Find Me Alastar

I put my head down and walk briskly without looking up. I can’t talk to him. If I do, I know I will

believe anything he tells me, right now. I want to run into his arms, I want to run away with him and never

come back. This has to be a dreadful mistake. He is dangerous, Emerson, I remind myself. But even as I

reprimand myself, I know in my heart of hearts that he would never hurt me. I can’t believe he is capable

of ever hurting anyone else, either. He’s too gentle, too loving to ever be capable of the things that my

brain is telling me that he’s been doing. I get to the other side of the road and start to walk up the street

toward work.

“Emerson,” he calls from behind me.

I stop with my back to him, my eyes planted firmly on the ground as my broken heart hammers in my

chest.

“I miss you,” he says softly.

I pause, still with my back to him. I miss you, too.

“Trust yourself,” he murmurs.

I frown. What does that mean?

He doesn’t say anything else.

I wait for another twenty seconds as I search my brain for a comeback. The street is bustling with

people, and yet I feel like we are the only two people on Earth. Say something else, Alastar. Explain to

me why those things were at your house. I need you to tell me, damn you. I stand with my back to him, and

he stands directly behind me. I can feel him so close, yet so far away. I’m too weak to deal with this. I

can’t cope. I swallow the lump in my throat, put my head down, and keep walking to work.

Brielle’s eyes widen in horror. “Are you serious?”

We are at lunch and I am filling her in on the week’s strange turn of events.

I shake my head as I rearrange my cutlery. It’s hard for me to even look her in the eye. “You promised

not to say anything,” I say in monotone, lifeless voice.

Brielle grabs my hand over the table. “When did this happen?” she whispers.

“Wednesday.”

“Emerson.” She frowns in horror. “It’s Monday. Why didn’t you call me?”

I scratch my head and blow out a deep shameful breath. “I don’t know.” My eyes meet hers. “I’ve

been trying to get myself together enough to tell you. I am back at my apartment. I’m fine.”

She chews her thumbnail as she thinks. “Are you sure it was the stolen artwork?”

I nod once. “It’s not the artwork that concerned me.”

She screws up her face. “What the hell concerned you then?”

I bite my bottom lip. I don’t even want to say this out loud. I swallow the feeling of sand in my throat.

“He had photographs pinned on the wall of tombstones with the name Emmaline on them.”

Her eyes widen in total shock.

I nod sadly.

“Fuck off,” she whispers.

I shake my head.

“That’s it. We are going to the police. This guy is a fucking weirdo.”

“You promised not to say anything,” I whisper.

“That was before I knew he was a fucking serial killer,” she snaps.

“Shh.” I look around the restaurant to see if anyone heard her. “Keep your voice down.”

“No. I will not keep my voice down. This man is dangerous, Em. He has had you under his spell since

day one.”

My eyes tear up. It’s true. He has.

“You are a fucking idiot when it comes to him.”

My face screws up in tears of despair.

Pity fills her face. “I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand over the table. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m

sorry, baby.”

The tears run down my face and I wipe them away angrily.

“I just…” She hesitates. “I’m just worried about you, Em. We need to go to the police tonight. I will

come with you.”

“I know. I am calling them today anonymously.” I sigh.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

I shrug.