Cursed (The Devil's Roses 1)

Through the brush I saw him. I wanted to run, but I held my breath and sat very still. It was definitely a man, or a guy my age, at the least. He was tall. He wore a black fleece with the hood up and jeans. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear his breathing—he was upset about not being able to find me.

“Aimee, come out, come out, wherever you are,” he spoke, as if he were disguising his voice. A noise like a bird squawking rang out into the forest. Then it happened again. He cussed and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “Hello.” he answered abruptly still sounding horse as he spoke.

“Yeah, fine. I don’t care. Okay good. See you then.” He hung up the phone and looked around the forest more intensely.

When he turned his face to me I could see he was wearing sunglasses. He was white. I could see his lips very clearly; I would never forget them. They were thin lips, not my favorite kind. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell anything else about him.

“Aimee, I know you want to play cat and mouse, but we’re running out of time.” His voice sounded impatient, no matter how hard he was trying to sound calm. I knew in my heart that he was the one who had drugged me, and he wanted to finish what he had started. The idea of him touching me while I had been drugged made me sick. I swallowed the bile back as I sat, ever calm, against my tree hidden in the brush.

I was starting to feel much attachment to the tree as I sat there hiding. It was keeping me safe.

He crept around the bushes a bit longer and then he stopped moving. I couldn’t see or hear him. I knew what he was doing. He was sitting somewhere like me. He was trying to wait me out. But I was the girl who sat on the concrete for hours on end. It was not a game he would win.

My breaths were shallow and my heartbeat stayed steady to keep my senses heightened and alert. I didn’t hear a sound from the forest, which also told me he was still here.

The birds were not chirping because a predator was in the woods. I was thirsty, I was hungry, my back was cramping up, and my legs were numb, but I sat very still, like a statue, and listened.

There was no sound, no creeping about, no breathing, no nothing, but I still didn’t move.

Then, like the angels were singing to me, I heard the greatest sound in the world.

“God damn, Aimee! I had to walk home from friggin’ school. What the hell is taking you so long? Where are you?”

I wanted to jump up and shout that I was over by the tree house, but I knew the evil one was still in this forest somewhere. I hadn’t heard him leave, had I? I was starting to doubt myself as I panicked knowing my salvation was across the forest, and he would leave soon.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Shane with the sound off completely. The text hit his phone. His text tone was unmistakable—it was Ralph Wiggum, "My cat’s breath smells like cat food." He had gotten it as his text ringtone when we were sitting in the restaurant, after my sister left with Blake.

He started to walk through the forest, obeying my text message perfectly, until he reached my exact location.

I could see him looking around, his blue hoodie hovering directly above me.

I still felt terrified as I reached my hand from the bushes and Shane grabbed it. He pulled me from my spot. As I stood, my legs buckled and I started to cry.

“It’s okay. I got you now.” He picked me up and carried me from the woods. I looked back at the forest, seeing nothing, but I noticed a very quick pace in Shane’s steps.

“I’m getting tired of carrying you out of these woods, missy.” He was joking but I continued to sob into his shoulder. I felt safe, even if I was scared senseless.

Shane brought me into the house and sat me on the bar stool in the kitchen. He poured me a glass of lemonade and handed me a tissue. I wiped my eyes and told him exactly what had happened. His eyes widened as I told the tale and his face grew very angry. I could see he was putting his own conclusions together.

“This guy goes to our school—how else would he have seen you take my truck? Aimee, he was invited to MY house and drugged MY friends and you.” He paced and ranted shaking his hands and shouting. He separated me from his friends. I wasn’t one of his friends? I tried to be polite and sip the lemonade but I gagged and put it down. I guessed it would be joining the ranks with the veggie burger.

Finally, he called my dad and told him to come and pick me up at his house for our trip to Portland.

I sipped the hot tea he made me, instead of the lemonade, after he noticed I couldn’t drink it. He never left his post watching out the windows, looking for any sort of shadows or movements.

I didn’t know what to do to get my safety back, but I was worried for myself and for Giselle in the city. I knew the hospital had good security, as it was a children’s hospital. I wasn’t sure it would be enough; the creep seemed pretty good.

“Thanks for coming for me,” I whispered after a long time.

