Chapter Text
The sound of the television was loud in the silence of her room, even though she had made sure that the volume wasn't too high so that her father was not disturbed. Somehow everything was louder in the night, she could even hear the wiring of her computer if she focused enough, or the wind, slowly drifting through the window she had left partly open.
As she watched for what was probably the fifth time, the Witch on her flat screen, her right hand moved through the soft hairs on the head of the little corgi lounging on her side on the bed. She almost thought Pip was watching films along with her whenever he sat like that, his curious onyx eyes glancing back at her whenever she shifted her position or something particularly sudden occurred in the movie they were watching, or simply because she stopped petting his coat.
The door swung open, a stark whine against the wood as her father popped his head inside. "Osha," He was panting, face twisted in despair. She sat up, Pip realigning himself on the bed without her and her brows knitted together in concern. "They need me at... Indara is dead."
Osha stood, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. "Oh God, dad, I'm so sorry."
He grasped at her outstretched hands, nodding. "I'm needed at-"
"Of course, dad, I understand. I'll be fine." She kept her voice gentle, understanding the gravity of the situation and the weight it was for her father.
His face was shaking somewhat, "Lock every door, close the windows-"
"I know, I know, I'll be very careful."
It did not cross her mind just then, that her dad's best friend's death might have not been an accident, or a tragic event. Sol was particularly overprotective, especially after what happened three years ago. So, a little nagging about safety while she was alone was familiar to her ears. After all, Osha was the only family, and the only child he had left, at that.
But the fact that the police was getting involved and they were asking her father afterhours, at least meant it was a serious incident, she realized as his car pulled out of the driveway.
She closed the window, even though her room was on the second floor, if nothing else, to respect her father. She checked the locks on their doors through their security system and sat back down on her bed.
Even though Indara was Sol's best friend as well as his closest coworker, Osha thought she was always a little cold or distant, the last few years seemingly disapproving of Osha's choices, even though her father would reassure her that it wasn't true. But she had seen the sour expression on her face the first time she saw her with her bird tattoos.
In all honesty, she had expected her father to say something about it with an upturn of his nose, but it seemed like what happened three years ago had peeled away his judgement of his daughter, replacing the empty space with a defeated smile of silence whenever she did or said something he didn't like.
She preferred it, but it was not worth what it had taken to get here.
A buzzing vibration on the side of her hip took her focus away from the film once more, and she grasped her phone that was now ringing with a call from a number she didn't have saved on her phone.
She answered; did not think much of it except the fact that there are not enough people who call her, or any actually, who care about how she is doing, or simply want to talk to her. "Hello?" She asked airily, unsure.
"Hello."
The voice was robotically low, but unmistakenly masculine. Whoever was calling had overlaid his voice with a filter, perhaps to escape identification.
It was alarming.
"Um, hi?" She repeated, increasingly uncertain and confused.
"Hi."
Despite the robotic overlay, the voice betrayed a sense of amusement and it irked Osha, just a bit.
"Who is this?" She asked with more firmness to her voice. If this was a prank, from the kids at uni for example, she could feel her temper rising and they were going to get an earful.
"I have no name."
She huffed. It was definitely a prank. "If this is a prank, you're pathetic. If not, don't you dare call me again." She was taking the phone further away from her ear when he spoke again.
"It seems I fall into your second predicament. Would you rather a more physical meeting instead?"
Osha hesitated, traces of fear slithering towards her. "Why would I want to meet a stranger who doesn't even use his own voice and claims he has no name?" She put him on speaker and went quickly to check the app for the house security.
"Because I'm already here."
Somehow, her house system was disarmed. With a gasp, she quickly armed it again, but now it seemed pointless. How was it possible it was disarmed? She had checked that everything was on as soon as her father left home! Had this stranger hacked her security system? Was he in her house right now? The white door of her bedroom left ajar took her breath from her lungs.
"Now you're wondering if I've made it inside your house." He stated in that robotic tone, and her heart shuddered, her eyes welling up, as she ran in a blink to close and lock her bedroom door, as fast as she could, considering he could be anywhere.
Breathing heavy, "My father is a cop."
"Oh yes. He's also... absent."
She was shaking now, her knees giving out. She looked frantically around her room, for any object that could apply as a weapon, ending up with nothing except a small pair of scissors and her keys. None were satisfactory, especially if the stranger was armed.
She remembered then, the taser she had under her bed. Her father had given it to her, and she had, evidently, left it unattended. It was made for dangerous situations her father was afraid of, like now. But Osha had to first assess the damage.
