Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Four: Thank God This Is A Leave-In Conditioner

Chapter Four: "Thank God This Is A Leave-In Conditioner."

HE'S DRESSED IN BLACK WITH A MASK ON. His body is a lot more muscular and broad than Tyler's. He towers over me like an elephant compared to a mouse. Our height isn't as far as Tyler's and mine, but the way this guy is standing, I feel intimidated and small and shrink back.

I can't believe what I'm seeing.

I'm too shocked to do anything, even gulp, or breathe. I watch his moves closely, as he fiddles through my bathroom bag, as if in search of something. What the hell are you looking for, Stranger? I have no idea what they're wanting. Thinking of watching criminal shows quite often, I think of what they'd do—negotiate. Yeah, Morgan, because that's what will help you: begging him to not kill you and that you'd never tell a damn soul. It never goes well. The person trying to change their mind usually dies. Oh well, it's worth a shot. My mind is all over the place; I'm not even thinking straight.

So, I finally get the urge to speak up and try to see why this man is in my bathroom. It's this, or you die Morgan. I told you.

"Who are you?" I cautiously ask, trying to control my rapid breathing so I don't pass out. They shoot up their head–not noticing that I noticed them–something in their hand appearing, and with no hesitation, they race to me, glide that something across me, and I gasp in surprise. They then push me down, and I yelp and hit my back off of the wall, catching me mid-fall, but slip on the wet floor and fall down anyway, hearing a crack coming from somewhere in my body.

I hear the bathroom door open, and slam shut just as the cold air starts coming through again, and before I can think, I hear the hotel door close and I'm left alone, on my bathroom floor, bleeding. I toss and turn, the pain settling in over my adrenaline, and it gets even more excruciating. How did Faith not hear them? No, how could she not have heard me with my loudness?

Looking over as far as I can move my head, a large pool of blood forms beneath me, and my heart races more than it already was, even then, I can feel my breathing slow down, and my chest get tighter. That's a lot of blood. Maybe I cracked my head open, maybe they punctured a lung or my heart. I'm going to die. This is probably the worse way to die. Alive and conscious.

Out of all the things you could have done to kill yourself, Morgan, you chose the fucking bleeding to death method? Of course not!

I feel warm tears–or at least I hope they're tears–roll down my cheeks, and I start to let out painful cries for help.

"Help! Someone. . ." I choke out. "Faith. . ." I faintly hear footsteps storm through moments later, and Bryce comes into my blurry sight. Where in God's name is Ty? No, actually, the real question is:

Where the hell is Faith?

His shadow beams through the other side of the curtain, and nears me. He opens the curtain and from the corner of my eye, and his eyes widen in shock.

"Jo?" He breathes, "Tyler!" He then screams suddenly, scaring me and making me jump. He gets on his knees, and places his hands gently on my face, and turns my head to face him. I look in his grey eyes, fear showing through both our glossy reflections. "Are you okay? What happened?" I hold the eye contact, too shaken up to even speak, and just blink, letting my tearing eyes water more. I must be in shock. Well you don't say?

"S-someone came in here. I-I-I thought it was Tyler. They st-arted digging through my things and when they saw me they cut me with something then pushed me down. My back really hurts, Bryce. Oh no, I don't. . . I don't wanna die naked." I say after a long moment, and start crying on that last sentence as I explain weakly.  Faith should have been here. Where is she? She would have heard the door slam and she would have heard me cry out for help. Unless she wasn't actually in her room like she was supposed to?