He doesn’t say anything. His eyes move from the suitcase to my face. He just stares at me, and I’m certain I’d much rather him be talking than quietly staring. It’s terrifying—the way he’s looking at me.
“Are you…” I swallow. “Are you going to hurt me?”
He shakes his head. “What? No.” He answers me as if that’s a ridiculous question.
How could he possibly think my reaction right now is ridiculous? I have no idea who he is. None.
I slide my hand in my back pocket and pray I can unlock my phone without him knowing what I’m doing.
I take another step back. “Why did you lie to me?”
He takes a step forward. “It’s what you wanted, Megan.”
I can’t help but grow angry at that answer. “It’s what I wanted? I didn’t even know you existed before you showed up here pretending to be a detective! Was anyone even shot that night? Was there even a police chase?”
He tilts his head a little, narrowing his eyes in my direction. “Do you not remember your words two nights before I showed up here?”
My words? What is he talking about?
“Your live video,” he says, taking another step toward me. “You said you wished you could experience the things you write about. You said your character was a cop. I brought that to you.”
This makes no sense. If he showed up here pretending to be a cop because of the live video…that means he knew who I was before he showed up here.
He was watching the video as it was live…two days before I even met him.
Which means he follows me online.
My hand is still in my back pocket, trying to figure out how to dial 9-1-1 on my phone without looking at it. I keep talking, hoping he won’t focus too much on the arm behind my back.
“How long have you been watching my live videos?” I ask. My voice is a whisper.
He shrugs. “A while. A couple of years, maybe.”
I cover my gasp with my hand, then I bring my hand to my chest. “Are you even married?”
He shakes his head. “Marriage isn’t really my thing.”
I see it the second it happens. He tilts his head as he drops his gaze to my arm. The arm I’ve been hiding behind my back.
I spin around and rush toward the bathroom, hoping to be able to lock myself inside long enough to get the call made.
I don’t make it.
He reaches me, just as I reach the bathroom door. He grabs my arm and yanks me back, then rips my cell phone out of my hand. He looks down at it and sees that I was trying to call the police.
“I haven’t done anything wrong, Megan!” He tosses my phone angrily behind him, then pushes me toward the bed. I fall onto it, then crawl to the headboard, attempting to get as far from him as I can. “What would you even tell them when they showed up here? That I role-played too well?”
“You’ve been impersonating a cop!” I say through clenched teeth.
He throws a frustrated hand up in the air. “Oh, come on! You wanted this! Your online Q&As are like an open invitation into your life. You tell your readers where your writing retreat is, you let the whole world know when you’re here alone. You even answered my question in your last video when I asked if you would be willing to do something like this. You said, and I quote, ‘I would do anything.’”
Oh, my God. He’s the one who asked that question?
He thinks I was asking for this?
“That wasn’t an invitation to show up here and lie to me.”
“We’ve both been lying,” he says. “You aren’t innocent in this.”
“You attacked me in the middle of the night!”
“You asked me to, Megan!”
I shake my head adamantly. He’s not turning this around on me. I didn’t ask for this. Just because I said I wanted experience in a live video does not mean that was an invitation for him to actually locate me and act out some sick fantasy of his.
“You pretended to be someone you’re not.”
“So did you,” he says flatly.
“Stop saying that! It’s different!”
“Is it?”
“I never lied to you, Saint! You knew who I was before you showed up here.”
He grips the back of his neck as if he’s frustrated. “You’re fucking married!” he yells, walking over to me. I scoot to the other side of the bed. “You’re a wife and a mother and none of your readers know