Shallow River

Amelia slumps against the couch dramatically. “I’m glad you said it. I would’ve been totally willing to empathize with you if you were still in love and missed him, but it would’ve hurt my soul, too.”

I smile, feeling a tad lighter than I have in days. “As for Mako… I don’t know what’s going on there. I finally realized that he’s everything I want in a man the same time he realized that I’m everything he hates in a woman.”

Amelia smacks my leg lightly, shooting me a look. “That is not true, River. Mako’s pissed, and rightly so. But he told you he loved you, and even though I only met him for like, thirty seconds once, he doesn’t seem like the type of man to say that to just anyone. And in those thirty seconds, he looked at you like you hung the fucking moon and stars, as cheesy as that shit is, okay? He loves you, he’s just hurt.”

My lip trembles, and goddamn the bitch for giving me hope. I hate hope. I hate that word as much as I hate the word beautiful. Hope is hopeless. Hope is disappointment. I had no expectations for Mako to come back to me and now I’m trashing those expectations and replacing them with hopeful ones. Gross.

“Should I reach out t

o him?”

She doesn’t answer right away, seeming to look for the question in my penguin socks, as if the flightless birds are going to reveal the secrets of the universe. Finally, she says, “Let him come to you. He needs to cool off and think about things rationally, and right now, that’s pretty hard to do when he’s dealing with distraught parents that just lost their son, a manhunt for a very dangerous serial killer, and you have parasites suntanning on your lawn.”

Can’t argue with that.

NIGHTTIME IS WHEN IT’S the worst. The house is enormous and empty. But it doesn’t feel empty. It feels like there’s all sorts of scary things lurking in the millions of shadows in this house. Even when Ryan was alive, I never liked being home alone. Scenes from horror movies would play through my mind on a reel, and my heartrate would increase until I was on the verge of hysteria.

It’s so much worse now. The reality that Billy is missing has hit me full force. It’s unlikely he knows that his identity reveal had anything to do with me, but that doesn’t make me feel any less on edge. What if Barbie somehow warned him that Mako—a fucking detective—discovered who the Ghost Killer is?

Would I blame her for telling him? Yes and no. Barbie would warn Billy for the same reasons I didn’t tell Mako who he was. Fear. Something that Billy has ingrained into me and Barbie so deeply, it’s nestled deep into our bone marrow.

Without ever fully acknowledging it, I convinced myself that if I told Mako who Billy was, he’d find out. He’d know it was me, and not only would he come for me, he’d come after Mako, too. Barbie’s pumping her system full of drugs that easily cause paranoia. The second we left her house, she probably convinced herself that Billy was going to find out and warned him.

Realizing this has me nestling deeper into the couch. I could hardly stand to look at this couch for months after I embarrassed myself all over it, and now it’s the only thing offering me any shred of comfort.

I wish Mako was here.

I turn the T.V. up louder, some reality show on that I’ve hardly paid attention to. I’m hoping the privileged women complaining about their lives will help drown out the very scary thoughts threatening to send me into a panic attack.

A SOFT NOISE FILTERS through my dreams, coaxing my brain away from the dream and back into reality. Bright flashes of light flicked across my lids before the nasally voices from the T.V. follow suit. Reruns of that reality show are still playing.

God, how long has it been?

My heart starts to pound as a sick feeling starts to settle in. Something woke me up. The air feels different. Like someone is in the room with me.

Heart in my throat, I slowly crack open my eyes until the room comes into view. Nothing immediately jumps out at me. Nothing amiss except for the feeling of eyes on me.

Light flickers across the expansive living room, casting dancing shadows across the room. The dining room connects to the living room, which will also lead to the kitchen where one wall is all windows. Ryan had mentioned that that glass was hurricane-proof but it doesn’t mean someone can’t find a creative way in if they truly set their mind to it.

I lift up on my arm, my eyes staring deeply into the darkness, praying I don’t find someone in the shadows watching me. My instincts are blaring red right now, and I can’t see why just yet. Just when I begin to relax a little, a foot steps out from the dining room. I jump up, the blankets tangling in my legs and nearly tripping me as a body emerges from the shadows.

I freeze when his face comes into view. Every warning I told myself earlier has come to fruition. I knew he’d come for me. I fucking knew it.

“Hey, Billy,” I greet, my voice trembling. There’s no point in hiding my fear. Billy knows the taste of it well by now.

“Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice low and sinister. He’s dressed in a suit, as usual. Impeccable as ever, even when he’s about to conduct a kidnapping. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him, his suit not as fitted as it usually is. His skin is grayer, and there are acne scabs scattered across his face.

The meth is getting to him. His body is deteriorating.

Piercing eyes penetrate me from across the room. It was always Billy’s scariest quality. Never mind the massive scar on his weathered face, or the intimidating nature in which Billy carries himself. It was always his eyes. Cold, dark, and dead. Even meth can’t dim the darkness in those eyes.

“I always do,” I whisper, detangling my legs from the blanket and standing tall. Thank God I dressed myself into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Billy would’ve taken great pleasure in molesting my body with his eyes if I was wearing anything remotely revealing.

My personal boogieman stuffs his hands deep into his black slacks and stares at me with a detached expression. Shivers race down my spine, despite the warmth in the house. If I ran right now, Billy would chase me. I may know this house better than he does, but he has far more experience as the cat hunting down the mouse. He would catch me eventually.

“What are you doing here, Billy?” I ask, swallowing nervously. He takes another step forward. My eyes glance to the entrance to the foyer. I can’t back up any further with the couch pressed into my legs.

“Don’t play stupid, River. You know exactly why I’m here,” he growls lowly.