’s tortured screams. Entering the living room, I spot her standing by the coffee table in her robe, and I can see easily that she’s terrified. A trained, quick glance around the space tells me that there’s no one else in the living room or dining room. I don’t see any signs of eminent danger but, Sam is clearly distressed.

“Sam?” My voice is forceful as I attempt to get her attention. It works and she looks up at me with big, frightened eyes.

“Josh,” she sobs, seemingly unable to move from the spot where she stands.

I walk over to her, gun in one hand as I reach out with the other to gently caress her face, wiping away her tears with my thumb. “Baby, what the hell is going on?”

“Look!”

She points to the table where I see an opened box with photographs and a large dead mouse.
What the fuck?
“Sam, what is this? Where did this come from?”

“A man left it at the door,” she sobs, almost hysterically.

I look at her in disbelief. “What do you mean a man left it at the door? When?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“A few minutes ago? Did he ring the doorbell? Did you see him?” I know that my voice sounds agitated and angry but, I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation and understand exactly what has happened here.

“No! I mean yes, but … ”

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me? You opened the door to this jackass?” I yell at her in shock.

“No. He was at the door,” Sam answers in a confused wail. Her tears are falling freely and she’s every bit as agitated as I am right now as she tries to explain through her sobs. “I couldn’t sleep and I came out here to make coffee and I heard a noise at the door. I looked through the peephole and I saw him set the box down and walk away from the door! Why is this happening? What does he want from me? Why won’t he just leave me alone?”

I fold her into my arms as she cries, and her entire body is trembling with fear. And as I hold her, I look down at the box and get a better look at the pictures, and I know that we are dealing with a real sick bastard. Pictures of this asshole whacking himself off, up close and personal. Just his hands and his Johnson. Fucking sleazebag!

“Sam,” I ask as I look down at her, still holding her in my arms, “you said you saw him set this box down and walk away from the door. Did you get a good look at him? At his face? Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“No!” She practically screams at me and pulls away angrily, and begins pacing around the living room. “I didn’t see his face. I don’t know what he looked like. And no, I didn’t see the tattoo! I didn’t see a damn thing, Josh, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I screwed up once again!”

She dissolves into tears and sinks onto the small sofa opposite the fireplace and I take a deep breath and sigh heavily as I let it out slowly, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Disgusted that she still can’t tell me one fucking thing about this dirtbag who’s harassing her, I sit my gun down on the table and silently walk back into the bedroom. Taking a moment to finally pull on my briefs, I find my jacket and reach into the pocket of it, pulling out a single latex glove. Keeping a few in my pocket at all times has become second nature on the job the last few years. Never know when you’re going to need to pick up a potential piece of evidence to examine it more closely. I grab my cellphone from the nightstand and head back into the living room. Samantha still sits crying on the couch and, although part of me wants to go to her and comfort her and tell her that everything’s going to be alright, part of me is pissed right now. She had the sense to look out the peephole at this guy but, she still can’t tell me anything about him?

I walk over to the box of twisted treats and pull on the glove. Then I pick up the pictures, examining each one in turn. There are three altogether, all various poses of the same deviant subject matter. Sitting the pics aside, I take up the mouse by the base of its tail and hold him up, giving him a good once over. He’s a nice size, as mice go. Looks like he died by way of a standard mouse trap. But why include him in this little box of goodies? As I replace the mouse to the box, I glance off to the right of it and spot a small yellow toy cat with a big read heart on his chest, and pick it up, slowly turning it over in my hand as I examine it.

“Was this in the box too, Sam?” I ask holding up the stuffed cat.

“Yes.”

She’s still crying softly and the sound tugs at my heart. I hate it when she cries. Sitting the cat aside once more, I look closely at the bottom of the box. Lying beside the dead mouse is a small folded piece of paper, and I can feel my eyes narrow as I look it over. Gingerly, with my gloved fingers, I pick up the paper and skillfully unfold it with one hand. It’s a note addressed to Sam, hand written in all capital letters: