Part Ten

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"W-what do you want?" I spoke to him through clenched teeth, as it sounded like I was mad but truly I was more frightened than ever. He laughed at my reaction, which made me turn in every direction, looking for a man in black. But there was nothing but darkness around, with the shining of street lights close by.

"Oh Jaycee. Don't you know by now? I want you dead. That's all I've ever wanted. But you see, I don't want to kill you now, where's the fun in that?" He laughed as his voice seemed to get lower, which didn't seem possible. A shiver ran up my spine as my eyes grew wider, listening, and waiting for him to go on. Waiting for him to reveal something, although I didn't know what.

"But you didn't kill me last time. I escaped. Twice," I spoke back to him trying to keep my shakiness at a minimum as I continued to spin around in all directions.

"You don't think I know that? Of course I do, now. I did think you were dead. Everyone did, because of me. But when they found those bones, I knew then that that wasn't you. You hadn't of been buried long enough for your body to have decomposed like that. I knew you weren't dead then, and who they found was the other girl," he spoke slower on the word other as he mentioned the bones the police found, and my mind felt like it had just been blown.

"You. You killed that other girl?"

"Of course I did. But that happened long ago. Way before you came along. She deserved it, just like you do," he spoke as it sounded like disgust was in his voice, but also admiration.

"No I don't. She didn't deserve it and neither do I!" I yelled in a louder tone as I stopped looking around and concentrated more on the conversation. More into what he was saying, so I could get as much information as possible. I was just hoping for him to slip. For him to say something, or reveal something about himself, but so far nothing.

"Yes, you do. You all do. Girls like you who think they're better than the rest. Girls like you who think they can't be touched, can't be hurt, who only hurt others. Who rip others apart. Who crush others. Who hurt, and break hearts. No more. I am here to make sure you never hurt anyone else," he went on with such rage and hatred, as he never spoke like that before. Hurt others? Break others? Crush? Was he someone I bullied before? He had to of been, only who?

"I'm here so no one will ever hear your story. I will crush you like you crushed me. Like you crushed others around you. Like you crushed others around me. You can never get away from me, Jaycee. Never! I am everywhere. And this time, I will make sure that you will be no where. I will be watching Jaycee. You better behave yourself. But either way, I will kill you. And don't you forget that." And just like that, the other line clicked off as he hung up. I stood there for a few minutes, the phone still pressed against my ear as my eyes were wide with terror. My shakes had returned as those butterflies fluttered inside me. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there, dumbstruck and scared. Until someone near by brought me out of it.

  "Jaycee, are you ok?" I heard a voice behind me as I turned sharply to see. It was Detective Holden, as he had a worried look on his face. And I began to break down.

  "Here, come this way," Detective Holden directed me as he lead me towards the interview room again. My father was with us this time as they were both very worried. My father for the most part. As we go back into the familiar room, the one with the newspaper clippings of me on the bulletin board, my father stayed close by me as I placed my phone down on the table.

  "Ok, so explain to me again. Who called you?" Detective Holden asked as he brought out that file again and started to jot things down.

  "Him. It was....him. The-the guy who threaten me before. The guy from my school who threatened to kill me," I lied to them again, but technically it was the truth. We remained standing as I began to tell him again, and he listened very carefully. "I mentioned before. Before I ran away he had been calling me on unknown numbers and threatening me. I thought all that was over now, but he just called me on another unknown number," I went on hysterically, as I was really talking about another man, but they didn't know that.

  "Are you sure it was the same guy?" Detective Holden asked as he looked back up at me, and I nodded my head in a fast manner.

  "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I remember that voice. I heard it everyday for...." I stopped myself as my eyes widened in fear, as I realized I had slipped the story. The true story. Detective Holden looked back up at me with curious eyes as I noticed he caught on to what I had just said.

  "You heard it everyday? What do you mean? Are you saying he called you for all those years when you were hiding? When you were in Maryville? He knew you weren't dead?" he asked me a series of questions as he tried to get some answers out of me, but I made sure not to have another slip. But the same time I was desperate. Desperate for them to know the truth. I wanted to tell them. My father and Detective Holden. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue. The truth that I was about to spill. Why isn't this easy for me? Why can't it be? It's not that I have told them a lie, and that it's hard to reverse that, get them to believe a totally different story, well, that is a part of it. But the main reason is because I don't want them to know. I'm almost embarrassed about it, even though I shouldn't be. It's not my fault, well, it kind of is. But they wouldn't blame me. Only the creep that tried to kill me. But for some reason I am ashamed of that. Ashamed that I was taken. Ashamed I was locked up for months, feeling disgusting and gross in a basement of a rotting shack in the woods. I felt like death. And then, to top it off I'm buried alive, and am scared to death for months that he will find me later. I am ashamed of that. Embarrassed. That's why I didn't tell anyone my real name in Jackville, well, that's one of the reasons. I also just didn't want anyone to know who I was, so I wouldn't be sent back home to face him again. And if I did come back when I first got to Jackville, everyone would want to know what happened, and plus I was filthy and gross looking from the dirt, they would definitely know something happened to me. No one looks that dirty and filthy just from taking a walk in the woods or being lost. You could tell something happened. And with the blood stain on the back of my head that I didn't notice till months later, that would have definitely topped it off.
No. I can't tell the truth. Not now. Perhaps, not ever. Maybe it will never be the right time. Maybe, it's better off I keep this story. I don't know, but all I know now, is that I better swallow the truth and get it away from the tip of my tongue, and stick to what I made up.

