We leave, and I'm quiet on the drive back, leaning against the door and closing my eyes, wishing my head would stop pounding. We're almost to the house when the silence is shattered, a song ringing out.
Naz's phone.
He grabs it, looking at the screen, his brow furrowing. I watch him as he hesitates before answering. "Hello."
The call lasts only a minute.
He barely says anything except for a strained, "I'll be there."
When we reach the house, he pulls into the driveway, putting up the garage door, but he doesn't pull the car in. I know it right away. I know he's leaving.
He walks me inside, though. He lingers for a moment. He waits until I'm settled in the den before he drops it on me.
"I've got something to take care of," he says quietly. "You'll be okay here by yourself?"
I hesitate. "Sure."
"If you need me for anything… anything… don't hesitate to call me," he says. "I'll have my phone on me, and I mean it, Karissa… anything."
"I'll be fine." I smile reassuringly. "I'm just gonna pack, maybe start piling some boxes up in the garage so they're out of the way."
"Just don't overdo it."
"Yes, sir."
He nudges me before walking away. I hear Killer faintly growling in the kitchen where he's been sleeping as Naz passes through, but it's feeble, like the dog's not sure if it's worth the effort to give him hell today.
It's ten, maybe twenty minutes later, when I hear the side door from the garage open. The growling picks up almost instantly, but this time the dog pours his heart into it.
That was definitely quick.
"Relax, Killer," I say, walking into the kitchen. "It's just Na—"
Naz.
Not Naz.
Holy shit, it's not Naz.
It takes only a second for that reality to strike me. The kitchen is dim. It's a cloudy afternoon. It's a man, massive, with broad shoulders and a husky build. He's probably six and a half feet of solid muscle. His leather jacket clings tightly to his biceps, like the seams around the arms are going to burst. He's twice of me and not at all my Naz.
It was supposed to be Naz.
Not whoever the hell this is.
He's maybe six feet away from me, not close enough to reach me yet, but he's still too close... too damn close... close enough for me to smell him.
My nose knew something was wrong before my eyes did.
The scent is strong, like he's wearing piss that's been bottled as cologne, a woodsy chemical odor that makes my nose twitch. I get a good whiff and oh god, it's disgusting. It nearly takes my breath away.
My chest burns as panic sweeps through me so fast, so intense, that I almost gag, trying hard not to breathe it in.
I stare at him. One second. Two seconds. Three. He knows I'm here. He's already spotted me. He doesn't seem to be at all feeling the panic I'm feeling. His scruffy face is etched with a nasty kind of calm, his eyes a dark pool that lead to no soul. Some monsters hide in plain sight, wearing a mask around others, but I suspect this guy is the kind of monster that doesn't mind that everybody sees his true colors.
He's not even fazed by Killer's growling as the dog viciously bares his teeth.
A few more seconds... ten, maybe twenty... before he takes a step toward me. That's the only warning I need to send me into motion, fight or flight kicking in. There's no way I could ever take down that hulking figure, so I'm going to get the fuck out of there.
I run.
I turn and sprint from the kitchen, my heart racing wildly, thumping so hard it's vibrating in my ears. He's right behind me, running, looming, as Killer starts barking, lunging at the man. It all goes down too quick. I don't know what's happening. Killer's biting, snapping, attacking the man, but it's not enough to stop him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He keeps coming.
I make it to the front door. The son of a bitch is locked up tight. I fumble with the chains and deadbolts for a second, but there's not enough time to get out that way. I dart a different direction. Back door's also locked, I know. I'll have to go back around to the side door, making my way out the garage.
I run. I fight. Hands grab me, tearing at me, throwing me around to try to get me to stop. He says not a goddamn word. He's grunting and growling in anger, trying to subdue me as he fights off the dog. A kick to the side sends Killer whimpering, but he doesn't retreat, lunging once more. Teeth clamp down on the man's leg, forcing him to let go of me.
He grabs a hold of Killer instead, throwing him across the room, into a living room table, knocking a lamp off. It crashes to the floor, and gives me enough of a distraction and dash out of the room. I run, as fast as my legs can carry me, but I'm no match for his strides. Two steps later, he's on me, grabbing my shirt, yanking me around by it, fisting my hair. I feel a tug on my neck as the chain on my necklace snaps.
He pulls me through the kitchen, limping, and opens the garage door, dragging me outside. Twisting me around by my hair, I flinch, pain ricocheting around my skull, as he forces me to look at him.
"You gonna play nice with me, little lady?" he asks.
I sneer. "I wouldn't play nice if you were the last man on earth."
The second I say it, he pulls out a red handkerchief and shoves it right in my face, covering my nose and mouth. I inhale sharply. Oh God, it burns. It reeks.
That stench.
That's it.
I struggle, I fight him, I try to breathe, but nothing I do can stop the darkness.
I can feel it.
It's coming quickly.
The pink-trimmed house is locked up.
Seems they found a body inside of it just the other night. It managed to grace the newspaper, barely getting a small blurb. Another hoodlum murdered in Bensonhurst.