AURELIA
I hadn't recovered from the shock and another message pinged, yet again from same unknown number.
"Like my masterpiece? The things I'm interested in look the most gorgeous in pictures"
The silence of my house was the loudest thing I could hear right now. It squeezed the air out of my lungs.
My eyes were glued to the phone, but I wasn't seeing the screen anymore. I keep wondering how patiently he was waiting, watching me to get that perfect, beautiful and terrifying shot. My body shuddered at the utter awareness. He was there. He wasn't just watching me. He was reviewing me.
"Edit your manuscript"
"Like my masterpiece?"
Two text messages burned my retinas. I should call the police. And say what?
"A man that looked like he stepped right out of my books is sending me beautiful terrifying pictures and messages that look like confessions?"
Even the cops will laugh at me and maybe recommend a therapist because they'll think I'm going crazy over fictional characters.
I should call Freya. But I could practically imagine her worried voice screaming "what's wrong with you?!" She'd call the police, or rush over here. She'd put herself in this...story. A half-sob escaped my lips as my survival instincts immediately kicked in.
This is about me. Involving Freya will make things worse and I wouldn't want her to be in trouble. I'd deal with it myself. I have to. This is my story. My Tainted Pages.
I shut my eyes trying to calm my nerves and racing mind. Calmdown and think through it. I chanted. I opened my eyes and my gaze fell on my tote bag, slumped on the counter. The manuscript was beside it and the pen. His pen. A terrible magnet pulled me towards the counter and I reached in, my fingers closing around the cold sleek cylinder of the black pen.
What the hell did I get myself into?
My phone vibrated in my hand one more time and I clutched it harder until my knuckles turned white. My heart beat accelerated in rhythm. You've gotta be kidding me. This shouldn't be him please. I didn't know who I was begging but when I stared at the screen, I knew it was all over. One hand clutching the pen tightly as I read the new message from same unknown number.
"Meet me at Sahel Book Corner tomorrow by 5pm. See you there"
That's it. He doesn't need my reply. It's a choice. I can ignore him and refuse to show up. But the writer in me knows better. This kind of message meant that you ignore, they keep haunting you. You reply, you get into trouble. I prefer the latter though. I can't do anything if he keeps haunting me but I'd deal with the trouble. That's the lie I can tell myself...yet.
THE VILLAIN
I shouldn't spend my Wednesday evening in some crooked boom corner waiting for some little writer, considering the incident that happened three days ago. I narrowly escaped a car accident in the highway and I'm 90% sure it was planned. Though my men are still looking into it but I trust my gut. My gut is never wrong. I should be with Trevor, investigating the accident. There was 90% chance she wouldn't show up. But, she knows better than ignoring my message. She's a writer, she's smart.
Here we go. Curly black hair, pools of chocolate wrapped in a simple cream dress, a cream tote bag clutched on her side. She turned and her brown eyes--like melted chocolate-ran into mine. I could smell her fear from afar but she masked it down with a small smile. Right, she should cover it all she can but I can see right through her. I've seen the version of her that even herself didn't know it existed. Her brown skin glowed in the evening light. Aurelia Blackwood, 22 years old, African, born to the family of 4, began her career as a writer three years ago. Published 5 books in the cause. I know enough. Including things I'm not supposed to know.
She stopped in front of my desk as if unsure what to do next.
"Hello" her soft voice rang through my ears as she waved and I caught the sight of a tiny leaf bracelet around her wrist. Lavender, citrus and something indescribably her stole my lungs. I briefly shut my eyes savoring her heavenly scent.
"Sit, Little Writer" my voice was a smooth, low rumble.
She smiled and took the seat opposite mine. She shouldn't have freaking smiled!