Lost Boy

“Charlotte,” I admonish. “You can’t be serious. We found our neighbor in a fucking duffel bag this morning.”

“I know. You have your way of dealing, being a frigid mope, and I have mine.” She kisses her fingers and places it at her crotch, flashing me the phone screen with her dating app up.

“Being a callous slut?” Jack snorts.

“Fuck you, Clark—or Jack—or whoever the hell you are. You could be the one who put her there for all we know and here we are waiting to be your next victim.”

“Charlotte,” I hiss, getting up and pushing her to the door, closing it behind us. “What the hell was that?”

Leaning back against the railing, she crosses her ankles, looks down at them, and says, “He called me a slut.”

“Before that, why are you being a bitch?”

Exhaling, she rubs her palms down her face and shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. I feel out of sorts. I’m going to chill with a friend for the night. Give you two some space. I swear, being around you two is like living in a teen movie.”

When I just stare at her with a what the hell look, she elaborates. “The freaking tension is suffocating. You need to bone already.”

“You just called him a murderer not five seconds ago.”

Shrugging, she says, “Yeah…well, I don’t think murdering you is what he has on his mind. Unless he’s murdering your pussy.”

I cover her mouth with my hand and narrow my gaze. “You’re so gross. Go, but text me to let me know you’re okay later.”

“I will. He’s picking me up right outside.” She kisses my cheek and is down the first flight of stairs before she calls up, “Sorry for being a bitch. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, asshole,” I say down to her. I’m scared of the way she’s dealing with this. We found our neighbor in a duffle bag, and she seems perfectly okay. We knew that woman, saw her life through our window every day.

“Everything all right?” Jack asks, frowning when I come back inside.

“Yeah. She’s just been through a lot and has her own way of dealing.”

“I was out of line. I just didn’t like the way she was speaking about you.”

Sighing, I re-take my seat and play with the stem of the glass. “I think we’re all a little frayed from…well, everything.” Will she have her breaking point when it all hits her at once and she crumbles?

Pouring a fresh glass of wine and picking up what looks like dusted doughnuts, he comes around the counter and takes my hand, leading us over to the couch.

“You said before you don’t think this is Willis.” I gulp down the nerves chewing away inside me. I take one of the balls and devour the sugary goodness, my stomach twisting in pain from the intrusion of solids. “Do you know where he is?”

Leaning back into the cushions, he jerks his head. “I do.”

Thud.

Trembles dance through my fingers. “Is he here?”

What if he sees him, speaks to him? Have I been reckless letting Jack in?

“No. I’d never allow him to touch you.” His scoots forward, his strong palm cradling my cheek. He’s so soft, yet his strength emanates from him in waves. “Lizzy, he never once mentioned you. We didn’t have TVs, so he didn’t watch the news. We lived in derelict farmhouses away from civilization. He only left for food and to hunt.” A cold shiver snakes through me. He doesn’t mean hunt animals. No, he means girls, victims.

“Then who could be doing this?” I exhale. I’m not sure which is scarier: it being Willis or it being someone new, someone replicating, fixating on the past.

“Whoever it is, I’m going to find them, and when I do—”

“What?” I ask, moving closer, placing the half-eaten doughnut down. His allure is intoxicating. Like a magnet, my body senses the pull. “Is that what all those pictures and clippings are for? Are you tracking him?”

“That’s what I do, Liz. I hunt. I’m a hunter.” Nerves zap around inside me. I don’t know what to make of it all.

“Tell me what you want, Lizzy. What do you want from me?” His voice is hushed, a silk hint to it—a promise.

“For the longest time, I wanted you to release me. I needed closure from you. To let you go. But I never could,” I say honestly.

“And now?” He drags me closer, and I crawl across the couch to be near him, climbing into his lap. A sense of need stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before hums in my veins, like the ache of an addiction desperate for medicine. Feed me.

My heart rushes, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. Reaching out, he swipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of my mouth, making me shiver. He pulls it away and shows me the sprinkling of sugar, then sucks it into his mouth, slow, deliberate. My thighs squeeze together in response. I feel hazy, like I drank the entire bottle of wine—and I like it. I need it after today. I need to forget, if only for a moment. Visions of us naked and writhing on each other assault me. I gulp, looking away from him. I’m positive there’s a crimson blush creeping over my neck and up my cheeks.