Shane smiled down at me. “Aimee, you’re my date for the dance. Where will I find a date with this short of notice?” I punched his arm, hurting my hand.

I didn’t have a dress picked out and had decided I would find one in the city. “What color dress should I get?” I wanted the conversation to be light; I missed Giselle.

He shrugged. “Whatever you want."

I jumped, as a knock on the door interrupted us.

Shane’s eyes grew serious as he walked to the door and peeked through the window. He unlocked the door and greeted my dad. “Mr. James, come on in.”

My dad smiled at me and he shook Shane’s hand. I could see the worry all over his face.

“I called the police, Aimee. I know nothing happened and they understand that, but they’re as worried as I am. It's better for them to have a full handle on what’s going on.”

I nodded, feeling the reality of the situation hit me again. It had been pleasant—fun even—sitting in the kitchen with Shane. But when the reality set back in, it hit like a ton of bricks.

“They’re coming here, Shane. I hope you don’t mind. They should be here any minute.” My dad walked into the house and put a hand on my shoulder. “How’s it going, kiddo?”

I nodded. “I’m good, if I don’t think about it.”

“I think most things are like that. What were you thinking?”

I shook my head. "I don’t know." My face flushed, and I felt foolish. What had I been thinking?

Shane walked around the bar and started to make some coffee in his mom’s expensive coffee maker. The huge stainless steel contraption looked like it belonged to a barista. Shane had a cup of coffee for my dad within seconds.

“Here you go, sir. Cream or sugar?”

“No thanks, son. Black is perfect.” He sipped his coffee. We all looked out at the backyard, watching. “This is a good cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, my mom bought it in Seattle. It cost more than my truck, I think.”

My dad laughed.

“Where’s Alise?” I asked knowing the answer.

“She is at Blake’s house. His parents are letting her stay over. They know about the situation and that we need to go see Giselle. She is not to leave their house until we arrive home.” My dad spoke as if he had an awful taste in his mouth. I knew it was my sister’s way of twisting a bad situation to her advantage.

He looked at me concerned. “Did you get a good look at him?”

I shook my head. “No, he had a dark fleece on with a hood, sunglasses, and his voice was raspy, so I wouldn’t be able to recognize it if I tried. He knew my name. He was tall, like Shane’s height and build, and white. He was wearing jeans—dark jeans. His lips, they were so thin—cruel and thin. His phone rang with a squawking bird. It was black I think, maybe a Blackberry.”

My dad looked at Shane and me. “Sounds like every one of your friends.”

Shane nodded. “I think, at this point everyone should be on the list of suspects, including me. I'm certain the police will say the same thing. Though for the record, I have nice lips and an iPhone.”

I smiled at Shane. “I know it isn’t you.”

He smiled back, but my dad’s eyes were not as trusting as he watched us.

The doorbell interrupted. “The police,” my dad said.

Shane walked to the door, opening it without looking.

Two police officers entered the house, shaking Shane’s hand and introducing themselves.

I recognized one of them instantly as the police officer who had asked Giselle and me questions in the hospital.

He smiled at me kindly. “Hi, Aimee, how are you feeling?”

I sighed. “Good, I feel pretty good. I’m a lot better. I just wish this was over, though.”

The other officer nodded. “Yes, you’ve been through enough, I think.”

My dad laughed sarcastically. “Oh—more than.”

The older officer, who I had never met before, smiled at my dad. “And how is Dad holding up?”

My dad shook his head. “Our family doesn’t need any extra drama, not this year.”

The police officer, whose nametag said Williams, gave my dad a knowing look. They appeared to have some sort of a relationship I didn’t know about.

“Coffee, guys?” Shane asked, breaking the sorrow hanging in the air.

“Yes, please.” The young police officer chimed in. His name was Constable Bindley.

“Aimee, Corporal Williams here was with your mom at the end,” my dad said quietly as he held his hand out to the tall, older-looking man.

I felt my throat get thick, as his eyes looked at me, full of emotion. I nodded dropping my vision to the counter top.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His words hung in the air with the rest of the tension, along with the scent of the coffees Shane handed out.

Constable Bindley sipped his. “I guess all we need here is a statement. Shane, were you here when it happened?”

Shane shook his head. “I was walking home from school ‘cause Aimee had my truck.”

I smiled at the hint of bitterness in his voice.