Hands shaking, I set the box back down and just panic. There’s a drop of blood on my toe. I knew there was blood on my hands already, but now my toes? I can’t take this.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I tip the lid off with my foot.
Hands.
Severed hands are in the box, just like I feared.
“Oh, fuck me. Fuck this shit.”
I twirl and run back in the house, scrambling to find my phone to call Daya.
The line rings for all of two seconds before she answers.
“I’ll be there in a few hou—”
“Daya.”
“What happened?” she asks sharply.
“A hand. And another hand. Two of them. In a box. On my porch.”
She curses, but my panic mutes the sound.
“Don’t do anything yet. Wait till I get there,” Daya orders. “Go take a couple of shots and wait for me.”
I nod, despite that she can’t see me. But it doesn’t stop me from nodding again and then hanging up without a word.
I do exactly as she says. Taking two shots of vodka to calm my nerves. And then take deep breaths, slowly, in and out until my racing heart calms.
The fucker actually did it. He sent me Arch’s hands. A part of me knew he wouldn’t lie, but somehow, I didn’t believe it anyway.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping my head low between my shoulders, balancing my weight on the edge of the counter.
Twenty minutes later, Daya shows up, her car ripping through the driveway, based on the squealing tires.
Her car door slams shut. By the time I get to the door, she’s approaching my gift still sitting on the porch, her gaze riveted on the grotesque sight.
“This guy is fucking deranged,” Daya spits, picking up the box to inspect the hands closer. “Definitely Arch’s too. He’s got that stupid ass star tattoo on his thumb.”
I blink, curious how she even knows that, but still too much in shock to open my mouth and ask.
“There’s a note in here,” she mumbles, plucking out a piece of paper covered in blood. Carefully, she opens it. It takes her two seconds to read it before she’s sighing and handing it over.
Hesitantly, I reach out and grab the note by the corner that doesn’t have blood on it.
While I will enjoy punishing you for every time you call the police, let’s hold off this time. Wouldn’t want to have to hurt them next, little mouse.
Is this guy shitting me? He’s going to punish me? Don’t you think sending me fucking severed hands is punishment enough, asshole?
“He’s seriously going to threaten to kill a cop?” I hiss. Daya swallows, her eyes darting to the hands.
“I think you need to listen this time,” she says quietly. I look up at her, having come to the same conclusion. This guy is dangerous. Very dangerous.
As much as I want the police to handle this, there are two problems. I don’t have any faith whatsoever that they’d be able to catch the guy. And secondly, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.
I don’t know if I will be able to bear it.
“I don’t know what to do, Daya,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Daya sets the box down and rushes to me, enveloping me in a tight hug.
“I have a friend coming over to help install the security cameras and alarm system. Listen, normally, I would say call the cops anyway. But I don’t know, Addie. You know how I feel about cops as it is, but I truly don’t believe they will be able to help you. I have some connections, and maybe we can hire a personal bodyguard or something.”
I’m shaking my head before she can finish her last sentence. “So he can die, too?”
She gives me a droll look. “This isn’t just going to be some guy off the streets, Addie. Whatever you’re up against, they can’t be more badass than a trained killer, right?”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But I don’t know about any of that yet. Having a bodyguard follow me everywhere just makes me feel like a damsel in distress.”
I can tell by the look on her face that she thinks I’m being stupid. I mean, I do have a hand-chopping, possible murderer stalking me. But then what? I have some random guy following me around until my shadow is caught, and who knows if that’ll ever happen.
I grind my teeth, overwhelmed with frustration. I don’t want to live my life with an extra attachment—an extra limb. And in both scenarios, I have one. One is there to protect me, while the other is there to… I don’t know. Hurt me? Love me?
Either way, I don’t want either of them.