Haunting Adeline: A Dark Stalker Romance (Adeline Duet Book 1)

Chapter 13

The Manipulator

“I

just got back the first round of edits,” I say to Marietta through the phone. “I’m starting on them tonight.”

“Wonderful, let me know if you need anything,” she says.

I’m walking down my dimly lit hallway towards my room when a flash of movement catches my eye. I freeze, my finger just pressing the red button when I see what looks like a woman disappearing through the attic door.

A smile forms on my face before I can stop it.

In all the years I’ve been in this house, I’ve only seen an apparition a few times. More often, I’ve heard voices, footsteps, doors slam and felt the freezing drafts, but rarely anything visual.

But I know what I just saw.

A woman in a white dress with tight blonde curls. I didn’t see her face, but there’s a distinct feeling that it was Gigi.

Nearly dropping my phone rushing after her, I run down the hall and swing the attic door open. It’s pitch black leading up the stairs, and there’s that nervous tickle in the back of my brain, but it doesn’t stop me.

I tap the flashlight on my phone and quickly make my way up the stairs. A heavy weight of foreboding presses down on my shoulders, but I trudge through it. Whoever that was, they wanted me to see something. I shiver from the feeling, both in fear and delight.

The moment I step on the landing, it feels like breathing in water. The air up here is stifling and heavy, rife with negativity.

It feels like something dark has consumed this space. And it doesn’t like me up here. I can feel it staring at me from every angle.

There’s a single bulb up here somewhere with a long string attached to it. I swivel my flashlight around until I spot the string.

It’s swinging back and forth in an attic with no airflow and where the atmosphere feels denser than the woods outside of this manor.

Rushing over, I grab the swinging string and yank on it, clicking on the light bulb. A whirring sound breaks through the silence, adding an extra note of spookiness.

I squint my eyes, readying myself to see some scary monster hiding in the corner, but nothing is up here.

At least, not that I can see.

“Why did you lead me up here, Gigi?” I ask aloud, looking around the area and trying to figure out what I could possibly see up here.

Of course, I don’t receive an answer. It’s never that simple.

My eyes track over every dusty item cluttering the space. I have completely avoided coming up here and even opted out of renovating this space. I don”t know what it was, but I felt like if I did, then something evil would be unleashed.

I already have enough monsters haunting me.

There’s an old, cracked mirror in the corner with a white sheet hanging partially over it. I make sure to avoid looking at it at all costs. I love to be scared, but I still don’t have any desire to see a demon standing behind me in the mirror.

Loads of dusty boxes and totes are scattered throughout the area. It’s a fairly big room, so there’s a lot of places to look.

Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I take a deep breath, feeling like I just filled my lungs with toxic waste. And then, I head over to one of the boxes and start digging.

They’re covered in cobwebs, and I almost consider going down to the bottom floor and finding a pair of gloves. But I don’t want to stop when I’m already committed. I might convince myself not to come back up once I’m no longer sharing space with something malicious.

Ignoring the spiders scattering from the boxes, I keep digging. All I find are old clothes, shoes, trinkets, and knick-knacks.

Nothing of importance, but maybe a few of these things could be valuable.

A loud bang sounds from behind me, and this time I scream loudly. The echo of my scream rings out as I whip around and face whatever made the noise.

Nothing’s there but a dangling wooden board, hanging on by a single nail. The entirety of the attic is made up of wooden boards, most of them rotted and chewed up by mice. Where the wooden board once was is a bottomless black hole.

“You want me to stick my hand in there, don’t you?” I say dryly, glancing around to see if I spot another hint of Gigi. Still not looking in that fucking mirror, though.

Hand over my pounding heart, I carefully walk over to the still swinging wood. Grabbing my phone and turning on the flashlight once more, I shine the light inside the hole.

It’s a platform, and deep in the hole looks like two pieces of crinkled paper.

I groan aloud. “Fuck, you’re really going to make me stick my hand in there?”

Bugs don’t usually creep me out. There’s not a lot of things in this world that genuinely scare me to my core. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy sticking my hand in a bug-infested hole. Furthermore, I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever negative energy resides up here decided to fuck with me and grab my hand.

I can admit I’d probably pee a little then.

Sighing, I plunge my hand in, snatch the papers and rip my hand out, all in under a second.

