Stalks: A gripping psychological thriller by Jenna Moquin

Author:Jenna Moquin [Moquin, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Mind Publishing
Published: 2024-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Twenty-One

After they release me at the hospital, Courteney takes me to her place. I haven’t been to Courteney and Chet’s townhouse in a while, and they’ve spruced the place up—plush carpet in the living room, ceramic tile in the bathroom, and the fireplace with a stone mantel.

Chet hugs me. “How you holding up?” he says as we break the embrace, a worried frown on his face and brow.

I shrug. “Okay, I guess. Thanks for letting me crash here. I can’t face my place just yet.”

“Anytime, you know that.” He winks at me and squeezes my shoulder. Courteney hugs me, and they lead me to the guest room. It has no windows, one of those small rooms in an apartment meant for an office or a den, but the bed looks cozy with fluffy pillows and one of Courteney’s crocheted quilts.

"Let us know if you need anything,” Courteney says. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom.”

“And feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen too,” Chet says.

“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”

I hug them both, and they leave, closing the door behind them.

Panic settles into my chest and stomach, similar to when the ambulance doors were slammed shut—the feeling that I’m being closed in, cut off, trapped.

I open the door, just a few inches. I can see bits of light streaming in, from the streetlamps through the windows outside the room, and it puts my mind at ease. I sink into the bed, a million times more comfortable than the last one I was in. I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow. But that doesn’t stop me from seeing Jared’s face as I drift off, and it doesn’t stop me from dreaming about him.

My dreams turn into something else. Memories of being tied up and unable to move, no way to escape. I wake up covered in sweat.

I get out of bed and tiptoe into the kitchen. After checking a few cabinets, I find what I’m looking for above the sink. I grab the bottle of Hennessy and pour a dram. Usually I just sip it, but this time I tilt my head back and down half of it. The warmth trails from my throat to my stomach. After a shaky breath, I finish it.

It feels nice. Brings that tingling warmness to me quicker than wine does. But I don’t know if a dram will be enough tonight, so I take the bottle with me into the living room and curl up on the couch with a blanket.

I snap on the television and turn to The Weather Channel. Something about that station soothes me. It’s nice to have a live person talking on the TV that’s not depressing news, and it’s not a talk show, but someone chatting about the most common small-talk topic in the world: the weather. It just makes me feel grounded to have this station on in the background. I don’t have to pay attention to it, but it’s there, and I can focus on the screen when my thoughts swarm at me too much.

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