Jaded (Jaded 1)

"I'm already in therapy. Thanks, though, Officer Patterson," I dismissed and stood up. "I'll tell Corrigan the next time we're having a threesome that maybe he should let up on his psychotic ways."

"If you want the note, come to the station."

"And subject myself to another round of harassment? Sure. Put me down for this afternoon…that's if I'm not flat on my back."

Sheila grinned and shook her head. "I can see why you're called cold blooded, but if this is you running from a stalker, I almost feel for the bastard when he goes against you."

I quirked an eyebrow.

Sheila concluded, a metaphoric hat in hand, "You think good when you're pushed. That's good, Sheldon. Very very good and that's what's going to keep you alive, because he's not going to expect it. Look, between you and me, I don't think it's your boy in there. If it was, he wouldn't be going how he is to scare you. He'd do it worse and I don't want to think that sick. But this stalker, he's trying to scare you. And I'm thinking the more you scare, the more mad you are, and the more ruthless you'll get. That's what you need to survive this nightmare, Sheldon."

"Is that why you said those things today?" I asked, tensely, cautious.

"I needed to know. I needed to push you first and see what you weren't going to say. I read it and I'll back off—for now."

She left after that and I took a moment to cool down. I found the guys playing video games in the media room. Logan was curled with a blanket on the couch. They all watched me as I moved downstairs, but when I didn't say anything, neither did they. They went back to playing video games until Corrigan's phone started ringing. The first call was Chet. The second was Holster. The third was Harris. By the fourth and fifth, Bryce exclaimed, "Good god—what do they want?"

Corrigan glanced at me before he said, "They want to know what to do."

"Maybe we should have a party," I offered, thinking it wasn't the worst idea. At their blank looks, I added, "Seriously. What would it hurt anymore? The freak wants us scared. I say screw it and we should just have fun. Hell, let's do it here."

"Lew? Hunstville? Those guys invited?" Corrigan asked instead. "You know that Carlos is screwing Lew, right? That's the dude that your friend was into."

Maybe I was self-destructive because I replied, "I think we should invite everyone in our class. Teddy. The Bartons. Even Mena. Let's hash out who this loser is tonight, here, while everyone's here. And, trust me, I'll deal with Carlos later."

Bryce straightened.

Corrigan flashed a smile, "Seriously? We could make a game out of it. Like Mafia or Clue or something. Who's the Killer?" He turned to Logan, who'd been quiet the entire time, "How about it, honey? Are you up for a game of Who's the Killer?"

"I think….maybe I shouldn't say what I think," Logan said wisely and looked at me. "Sheldon's the one who's offering her home up. I, for one, will feel safer at my home."

"That's the problem. Girls who are alone are his prey. I say we shouldn't be alone," I argued.

Logan drew herself upright, thought about it, and nodded reluctantly, "Okay. I'm staying with you at all times, Corrigan."

Corrigan bounced to her couch and draped an arm around her shoulders, "Honey, we're not going to be mingling. We're going to be in a guest bedroom—all night long."

"Fine. As long as it's locked," she said tensely and burrowed into his shelter.

"Sweet." Corrigan withdrew abruptly and said, "I'm going to start passing the word." He was up and out the door, leaving a bereft girlfriend.

Bryce ignored Logan's presence and sighed, "This is stupid."

"I know," I said simply. "I'm tired and I'm not waiting anymore. If he's as obsessed as we think, he'll be here tonight. I'm going to hunt him tonight."

"He's crazy and illogical. You can't outwit a person like that. He's going to know the real reason for this party."

"No. No, he won't." I hadn't gotten the fourth note. He wouldn't know that I knew of it. "He won't know at all because he doesn't know me."

Logan sighed and curled back into a ball, blanket pulled over her head.

I stood up and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I wasn't surprised when Bryce followed and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest, "So is this what you're going to do?"

"Bryce." I hung my head. Exhausted.

"No. What'd that cop say to you? This came from left field."

"Why do you care?" I nearly whispered as I lay down and curled underneath the blankets.

"I care because this guy is psycho and he's obsessed with you. I love you. I'm not going to stand back and let you hand yourself over to him," Bryce said fiercely.

I smiled, softly, "You think that's what I'm doing? And it feels nice—to hear you say it."

He stopped abruptly and softened, "I heard you last night, you know. You thought I was falling asleep."

I grimaced, slightly, but rolled onto my stomach and burrowed my head under the pillow.

"Hiding's not going to erase what you said," Bryce said quietly and I heard the lock click into place. A moment later the bed dipped underneath his weight and Bryce moved on top of me, but he held most of his weight from me. He tucked his chin into the crook of my shoulder and kissed my cheek, "This is my favorite position."

"Shut up," I laughed.

He leaned over me and got in my face. "What'd that cop say?"

He had me trapped, pinned between his two arms, so I surrendered and confessed, "He left another note for me."

"Oh." A moment later, "What'd it say?"

"I have to go to the police station to get it." I pushed him off and sat up again. "And she said a lot of crap about how it's Corrigan because his prints were on the note. That's all."

"That's all!?" Bryce followed me into the bathroom, incredulous. "That's a lot."

"She just wanted to mess with my head. It's not Corrigan—" I stopped at the look on his face. "Right? It's not Corrigan."

Bryce blinked.

"Bryce!"

"Sorry." He snapped back to attention. "No, of course, it's not Corrigan. But…the thought has some merit. I mean…Corrigan must've touched that note somehow. So…someone would have to follow him around, pick up a blank piece of paper that he had touched and that's all it would take."

"That could be anyone."

"Corrigan doesn't go to classes, so that narrows the search. And he didn't take notes when we were handcuffed. So…what else has