Page 152 of Pretty Thing

I haven’t come across any so far, but that doesn’t mean it’s not here.

My search begins again as I turn the place inside out, trying to find a needle in a haystack. I open the front hallway closet and jump when I knock over something metal.

The crowbar lies on the floor where it landed. Reaching down, my trembling fingers wrap around the cold steel, and I pick it up. This will work.

Thump, thump, thump.

My heart is a drum inside my ears as I head back to the bedroom. I pause, staring at the lock. If I do this, there is no hiding it. No going back.

If there is nothing in here, I will have to look Felix in the eye and tell him that I doubted him once again. I’ll feel the weight of that guilt for the rest of my life.

I look at my shaking hands.

Can I really live not knowing?

The answer is no. I can’t be with Felix if I can’t trust him. I need to know. I have to be certain.

Slipping the flat edge of the crowbar behind the metal, I put all my weight into it. My arm aches, and my ribs remind me that they aren’t yet fully healed. I don’t stop until one of the little screws holding the latch to the door pops free, then I take a moment to catch my breath.

It could be a minute or an hour. The adrenaline in my system is warping my sense of time.

Finally, the metal gives, and the lock and latch hang uselessly from the wall. I wipe the back of my brow with my hand and shake out my throbbing arm.

Still holding the crowbar, I grip the indentation and pull, but it doesn’t move. Time to push. It opens with a soft whoosh when it brushes the floor, then the lights turn on.

The crowbar falls with a clunk.

“Oh my god.”

It’s a shrine to…me.

A desk with three computer monitors is in the center of the room. That can be explained easily enough. However, the walls are literally papered in my face. Pictures of me cover every available surface.

I step closer and stare wide-eyed at the date pinned above images of me from grade nine, including my yearbook photo. There are pictures of me in class from outside a window, performing in the play, at the park, and eating lunch with Kris.

Right beside it are grades ten, eleven, and twelve. My graduation portrait and snapshots with my parents. He even has me out on my awkward date with Kyle. He knew who Kyle was and our history all along.

My pulse gets louder. There is no way that he can have these…unless…he has been in my room and in my life for years.

Splashed across a group of pictures are random likes and other facts: Loves turtles, the color turquoise, the sea, animals, and coffee with cinnamon. Her birthday is on Christmas, bakes with her mother, and she watches movies with her father.

There is a bookshelf with all my favorite books as well as all my school’s yearbooks. I pull one free with shaking fingers and flip it open. This is mine. Not just a random copy but mine. All the signatures from my friends are in here. I flip to the page that would normally have my photo and it’s been cut out. My eyes snap to the wall…it’s a match.

The book falls from my hands to the floor.

I cover my mouth and slowly turn to look at the back wall, my brain completely scattered. There are images of Kyle, and “THREAT” is written over it in red.

“Oh…my…God.”

He even has the words “Pretty Thing” spray-painted like graffiti.

Felix may or may not be a killer, but he is definitely a stalker.

He’s been watching me for a very long time. Not months…years.

Cold that has nothing to do with the temperature outside creeps into my bones as I step around the desk and stare at the screens. He has fans to keep the computer cool.

That’s what I heard running.