I almost open my mouth and gloat but decide it’s better not to piss anything off when we’re sharing the same house.

I turn, run over to the string, click off the light and dash down the stairs like the girl from The Ring is chasing after me.

Slamming the attic door shut, I take in a deep, cleansing breath of air. It’s so much lighter down here. It feels like the entire house collapsed on me, and I just crawled out from beneath it.

I smooth out the papers, squinting my eyes to make out the neat scrawl on the first one.

I did what I was told to do. Because if I didn’t, I know I’d be next. So this is my confession. I helped him cover up her murder. I’m so sorry.

My heart quickens as I read the note over and over. Whoever wrote this, they’re speaking of Gigi”s murder. They must be. Who helped him cover up the murder? Who is him?

Switching to the other note, it takes only a second to realize it’s the page ripped out of her diary. I smile triumphantly, but the smile quickly drops as I read the messy words.

I have to be quick, he said he’s on his way and I’m terrified. If I run, he’ll catch me so I’m writing this note down in hopes someone will find it. If something happens to me, John, it wa

The note ends there, not even finishing the last word. My mouth drops open in shock as I stare down at it in utter disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Gigi! You leave it off there?That’s what you wanted to show me? A note where you’re about to say who it is BUT DON’T?” I finish my rant on a loud shout, stomping my foot and flaring my arms wide.

Of course, she doesn’t answer me.

Growling dramatically, I stomp my way into the bedroom and slam the door shut.

I’m mad at her now. She better not come in here, or I’m kicking her right back out.

He’s outside again. Watching me, a bright red cherry blaring in the moonlight.

I stare back at him. The familiar tendrils of fear have me tightly in their grip. But also, the bricks are settled in my stomach, sinking lower…

I chew my lip, contemplating if I should confront him again or not. Picking up my phone and reporting him would be the logical thing to do.

But the police won’t be able to do anything. By the time they get here, he’ll be gone again.

And what good will a police report do when they come up missing like last time? With his apparent breaking and entering skills, not to mention hacking skills, he’s obviously tampering with shit. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Sheriff Walters knows I have a stalker, despite him saying they had no record of it.

Maybe that’s all the more reason to call.

He’s probably planning on murdering me right now, just like Gigi’s stalker murdered her. I’ve read over that note and combed through her diaries for the past three nights, but I haven’t seen any evidence of her stalker being the murderer yet.

But I’m sure I’m right.

Eyeing him, I pick up my phone, stand directly in front of the window, and put the phone to my ear. I haven’t even dialed the police yet; I just want to see what he’ll do.

Because evidently, there’s something wrong with me.

I’m playing with fire. The more I provoke him, the more likely he is to come after me. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the sharp thrill that I get every time I push back.

It’s as addicting as it is stupid.

I can’t see his face under the deep hood, but I know he’s smiling at me. Knowing that doesn’t give me the reaction it should. I should be repulsed. I should be scared. I suppose I am scared, but what I’m really feeling is the urge to smile back.

My phone chimes in my ear. Brow plunging, I hesitantly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the incoming message.

UNKNOWN: Am I supposed to believe that you’re on the phone with the police? I think my little mouse is a liar.

Oh, no, he didn’t.

I angrily type back my message.

ME: Want to find out?

UNKNOWN: Yeah, I do, actually. I’d love to punish you later for it, too.

My thumbs freeze over the letters. The last punishment was gruesome and sickening.

ME: What, you gonna send me toes next?

UNKNOWN: Depends, are you still pretending to fuck other guys? Or would you rather yell at the ghosts in your house again?

My head snaps up and I stare into the depths of his hood. His phone is perched in his hand, waiting for my response. The lighting from his phone is set to low, the dim glow casting enough light to show me his wickedly sharp jawline and a portion of his smirking lips.

I lift my hand and flip him the bird.

Fuck you, asshole.

In response, his thumb starts moving, his smile growing wider.

UNKNOWN: I plan to.

I growl at his audacity. Like hell, he’ll fuck me.

ME: You come near me, I will stab you. I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now.

UNKNOWN: So do it, little mouse.

I can’t tell if he’s telling me to stab him or call. I’d be happy to do both. I don’t like his insinuation that I’m the mouse and he’s the cat. That would mean he’s hunting me. The last thing I want to be is hunted.

