Page 16 of I Will Break You

“No,” I reply with a sob.

Xero died yesterday in front of cameras and witnesses, including the reporter for the New Alderney Times. No guard could have overheard our conversation during a noisy thunderstorm.

I’m having a breakdown, brought on by guilt and grief and shock. I need urgent medical help.

Another message pops up.

The next time you allow a man to touch what’s mine, you’ll find his body parts under your pillow.

My breath catches, and I navigate to my contacts. Dr. Saint has an emergency number. I could call it, get some help, and put an end to this imaginary stalker.

Because there’s no such thing as ghosts. There are, however, such things as psychos and copycats.

When my fingers hover over the call button, another message arrives.

Don’t believe me? Look under your pillow.

“No,” I whisper.

I wasn’t giving you an option.

My breath quickens, and the pulse between my ears drums a frantic beat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will away the imaginary messages.

The phone buzzes again and again and again, the vibrations seeping into my bones. My mind won’t stop fucking with me until I go upstairs and check.

On legs that won’t stop trembling, I trudge out of the kitchen, my feet dragging across the floor tiles like they’re weighted down by chains. Chains of my sins. Chains of my broken promises. Chains of every way I failed Xero. As I force myself up the stairs, I try not to think about what the hell I’ll find.

The discarded SIM card, or something more sinister?

Each step on the stairs comes with a spine-chilling creak, and the air grows colder as I ascend. Every breath rasping through my throat feels like a plea for mercy.

What did Dr. Saint tell me about giving in to my delusions? I don’t remember. That conversation is as blank as the first ten years of my life.

I reach the bedroom door, ignoring the shiver running down my spine. Will JakeRake69’s corpse wait for me in the closet or under the covers? Should I give up on my delusion and seek help, or should I take a photo of the hallucination and prove to myself that it’s all in my head?

Take the photo.

The words slide through my skull as though they’re coming from someone else with the same voice, and the same inflections, but the personality behind it isn’t mine. I focus on the task ahead and push open the bedroom door.

Moonlight streams in through a chink in the curtains that I swear that were open this morning. I swallow back a whimperand walk to the bedside, where the SIM card lies on the nightstand.

Look under the pillow.

With trembling fingers, I peel it back and find an envelope the exact shade of blood. Recognition has my stomach plummeting to the floorboards. It’s the exact type of stationary I used to send letters to Xero.

Readying my phone, I fire up the camera app and film the envelope’s front. In my handwriting is the address:

Xero Greaves

Inmate ID 99931

New Alderney State Penitentiary

10 Longis Street

Beaumont, NA 83725

My mind has even conjured up a stamp and a postmark.