Chapter 7 CHAPTER 7
I opened my laptop five seconds after I woke up and rushed to click on an email, my heart beating wildly in my chest as sleep disappeared from my eyes.
It's been three days.
Three days of crawling out of bed only when I was close to tears from hunger. For someone as broke as I am, my appetite was spiking at the worst possible time.
But other than pouring junk and sugar into my body, all I did was sleep. I had one bath at some point and then my stable relationship with this laptop.
I must have applied to fifty companies at this point, inside and outside of Utah.
I waited for the email to load. The network here was crappy, my anxiety already telling me it was a fool's errand.
And would you have it... I should become a seer.
"We regret to inform you..."
I've seen those words so many times in the past thirty-six hours that I practically see them whenever I close my eyes.
Until they're replaced by the nightmares. And while I've made peace with the fire and dark monsters reaching out to rip out my throat, these words terrify me.
As I sat up from Momma's bed, rubbing my eyes groggily, a startling realization dawned on me.
"Harvey blacklisted me," I spoke out into the quiet, cold room.
Three words but they spelled my doom. They were proof of how far people can go just because they can't own you.
If he was so adamant to have my intellect and skill under his control, why fire me?
And while I'd never beg that sleazebag, him blocking my number meant he didn't even want me to try.
Maybe he lost a major client because of my absence and headquarters was calling for his head.
I had no proof, but I allowed that thought to soothe me.
I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom to freshen up.
All hope was lost. I had nothing left to lose anymore, so why stew in misery?
I would simply start all over, find another career, and hope that bastard's reach didn't cut across other industries in the state.
I called a moving company and scheduled them to pack up my apartment in Provo during the weekend since my rent would expire on Monday.
Then I found an old Bluetooth speaker that Momma and I used to blast songs while making pancakes on Saturday mornings. I found my favorite playlist on Spotify, connected it, and allowed the music to carry me away from my mental deterioration.
I'd probably crash out some other time, but in that moment, Alira wanted to dance. And dance I did.
While brushing my teeth, bathing, making a decent breakfast, and reorganizing the house again.
I didn't eat my avocado toast right away because I wanted to save it for when I was done with everything. I'd planned to eat it, then take myself to the park because I needed oxygen that wasn't native to this house.
I'd finally turned off the blasting music and sat on the kitchen island.
Who was going to stop me?
It felt freeing to not give a damn about what was going to happen. I had survived worse anyway.
I took a bite of my toast, but before I could finish chewing, my eyes drifted to the window.
The kitchen was in line with the living room, so the windows showed part of the driveway; not fully, but enough.
Enough to see the black SUV parked near my lawn.
If the person inside didn't have binoculars pointed at my house, I might have thought it was accidental parking.
But no. This man was watching me. And I had no idea why.
I got down from the island as fast as possible and crouched low.
Thankfully, I'd parked my car out back yesterday—some paranoid instinct I didn't question at the time. It meant he didn't know I had an escape route.
I crept into the living room, staying below the window line, and peered out carefully.
He lowered the binoculars.
And my heart fell into my stomach.
Those scars.
I saw them up close every time he was cutting my skin open just so he could watch it seal again.
I saw them every time he peered down, extracting different parts of my flesh for his experiments.
And now, he was... Here.
How?
"Oh my god," I whispered, covering my mouth quickly when I saw him lift the binoculars again.
This habit of talking to myself was going to get me killed someday.
I remembered that face as clearly as if it were yesterday.
I remembered all the nights I'd cried for him to stop hurting me, but he would tell me it was for the good of science.
How could anyone survive that fire? But he had. The scars proved it.
He even looked younger than I remembered—barely older than he'd been seventeen years ago.
How was that possible?
His eyes still carried that same emptiness I'd noticed the first time the director of the second orphanage brought me to her office to meet him.
I still felt the terrifying fear I'd felt every time I'd hear his loud footsteps as he came to start his "research." But now, I didn't have the burning rage in my bones that had helped me escape.
The drugs had taken that away.
And now he was here.
How did he know where I was?
'Oh my god,' I thought with fear, 'Did he implant a chip in my body? Is that how he found me?'
I watched him stare at something in his lap, its screen reflecting on his face as he touched some buttons before looking up once more. His eyes lifted to my house, and there was something cold and hungry in his expression.
When he opened the car door, my heart jerked.
If I called 911, what was I going to say?
That a stranger parked in front of my house? My medical records were accessible to all those agencies. They'd simply send a psychiatric team to check on me, and by then, I'd be taken again.
When he began walking toward my door, I knew I had to move.
I'd never learned how to fight. I'd been scared of hurting people again after...
I grabbed my car keys and phone and ran to the back door, trying but failing to open it quietly as he began knocking on the front.
I slammed the back door behind me and ran like hell to my car.
As soon as I turned on the ignition, I saw him rushing around the side of the house, something gleaming in his hand.
A scalpel.
Just like the one he'd used on me before.
I slammed the accelerator, the car lurching forward.
"Hey!" he yelled, diving out of the way as I drove straight past him, tires screeching.
Before I cleared the driveway completely, he struck the back window. Glass exploded inward, shards flying in all directions.
But I didn't stop. Didn't dare.
Adrenaline nearly blinded me. I couldn't think. All I could feel was fear.
People were coming out of their houses, but it was too late to call for help.
I just kept driving. No idea where I was heading.
I just knew I needed to get away from that psycho because if he caught me, he'd never let me slip through his fingers again.