Inhospitable Place - 9. Chapter 9

When I wake up, I feel a tingling sensation running through my body: fear. Someone's in the room. Someone is sitting in the armchair by the closet. Watching me.

“Hunt?”

“Hello my love,” he replies.

It's strange, the contradiction between a killer and a lover. I now know everything he's done, yet he looks exactly the same. The same hair, the same eyes, the same full lips.

My head is throbbing in pain, and I feel a trickle of blood running down the side of my temple from the earlier blow to my head. My body twists toward the door, but he's a lot faster. He blocks my only exit path before I ever have a chance to move. He stands there; a twisted smile sprawling on his face.

I notice Bruno laying on the floor by the foot of the bed, his body eerily still.

“What did you do to Bruno!?” I shout, the panic spreading over me. His eyes move to look at the dog.

“Oh, him? He just swallowed a couple of your pills sweetheart, he'll be alright. I might have broken his leg trying to get him to obey. He really is a feisty one. But I'm sure your little vet friend will have no problem fixing it, will he?”

“Oh God,” my voice quivers. I want to run towards Bruno and help him, but I feel paralyzed. Unsure of what the man in front of me is capable of doing.

“I really underestimated you. Here I thought you were sleeping, gorging yourself to death on food, and moping around waiting for me to get home. Meanwhile, you've been a social butterfly. Have you fucked him?”

“What?” I ask, completely confused.

“It's hard for me to believe anybody could be attracted to you now, looking the way you do,” he says, looking me up and down with visible contempt. “I mean Jesus, talk about a downfall. Remember how fit you used to be? People wanted to actually watch you on TV. That's where I first saw you.” My mind scrambles back to the beginning, when we first met. We accidentally bumped into each other at the grocery store. He must sense my confusion because he laughs. “You really are stupid. Did you think our meeting was random? We just happened to reach for the same cantaloupe? What a love story. I really am a master at concocting the perfect beginnings. Not so great at the endings though. Still working on it.” His mouth curls into a grotesque smile. I no longer recognize this man. The mask has fallen off.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Those first two months really were incredible. You were magnetic. Still the best I've ever had, if you must know. That's why you're still alive. Despite this unfortunate mess that you've become. I also think your willingness to die has become a turn off at this point. What's the fun in killing someone who no longer values life? Who might even crave death? I would have just been doing you a favor. And I'm not in the business of doing favors, as you know.”

“What’s…what's wrong with you?” I ask. I need to keep him talking and buy myself some time. Derek gets home at 9, and our bedrooms share a wall. If I yell, he will hear me.

“Oh, you know, depends on which psychiatrist you ask. They all have their little theories. Their explanations to make it all make sense. To neatly fit it into a predictable formula. If I had to take a guess, antisocial personality disorder would be my bet.” He takes a step toward me, and I finally notice the knife in his hand. My throat dries up. “But that’s the thing about killing. You can plan everything around it, but the act itself. It really is unpredictable,” he glares at me. “I really don't want to do this. But you just had to keep digging. You and your fucking sister,” he says with revulsion. He takes another step closer. There’s nothing around me, nothing that I could use as a weapon. There’s only the wine bottle on the nightstand.

As he takes another step I lunge for the bottle and wallop him over the head. He may be strong, but I’m still somewhat agile in my movements. It momentarily knocks him to the ground.

I run for the front door, try to open it before he gets up. But it’s stuck. The room is dark, with only moonlight coming in from the living room window. With shaky hands I touch the locks and try to figure out why the door won’t open. Suddenly I feel it. It’s a portable door lock. The type you use when traveling. But before I can start dismantling it, Hunter grabs me from behind with unmatched strength and throws me onto the living room floor like a rag doll.

“Don’t do this,” I plead from the floor as he comes towards me. He stomps on my left arm with violent strength, and I hear a bone crack. I scream in pain.

“What are you gonna do, cry about mommy some more?” he mocks me with a sadistic voice that lacks any feeling. My mouth hangs open in total shock. His eyes are cold as ice.

He gets on top of me.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, as they say,” he says, letting go of the knife. His hands coil around my neck like a snake.

“Don’t,” I plead, flailing my only working hand at his arm, but his strength is immeasurable. He stares into my eyes and applies more pressure, as my eyes water and my vision starts to blur.

“Rest easy now, darling. Go to mommy,” he snickers. Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming urge to live. I’m not ready to go yet. Despite the mess I’ve been, I don’t want to die. I shove my right hand into my pocket and feel around until my hand grasps hold of it. Then I flip it to the right position with my thumb, quickly bring it up to his face, close my eyes and press down as hard as I can. Francesca’s pink pepper spray.

The grip on my neck loosens as he begins to cough. He gets off me and stumbles backwards. Suddenly, my throat is on fire. I hear him fumble with the door until it opens, and the air starts to clear. I open my eyes, and they begin to water and burn.

I try to get up, but he re-enters the room.

“We’re done playing games now,” he says as he picks up the knife from the floor. I’m out of options, so I do the only thing I can. I start screaming for help.

He raises his arm, and I start a silent prayer, knowing I’m seconds away from death. I pray that Francesca finds Bruno, and that they make it out alive. I wait for his arm to come down, but suddenly a hand comes out of nowhere and plunges a needle into Hunter’s neck, then retreats.

He looks around, dazed and confused, applying pressure to his neck. When he sees Derek behind him, he clumsily slashes the air with the knife he’s holding. “What the…” he starts to say, then crumbles to the floor like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, running up to me and checking if I have any knife wounds.

“I’m fine. He didn’t cut me. I just have a broken arm,” I say. “What did you give him?” I ask.

“Horse tranquilizer,” he replies. “I heard you yell out in pain, and that conversation we had with your sister was on my mind. So I brought it with me, just in case,” he replies, and I feel so grateful I could kiss him. He gently touches my broken arm.

“He did something to Bruno, you have to check on him! He’s in the bedroom,” I say, panicking.

“I will, but we have to make sure you’re okay first,” he tells me. His warm brown eyes calming me down. Suddenly Francesca and two police officers run in through the door.

“Louis!” she screams out, taking in the horrific scene in front of her.

“I’m okay,” I reply, still numb from the shock of it all.

The officers call an ambulance then question Derek and I about what happened. I tell them about everything. From his strange moods, to his work schedule, to the driver’s licenses buried beneath the floor of our studio. I try to make sense of it all, but none of it fits.

“How did I miss all of this?” I whisper horrified, looking at my sister. She brushes my hair out of my eyes.

“You were in a daze of grief. You couldn’t have known,” she replies, trying to alleviate the guilt I feel. The faces of all the young men—men who resembled me in so many ways—flash before my eyes. But it’s only when I’m in the hospital getting my cast and Fran informs me that Hunter is awake and behind bars, that I break down sobbing.