  "What? No. No, I meant... I-I heard his voice in my head for those years I was gone. That's all," I tried to explain it away with another lie, and he only looked at me confused for a moment, and then went back to writing. Watch what you say Jayc. Watch yourself.

  "What did he say this time?"

  "He said that I wouldn't get away this time. He said he didn't want anyone to know what happened, and that he would make sure he killed me this time. And make sure I'm dead," I tried to speak in a calmer voice, but the memory of him, and his voice, sent another chill up my spine as my nerves came back strong. He continued to write some more stuff down on the notepad he had, before looking back up.

  "Ok Jaycee. I'm going to need your cell phone. We need to try and trace the call as soon as possible, it may even be too late to trace it," he spoke as I slid the phone over to him.

  "But don't you have to trace it when he's actually on the line?"

  "No, not necessarily. On some phones, we can trace the number. Or the area the phones signal was pinning. We're going to try our best. In the mean time, I am going to assign another police vehicle to patrol your house," Detective Holden insisted as he began to pick up the file and get up. "We will be in touch. And Jaycee, please stay safe," he spoke as he escorted us out of the room and towards the main area. I was surprised to see all the officers in tonight, as they were all on computers typing things up, and some in a hurry as they sped walked from one room to another. Was this all for me? For that call?

  As we exited the building, I noticed our car was right there in front, just waiting for us.

The car ride home was silent. The whole way there. Deafening silent, and I wanted it to stop. I was nervous at what my dad was going to say when he started talking again, which would probably be when we get home. As the car pulled up to our driveway, I got out faster than the car could stop. I just want to get inside and run to my room. Lock the door and stay there forever. Not be outside where he could be watching me at any minute. No.

  I walked up to our front door—more of a run—and pulled out my house key which I wore around my neck on a long chain. As the door pushed open, the alarm went off as the annoying beep sound kept on repeating. My father was now obsessed with keeping the alarm on, for some weird reason. I remember before, he never used to set the alarm. Always just kept the doors locked, but it was different this time.

  And I heard the door shut at the front door, I knew he was in the house now. As I quickly shut the alarm off, I began to walk over to the stairs and was about to climb them.

  "Hold on a sec Jayc," my father yelled as I knew he was going to. I slowly spun around to face him as I gave him an annoyed look. Here it comes. "How could you of not told me about this guy stalking you before? How could you of not told me about those calls you were getting before you left?!" my father started to speak in an angrier and stronger tone as I began to feel bad.

  "Because I didn't take them serious enough Dad. I just brushed them off as nothi—"

  "How could you of not taken them serious? He was threatening to kill you!" he interrupted me before I had the chance to explain further. But his last comment rendered me speechless as I tried to think of something to say back. And after a slight pause, I took a deep breath and began to speak in a calmer tone.

  "I thought it was just some kid, making a joke. I thought it was a prank, ok? And I thought that, until it was too late..." I dragged my sentence out as my father looked back at me. Confusion written all over his face.

  "Too late? For what?" he asked me as I saw his eyes move back and forth, focusing on mine. But I left his question to hang as I turned back around and walked up the stairs. And he let me.

  Sleep did not come easy that night. Like most night. However it seemed like most nights when I fell asleep, I wasn't trying to. I would only think about a particular thing, and then slowly but surely I would drift off into sleep, without even realizing it. But this night, I was only focused on sleep. Trying to get it, or catch it. I wanted to sleep and disappear from this world, even for a few hours. My dreams helped with that, however that happened with only the good ones. Lately, when I did dream, they were all bad. Bad as they brought me back to my past I wanted to forget. Although I couldn't escape it, I was a prisoner of it. As I carried it around always. It was about 1:30am by now, and I still lied wide awake in my grey chair which still was propped by my window, my blanket wrapped around me. My window remained open, which had a view of our front street. Two cop cars were now parked on either side of our house, as one police officer was assigned to each. It definitely made a difference, making me feel much safer, but, as I had experienced before, that didn't mean I was safer.

As I sat there for another ten minutes, only looking out my window, I knew there was no use in trying to sleep myself. I looked over at my shelves which sat beside my closet, peering at all my books I had on the first shelf.
Might as well read something. It might help me fall asleep, and get my mind off my situation now. Off him.