Fuck. I hesitate. I need to call the police. I have to. But I can’t convince my fingers to move. He’s challenging me, and I hate that I’m scared to find out what he’s going to do if I do. I hate that I want to.

Heart pounding, I dial the numbers. He watches me closely as I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

I breathe in deep.

“There’s a man that’s been stalking me. He broke into my house a week ago. And now he’s standing outside watching me.”

“He’s standing outside right now?” the operator asks. I hear typing in the background, accompanied by the smack of her gum.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Ma’am, is he doing anything? Does he have any weapons on him?” she asks.

“Not that I know of. Can you send someone out?”

More typing. “What’s your address, ma’am?”

I recite the address to her. She asks a few more pointless questions and informs me a cruiser is about five minutes out. She asks me to stay on the phone, but I don’t.

I click the phone off. My little shadow isn’t going to stick around long enough for the police to show up and catch him. He’ll disappear off into the woods he came out of, and never be found. I know this.

I can’t see his eyes, but I meet his gaze anyway. With one last smile, he types out a quick message. My phone buzzes, but I don’t look right away.

I’m too scared to.

And without a concern in the fucking world, he slowly turns and walks away. The darkness reaches out and grabs ahold of him, swallowing him into its depths until he’s vanished completely.

When the cruiser shows up, I already want him to leave. For reasons I can’t quite explain, I regret calling the police. I just… want him to leave.

The cop is an overweight man with short blonde hair and a ruddy face. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

I feel the same exact way.

“What’s going on here, ma’am?” he asks, huffing and puffing as he makes his way up the front porch.

“A man was outside my window,” I say shortly.

“O-okay,” he says, drawing out the O. “Has this happened before?”

I tell him that I’ve made several police reports that came up missing, but that this man has been coming around and breaking into my house for the past couple of months. After telling him of the previous experiences, he pulls out his pad and starts writing out the report.

“You said your name was Adeline Reilly, correct?”

“Yes.”

He pauses from writing and looks at me as if he’s seeing a different person.

“Aren’t you the one that had Archibald Talaverra go missing off your porch?” he asks, looking me up and down, pausing on my chest for a second too long, as if my tits are going to give him the answer.

“Yes,” I bite out, growing impatient.

He hums in response and goes back to writing his report.

“You think it was the same guy?”

“It’d be pretty fucked if it wasn’t,” I mutter. When the cop just side-eyes me, I sigh. “Yes, I do.”

He stops writing after that and asks me a few more customary questions. Do you have a description, do you know who he might be, and so on. I give him all the information I have, except what’s most important.

I don’t tell him about the text messages. I don’t know why, but they feel… private. Which is fucking stupid. Makes no sense, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. The police officer leaves with absolutely no helpful information. But he still leaves with a police report, and that’s what’s important.

It’s not until after I take a hot shower and settle into my bed that I read his message.

UNKNOWN: The more you disobey me, the harder your punishment.

“I’m going to find this little dick prick,” Daya declares angrily, practically slamming the keys through her laptop as she types god knows what. I just finished telling her the details of last night.

I take a sip of my drink. It’s not enough, so I take another. And then end up chugging the whole thing.

We’re both doing our respective work, but she didn’t want to leave me alone in the house now that my shadow is starting to interact more.

“Dick and prick are the same thing,” I say. She looks up, her face reflecting my exact thoughts since last night. What is wrong with you?

I shrug a shoulder. “I’m just saying. You just called him a little dick dick.”

She rolls her eyes, ignores me, and starts typing on her laptop again. Probably hacking into something. Though I can’t imagine what she could possibly be hacking into. Better not be my phone. I have nudes on there.

My face pales. Oh, god, what if he hacks into it and finds them? I scramble to pick up my phone, delete every single racy picture, and then delete them a second time from the Trash folder.

Some of my anxiety eases, but not all of it. He could’ve already hacked into it for all I know.

I’m going to be obsessing over this for the rest of my life now.

Noticing my internal crisis, Daya focuses on me, her brow pinched with concern. “You okay, girl?”

I clear my throat. “How likely is it that he can hack into my phone and find my nudes?” Her lip twitches and I’m two seconds away from smacking it off her face.

