Riley had been staring at the ceiling in her room for almost half an hour, Claire asleep in the guest room across from her bedroom.
Riley couldn’t sleep for the life of her… everything seemed so scary and nerve racking… The eyes of the boy looked so dark… like the ocean at night, but he seemed so young and kind.
But he also seemed so scary and intimidating.
Could he have been the killer? Was he the bad guy?
She couldn’t really tell… It was horrible, not knowing. Everything seemed so off and confusing, and she intended to get an answer.
Her father was murdered when she was around eight years old, and she’d been traumatized since.
When she was fourteen, she managed to start looking for the killer, and she found him.
It was some mugger… but he didn’t really mean to kill her father; it was an accident.
She found evidence at her young age, and she managed to figure out who killed him within a week. When he told the police about him, they looked him up and found he had a major history of robbing and theft, and they caught him off guard.
He was in jail now, and she felt safer.
Until Bella’s death.
Honestly, Riley felt like she was in one of those TV shows on that channel on TV; the one that played murder mysteries and romances. Like the author in, Murder She Wrote, or the baker in, Murder She Baked, and the librarian in that other show, Aurora Teagarden Mysteries. They didn’t need training to find the culprit, did they? Then why did she?
It’s fiction, Riley, a part of her said. Seriously, are you going insane?
Probably.
Honestly, she felt like she was unsafe all the time. Every homeless person a murderer, every pedestrian a mugger; she never felt safe alone.
Could the boy in the mask know that?
Why else would he tell her if she “wasn’t safe to bring a friend?”
Also, who was this boyfriend he was talking about? She didn’t have one. Was there another guy stalking her?
Wow… her brain wouldn’t shut off… She wasn’t going to sleep, was she?
Well… that was nothing new.
All the sudden there was a tap on her window, and she nearly jumped off her bed before she saw a shadow out there.
He waved to her and pointed to another piece of paper attached to the window, jumping off the roof seconds later.
Riley shot up from her bed and threw the window open, scanning the ground for him, but…
He was gone.
Huh…?
She grabbed the paper and closed the window, opening the note and aiming the writing under the moonlight so she could see better.
Wow… called the police on me? That’s rude, you know. You don’t even know me, Riley.
Whatever, I get it. I know I’m hiding things that you can sense, and I get your fear, Riley. I get it.
I’ve done bad things, I think you should know. And I can’t tell you those things I did because I know you won’t understand. Not yet.
Just know this, my intent is to help not harm, I swear it. You won’t know me for a while, but you will eventually. I swear, I mean you no harm, okay?
You just have to trust me.
P.
She stared down at the paper for a moment, going back to her window to gaze down at the trees where she saw him earlier.
He was there again… gazing up at her room with his blue eyes glowing in the darkness.
She opened her window, putting her hand out to gesture for him to stay, and she took the paper he left, turning it over and scraping a note back to him.
If you want me to trust you, tell me your name.
And she released it into the night, the wind blowing it down to him and he caught it, staring down at the paper for a moment before gazing up at her.
She watched in awe as he used the American Sign Language to spell it, and she grabbed the pen she was using and wrote the letters down on her arm.
P. A. R. I. S.
Paris? As in the capital of France?
She looked down at him, seeing his blue eyes reflecting her image even far below.
She knew learning how to spell in sign language would come in handy some day, and she signed back:
T. H. A. N. K. S.
He nodded in response, signing:
G.O.O.D. N.I.G.H.T.
She nodded, closing her window.
Paris… Paris… Paris who?
She knew he wasn’t going to tell her that yet, and that name he gave her was probably a fake one; or one that he went by.
She already called the police on him, why wouldn’t he expect she’d call them again and tell them his name?
Oh, well… It was something, at the very least.
Riley looked back to her window, eyes dimming.
She wanted to ask him a million questions, a million; why he was so interested in her, what horrible things he had done, who he was, how he knew about her interests, and what he knew about the murder of her best friend.
Riley ran over to the window, throwing it open to the cool, night air.
“Paris!” she called into the darkness. “Paris!”
There was no response.
Her eyes stung with tears. Could she trust him…?
“Paris!”
Silence.
And she called one last time, “Paris!”
No response.
So she closed the window, sighing into her drafty room and stepped over to her bed, getting under the covers seconds later.
After switching off her light, she eased into her mattress, feeling a sudden cold consume her and she attempted to drape more blankets over her, but it never left.
So she curled up under the sheets and held herself as her eyes stung.
Sometimes she wished she never broke off with Ryan… Because on nights like these—when she felt cold and icy and her skin stung with sorrow—she just needed someone to hold… and she got rid of all her teddy bears when she was fifteen; she was too old for them, anyway.
Bella was gone… all gone… her father, too.
Sometimes it felt like there was someone after her, intending to cause her immense pain.
What did she do to deserve this? Why did this have to happen?
