Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Sixteen: He Looks Like A Borealis

Chapter Nine: "He Looks Like A Borealis."

AS EACH DAY PASSES on without a message, sign, or call, the more worried I get.

I haven't had any contact with my stalker since the day Violet was head delivered to my–Tyler's–doorstep. Which was almost two weeks ago.

It makes me really nervous now not talking to them. It makes me worry that they're planning something much worse, making my tension grow even more. I'd rather be hearing threats or getting weird texts about my choosing of lunch. I'd rather hear something than nothing. The silence is killing me. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss my asshole of a stalker.

I flick on the TV to keep my mind off the impossible. Luckily, the news finally has dimmed on the 'mystery' girl from the recent massacre. They said approximately thirty thousand people died from all around the world that night out of about a couple hundred thousand in the stadium and surrounding premises, and many more thousands injured, making it the worst and most brutal massacre recorded at a sporting event.

The bombings didn't just wipe out people in the stadiums; they wiped out surrounding businesses and homes surrounding the pitch. Citizens walking, cafe's, stores. Others died from injuries in the hospital, debris, smoke inhalation from fires started from the explosions.

They said the bombings are what made the highest death toll. Only a few hundred were killed by the bullets flying in the atmosphere, but the scariest part of the news was that there were six bombs planted, all under the bleachers. It scared me because one of the six was right below where we were seated, and didn't go off until the first shot was fired, because they'd all be clustered, making the death count just keep rising.

I have the puppy sitting on my lap. He's been nameless for almost three weeks that I just call him a bunch of random things. I find myself commonly calling him Junior, Chubs because he's a bit chubby, or Bo for Borealis. I don't know why but he just looks like a Borealis.

Tyler's left me for work again and I remember that today's the day that I get to see my doctor about the sling. I start to feel hungry and drag myself off the couch to go make some Pop-Tarts. I throw the S'mores tarts in the toaster and pour some chocolate milk. My phone starts vibrating on the counter mid-pour.

I look at it in confusion before setting the jug on the counter. My blood boils when I see the caller ID and I hesitate before answering.

"Charlie." I mumble in the phone. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk?" He asks. "In person?" Seriously? Aren't you supposed to be across the world or something?

"No. I'm not meeting up with you. If you want to talk then talk now."

"I'd rather this in person–"

"I said no!" I snap. "I'm not one for holding grudges but I'm going to hold the biggest fucking one on you. I'd rather not see you in person, thanks."

"I heard what happened and just wanted to know how you're holding up. How's the arm?"

"The arm feels a lot better with you not around." I hiss. The toaster beeps, saying that my Pop-tarts have finished. I throw my phone on speaker and drop it beside me to finish pouring my milk.

"What was that?" He asks, referring to it dropping.

"None of your concern." I reply. "Is that all you wanted? Was to know how I was 'holding up'? Stop acting like you care, man. Mom isn't around so you don't need to pretend! I told her the truth and you don't need to fake anything anymore, Charlie. You're an awful, heartless, and selfish man who–"