“Baby girl, that man has probably watched you get naked in your room a thousand times now.”

My eyes widen further, having not considered that yet, either.

“Oh my God.”

“Why do you ask?” Daya asks, her voice full of suspicion.

I roll my lips together, debating. At this point, the only thing holding me back from telling Daya about the texts is her impending anger.

Finally building up the courage, I rush out, “Would you be able to trace an unknown number?”

Her eyes slant. “Did he text you from one?”

Shame creeps in. I should’ve told her this sooner, but I had a weird protective need to keep the texts to myself, just like with the police officer. Now, I realize how stupid that is when Daya is one of the best hackers in the world. Or so she says, at least.

I nod sheepishly and hand her the phone, the thread already pulled up. She snatches it from my hand, shooting me a heated glare, and reads through them.

Her eyes draw back to my own, fire licking at her pupils. “You’re just now showing me these?”

I groan. “I know, I’m a stupid bitch. I just… I don’t know, Daya. I honestly don’t. Can you trace them?”

“I don’t forgive you yet, but let me see.”

I don’t worry about her anger. Daya could get bit by a snake and immediately forgive it. She’s just playing hard to get right now.

What looks like frustration settles over her face. Her lips curve down, and as the seconds pass by, her frown deepens. She leans closer to the screen, still typing a mile a second.

After a few minutes, she slaps her palms on the granite and leans back, obvious anger now on her face.

“Untraceable,” is all she says.

My anxiety resurfaces. “So, this man can hack into my security cameras, override them, and can clearly text me from an untraceable number. Which means he probably hacked my phone and got my nudes.”

She looks up at me, and I already know my answer.

“It’s possible,” she says, though her tone conveys that it’s probable.

I drop my head to my laptop, surely pressing a bunch of keys, but I don’t care right now. A creepy ass dude potentially has my nudes. Worse, he probably has video footage of me naked. I suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world to happen—my body is fabulous. But I’ll definitely be mortified if they get leaked.

What if he uses them as blackmail? Never thought I’d think this, but hopefully, he’s too obsessed with me to leak them. He’s already proven to be highly possessive. If another man can’t even touch my thigh without getting his hands cut off, then surely he wouldn’t show the world my naked body?

“Did you delete them?” I nod, my forehead grating against the keys. I cringe at the noise. If I don’t stop, my big ass head will ruin my laptop.

I lift my head, pick up Daya’s glass of vodka and pineapple juice, and start chugging. She doesn’t complain. In fact, she slides over the entire bottle of vodka.

“Don’t obsess over it. If he hasn’t said anything about them yet, then there’s a good chance he doesn’t have them.”

Her words do little to make me feel better, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway.

“Who did you even send your nudes to?” she asks, snatching the bottle of vodka from my hand after I take a hefty swig.

“I haven’t sent a nude since I was twenty. I take nudes because I like my body and want to stare at it all day.”

Daya laughs. “I fucking love you.”

Sadly, she might not be the only one.

Her phone lights up. Instinctively, my eyes flash towards the screen, but it’s her snatching it up like the phone caught fire is what draws my attention to it.

I quirk a brow, watching her glance nervously at me.

“You don’t forgive me for keeping secrets, but yet you’re doing the same thing,” I state dryly.

She deflates, now looking like a dog caught with the toilet paper in its mouth.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she mumbles.

“About what?” I bark, holding my hand out expectantly for the phone. She groans, tucking it further into her chest.

“Luke… he’s been texting me,” she starts. My eyes widen, alarm stark in my eyes.

“Texting you about what? Just to hook up again?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. “He’s been bugging me about you and what happened that night with Arch. I told him what you told the police. That someone pounded on the door, and he went missing after that. I guess he’s trying to figure out who it could’ve been.”

“Fuck,” I curse, dropping my head in my hands.

“Apparently, Max is going on a rampage,” she admits on a sigh. “Not only did his best friend die, but the entire family. They haven’t said it, but I’m not sure they believe it was the Talaverra’s rivals that killed the family. I told Luke you have nothing to do with it. And I think he bought it.”

Words are left unsaid, so I say them for her. “For now.”

Her lips tighten in response, and I realize that my shadow has just made me some dangerous enemies.