Hot tears slid into the pillowcase, and she clutched the pillow, beginning to cry.
“Hey,” a voice said into her room.
She cried out, shooting up from the bed and scrambled to the headboard, covering herself with a blanket despite her showing no skin.
There was a shadow at the foot of her bed, and she breathed shallowly as he eyed her through the familiar mask.
Paris.
Though when she dropped the sheet as an attempt to scramble for something on her nightstand, she noticed his eyes travel to her chest, and then down further, until they drifted back up to her lips, then finally her eyes.
Why was her something pooling in her belly with his stare?
This only happened at night… when she was in the mood to touch herself, but she shoved the thought away.
“How did you…” she said, voice shaking, “get in here…?”
“The window,” he responded, nodding to it.
Her eyes moved to the window and then back to him, widening when she realized he used his normal voice.
His tone was soft, but somewhat deep; it was a mixture between dark and soothing.
The pool inside her was getting hotter; she was nearly sweating.
She backed herself against the headboard when he stepped further to her and he stopped.
“You were calling me,” he stated, “what did you need?”
When she was silent, he stepped further to her and she pushed herself further to the headboard.
“You’re… crying…” he said then.
Riley pushed a finger to her eye and drew back, seeing the tip of her finger glisten with the leftover tears from her cheek.
She wiped her eyes almost violently before drawing back, gazing up at him with her gaze still glistening.
“Your friend…” he said softly, making her clutch her comforter tighter. “Her death was a while ago… but it’s still fresh to you, isn’t it?”
She gazed down at her bed, rubbing her arms uncomfortably.
“Are you cold?” he said, making his way over to the window and shutting it. “Is that better?”
But she continued to notice his gaze trailing her form.
Her eyes shot up to him, and they dimmed in concern. “Who are you?”
“I gave you my name,” he stated, looking at her now. “That is all I can give you, Riley.”
“Paris…” she said, “is it fake or real?”
“It’s what I go by.”
Right, as she thought.
“What do you want from me?” she asked him.
He was silent for a moment. “You won’t understand.”
She gazed up at him then. “Give me a reason to trust you. A valid one.”
His eyes dimmed. “I can’t. You’ll have to learn.”
“I can’t tell what you want,” she told him, trying to understand this fluttering feeling he was giving her. “I can’t tell what your intent is. If you want to kill me, then you’re probably luring me somewhere. If you want to kill me, you would’ve already. I don’t understand your motive. If you really want to protect me, why? Why me, huh? It’s concerning.”
He was silent.
Her brows drew together. “Who are you, Paris? What are you to me…?”
“I know you,” he stated. “You sort of know me.”
“Paris…” she asked him, sitting up now, “will I see you again soon?”
He nodded. “You know me at school. You’ve seen me multiple times. And I’m in some of your classes.”
“So I’ll see you? Tomorrow?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and just so you know, I won’t show myself to you until you recognize me. Only then will you know me, and you’ll have to keep it a secret.”
“How do you know I will?” she questioned more out of curiosity.
His eyes locked on hers. “Or you’ll be punished.”
“What does that mean?” she questioned.
“You know what it means, Riley,” he stated.
Her breaths quickened.
“I have to go now,” he told her. “Stay here tonight. Don’t leave the house until morning, got it?”
She nodded numbly, still questioning whether or not he was the killer.
“Riley,” he said then, “everything will be okay. So don’t cry, alright?”
She pressed her finger to her eyes, feeling her cheeks dampen suddenly.
She didn’t even realize she was crying.
He started to the window, and stopped, clearly hesitating.
When he turned to look at her, his eyes were dark enough to look like the night sky. “Riley…” he whispered, clearly not wanting to leave her alone, “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you don’t understand, but I just need you to know that everything will be okay.”
“At least tell me one thing,” she whispered, and when he looked up, she continued, “who’s next…?”
His eyes darkened, but he sighed, hands twitched at his sides as if it was a nervous tick. “Claire…” he whispered, “Claire is next.”
She almost screamed, but swallowed the urge down. “Who’s the killer?”
“I…” he sighed, “I don’t know, but I have a suspicion.”
“How could you know she was next and not know who the killer is?”
He gazed at her. “I heard someone say it,” he said irritably, “and I don’t know who that person was.”
Her brows drew together.
It seemed legit… so why did she suspect he was lying…?
“Riley…” he whispered gently, “just trust me this once. I think you’ll recognize me at school. So I’ll see you then, yeah?”
She nodded, and he turned back to the window, hopping back onto the window sill and disappeared into the night.
Riley got off her bed and closed the window.
“Paris…” she whispered to herself, trying to remember, “blue eyes… white skin… Paris….”
She stared off into the night. “Why can’t I place you…?”
But she shook her head, getting under the covers and pulling the comforter up to her shoulders.
“I’ll find you…” she said to herself, snuggling into the mattress, “I’ll find you, Paris.”