  I got up and walked over to my shelf, as my blanket was still wrapped around me dragging on the ground. I kneeled down and looked at the variety of books and novels. Knowing at one point I had read all of them, but for some odd reason I couldn't remember a single thing about them. I scanned through all the names and titles, until I finally settled on one I knew I had loved when I was younger. The Outsiders.
I grabbed that book from the shelf, yanking it from its tight grasp between all the other novels. But as I took the book, my eyes fluttered down onto the bottom shelf of my stand, peering at all my journals I had written in when I was younger. Remembering the minutes and hours I would be pouring out my soul into them, and then locking up to keep from prying eyes. The hours I would write until my hand would ache, as I pressed hard onto the pages with my pen as I wrote about something that angered me. Or someone in most cases. How I spoke about my friends, my clique I used to call them, and about the people I taunted. And as those memories came back, the memory of my old diary, the one I kept all those entries in, I remembered the place I used to hide it. I dropped my book and quickly made my way towards my full length mirror, and titled it forward. Surely no one knew I hid it there. On the back of my mirror, there was a large piece of thick cloth that wrapped behind the mirror. And at the very bottom, on the left side, there was a tear, a tear big enough to fit a book in. As I reached into the rip of the cloth from the back of my mirror, I stirred my hand around in search of my journal, and finally it struck my hand, the cold, smooth surface. I pulled it out, and revealed the same colour it was the last time, a soft blue colour. The lock was very tiny, attached by two strings that wrapped around the book and then attached with the lock at the front. And as I looked at the lock, the picture of the key came to mind, as I remembered where I had hid that as well. I made my way over to my lamp which stood on my stand close to my chair and window. As I lifted up the lamp, another piece of cloth was attached at the bottom, and a small tear was on its right side. I tipped my lamp to the right as well, and that was when the small, silver key fell out and made a cling noise as it hit the hardwood flooring. I picked it up in a hurry, my journal still in my hand as I inserted the key into the lock and turned. It opened it an instant, just as I remembered the countless times I opened it. As I sat back down on my chair, I slowly flipped to the first page as I took a trip down memory lane.

December 4th, 2012

Dear diary,
I can't wait until I get out of this school, and get away from my loser friends. I can't wait for the day I enter high school, and make a new group of friends. A different clique. This one is getting boring. First of all, A is such a goodie goodie. She never does anything with the rest of us, unless she is allowed. She asks her parents everything, which is why she isn't allowed to go out with us, because everything we do goes against her parents for some weird reason. Then S, I don't understand her logic sometimes. Actually, most of the time. She does the stupidest things and I find myself just staring at her and saying in my head, "What is wrong with you? What is going on in your head?" Ugh, she's a pain. Then C, she is a little too clingy. Alright, I will give her that, that she is a nice person and a good friend to have when you are going through stuff, and she is very loyal, except she is always there. Always at my side, like a little lost puppy. I do like that sometimes, making me feel more important, but other times I like to do things on my own, and by myself. I like to be independent and do my own things, but that is extremely hard when you have a leech stuck to you, always wanting your attention and love, although they suck everything out of you. And then there is R, the pain in my ass. She always seems to challenge me, like she wants to be the leader of the group. But doesn't she know I am the leader? There is no replacing me. I made this freakin group. I made them what they all are today, popular. That was all me, not them. They are nobodies without me. Do they not understand that? I made this group from the start of grade six, when we entered this middle school. Eighth grade is only a few months away, actually, it's more like eight or nine. But hopefully those go by fast. And then after grade eight, it's off to high school, and I can finally drop these girls. I have to tolerate then for another year or so, so hopefully they stay on my good side, and out of my way.

  I furrowed my brows as I finished reading my first entry, as I truly remembered how bad I was back then. It struck me as odd, someone, myself, a girl who had been bullied in elementary school, had grown up to be such a monster a few years later. Me, out of anyone should have known what being mean felt like to the other person. I should have sympathized and stopped as I found out I was hurting people. At least that's what I would have done now. But I did not think that way back then. I was hurting, and felt like no one was there for me. No one to talk to. I had so much anger, and also sorrow, I took it out on others. Instead of dealing with it on my own. And as I took that anger out, I instantly felt better. Each time. And this vicious cycle continued on and on, until I hurt someone so badly, they decided to get back at me, but instead of only harassing me, they tried to kill me. But as I thought about how bad that person was, trying to kill someone else, another thought then popped into my head. A thought I had not considered before. Perhaps I deserved that. To be killed. I had it coming after all. No wonder this person hates me, I was awful back then. Only, who could I of hurt so bad that they would try and kill me? Emily? No, it can't be her, after all, I did apologize to her the other day.
But what if she's a good actor, and it was her all along?
No. It can't be. That was definitely not her in the woods. She was not that tall nor that strong. Maybe she had someone else working with her? I don't know, and possibly, I never will.

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