Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 5
the lamb
I've only been working at Old Soul Cafe for a couple of weeks, and I've already gotten three warnings about tardiness. It's really not my fault this time, though. Mrs. Botless, the woman I dog walk for, kept me tied up in a riveting conversation about her upcoming bingo tournament. She wouldn't stop rambling until I was already walking twenty feet away from her, promising her that we'd continue the story tomorrow, but I had to go. I hopped into my beat-up, ancient Volkswagen that Kennedy's mechanic friend agreed to accept cash payments on, and raced over to the cafe before she could mutter a single word.
It's seven minutes past the start of my shift by the time I'm swinging the front door open and jogging behind the counter to begin taking orders from the growing line of people. Rosie, my boss, looks over at me from the espresso machine with a disappointed scowl that tells me she'll be pulling me into her office the second I get this line down.
She's a thirty-something single woman with bright pink hair and the most eccentric wardrobe I’ve ever seen who has poured everything she has into Old Soul. When she isn't laying into me about being late or getting yet another order wrong, she's actually a really cool person to talk to. We share a lot of things in common and work well together when it matters. Time just passes quicker when we’re both on a shift.
That's not why she hasn't fired me, though. Her sister was my roommate at Sunnybrook. Genny's been to the facility three times already, but can't seem to overcome her vices just yet. On my last day, she told me to talk to Rosie about helping out at the cafe, knowing she would need the extra hands with her being tied up in rehab. I had no plans to follow through, but not many people are willing to hire someone fresh out of a facility with a huge, otherwise unexplainable gap in their resume, so I really had no choice.
Old Soul is ten minutes past Styx and over a half hour from my new home, but the tips alone make it well worth the drive. If I can get here on time.
Especially after dog walking for Mrs. Botless, Halen and Kennedy's neighbor. I might have to pick Ollie up earlier to account for his chatty owner. Once I finish my shift at Old Soul, I'll be rushing back across town to fill in a bartending shift at the sports bar that Halen works at.
I feel like I've called in every favor I have since moving into my own place, just to make ends meet. Don't get me wrong, my rent is insanely cheap. I'm not complaining even in the slightest. But it's still a struggle to cover all by myself without a steady, full-time job. I've applied everywhere with zero callbacks, and each day in the job field looks more and more grim. I'm terrified the favors will dry out before I can find something stable and I'll be stuck back in Halen's basement just when I’ve finally caught a taste of freedom.
So, I spend my evenings glued to my computer, applying for every open position I can find until I pass out and have to do it all over again.
Except this evening.
After being threatened with my last strike from Rosie and a horrible shift at the bar, where I was groped and yelled at by a table of drunk bachelors, I'm finally home alone and enjoying the silence.
So far, Halen has been wrong about serial killers living in my woods or the boogeyman hiding under my bed. I never got around to buying curtains for the enormous living room windows, but I haven’t minded it yet. The property is private enough without them, and I rarely even see my neighbors, if they're home at all.
It's taken me a while to get used to the silence of living alone. I never realized what chaos my life had been, always sharing my spaces with someone else. The peace was unsettling at first, but I've easily become addicted to it. I love the freedom of coming home and stripping my sweaty clothes off the instant I walk through the door, just because there isn't a single person who will stop me. Or leaving my dishes in the sink until I feel up to washing them.
It's quite liberating, being a slob. Everyone should try it at least once.
The house itself makes a lot of creaks and groans that I've grown used to. The opposite end where the other bedrooms are remains closed off as my backup plan in the event I run out of favors to pay my bills, and that's where most of the noises come from. I don't want roommates, especially now that I'm used to being alone, but I also refuse to fail.
I'm returning my dishes to the sink when I first see the figure in my backyard. I walk by the sliding glass doors so fast, I nearly miss it. But something urges me to turn my head at the very last second, and that's when I notice him. I freeze, my heart dropping down to my toes as my lungs seize up.
Dressed in all black with a hood pulled over his head just far enough to conceal his face, a man stands in the middle of the back lawn. He's peering into the house, directly at me.
My stomach flips as I squint to get a better look. It's not him—my bully ex-boyfriend. I've memorized his stature enough to tell the difference. This figure is taller and leaner. My ex is short and stocky, with a head full of long, platinum blond hair that even the biggest hood couldn't conceal.
What are the chances a second man could be hunting me?
His stance is wide and comfortable, as if he's been watching me stuff my face in front of the TV for some time now. His head turns and tilts the slightest bit, bobbing like he's talking to someone. But I don't see anyone else around. I turn away for a split second, gauging how well he could see me from where I was just sitting on the couch. Without anything covering the windows, he would have had a completely unobstructed view. I'm surprised I didn't notice him before.
When I turn back, he's gone. It's as if he’s disappeared into thin air.
What the fuck?
There's no way anyone could move that quickly.
…Right?
I'm shuffling closer to the window despite the terror I feel in my gut, trying to catch another glimpse of him, irritated when I fall short. The bastard was too quick.
My survival instincts finally kick in, propelling me toward the couch to grab my phone, and I'm dialing the police in the next breath. But just before I hit the green button, I stop myself, doubting every second of the past ten minutes.
Why the hell would anyone want to watch me shove down a carton of ice cream in the middle of the night? I don't have anything of value in this home, aside from the ridiculously heavy furniture the owners left behind. I also have no reason to think anyone would want to stalk me. And the guy moved so fast… I'm not even sure how he did it.
Maybe I've imagined the whole thing.
Would a police officer even believe me if I told them? Or would they write me off like another crazy person from the loony bin?
Dropping my phone, I look out the window for any sign of him again. Of course, there isn't anything visible from this far away, and while I'm not fully convinced he was there in the first place, I have no intention of going outside and getting taken by some psycho on the off-chance he's waiting for me in the woods. I may be dumb, but I've seen enough horror movies in my day to know that's not the right move.
Instead of making the call, I lock my phone and sneak back into the kitchen to grab my knife. If the man is real and still watching, hopefully he’ll see the knife and realize I'm not afraid to use it.
Or, it’ll ruin the only element of surprise I have.
Before I get too far into my head, I run to my room, shut the door, and hide under my covers like any other rational person would do.