"What do you want? Money?" Her teeth were gritted to keep herself calm.
"I just want to play with you."
She swallowed and took a deep breath.
A few things were certain. Firstly, she was safe in her bedroom as long as the stranger did not have an axe or was strong enough to break down the door. Secondly, assuming it indeed was not a prank, this man was not a robber, he would not be swayed with money. Thirdly, this meant he was here for her.
Should she text her father, who was grieving his best friend, needed at a serious incident? And what if she hung up the phone to call 911? If she were to guess, the stranger would become aggravated, potentially more threatening than before. There was also still the chance nothing would happen, even if he called again, she could just continue declining the call and wait it out in her bedroom until her father came home.
"How do I know you're even here?"
She tried to keep him busy as she reached under the bed, looking for the stored taser. "Let's play a game."
As silently as she could, she opened a duffel bag. "What kind of game?"
There it was. She took it out of the bag and went back to her mobile, opening up the messages, typing in 911 as the number of the sender. "Three questions. If you lose, you unlock your door." She paused in her message. "If you win, you don't."
She furrowed her brows. There had to be a catch there somewhere. She had no idea what those questions could be about, it was bound to be a set up. But either way, she didn't have to adhere to his conditions. If he really meant them in the first place.
And the truth was he wasn't threatening her. Trespassing, yes, hacking security, yes, but threat of violence? Not yet at least. 911 would take ages to arrive, especially if there was no immediate danger. "Fine."
"First question," He started, and she stared holes into the door, wondering if he was right outside. "What's your favorite scary movie?"
"What?"
"Come on, you were just watching one, weren't you?" She glanced at the television, which was now black, the film over. How did he know? "You seem to like horror movies." How long had he been watching from the sliver at her door, before she realized the house was disarmed, before he called her?
A pause. "The Witch."
"Ah!" It was an exclamation of enlightenment. "It was your favorite." This didn't seem right. How could she lose a question about what her favorite film was? The message to 911 stared back at her.
"What's the poin-"
"Oh, that's not how this is going to go." The teasing in his unnatural voice through the phone both annoyed and made her anxious. "I'm the one asking questions."
So she held her tongue, albeit furiously. "Second question. Where am I?"
Osha sucked in a breath, "Outside my bedroom?" She hated that she sounded scared, being scared meant being vulnerable, and it was the last thing she wanted him to think of her as.
For a few seconds it was silent on the other end. Then, "Wrong answer! If I was, you'd be able to hear me well enough without a phone."
Her jaw clenched. Who did this man think he was? Fucking with her mind like that? Enough was enough. "You know I have no reason to keep talking to you or play your stupid fucking games, you weirdo, I'm hanging up now and you can leave before I call the police, or my father comes home to arrest you himself!"
Her finger hovered over the 'end call' button for a heartbeat, and his last words were the only warning she got. "You lost."
The call ended and her head picked up at the sound of her bedroom door being violently pushed. Pip barked. Her head whipped around in her room, the taser in her hand. The window was large enough for her to fit, but the room was too high, there was no way she would survive the fall without at least a broken limb.
The bumping on the door was not letting up and she realized that this stranger was going to do it. He was going to break down her door. Her breaths spilled over her mouth shakily. How strong is this man? Did she even have a chance? Where the fuck is her father? He couldn't hurt Pip!
She couldn't hide in the closet; it would be the first place he looked. An idea popped up and she wished she was fast enough to execute it. With her body flush against the wall next to her door, she waited until it was brought off its hinges.
She held her breath as it opened a little brokenly, a black cloaked figure taking two steps in. Osha only had a couple of seconds. Aiming at his back, she fired. And ran.
The figure was surprised, a little hunching the only glimpse she saw before running downstairs. But what was she going to do? She hadn't planned ahead of stunning him, had her plan been successful. She went to open the back door to the garden and found it locked. She let out a breath of desperation. Rearming the house was stupid.
The figure was descending the staircase, she could hear footsteps.
She crouched behind a counter and opened her phone to her house security app with trembling fingers. She disarmed it and risked a look back, from the corner of the counter.
It was a tall man, cloaked in black, with a mask on his face, like a ghost making a face of shock. He wasn't looking at her, but towards the living room in the left direction of where she was. His extended gloved hand was holding a large knife.
She looked away, trying to control her labored breathing. Crawling, and trying not to make a sound, she reached the glass door leading to the courtyard. In a swing of quick moves, she opened and closed it and stood to the wall. The click of the handle was noisy.
With a heavy heart she crouched underneath the window a few feet to her right. She tried to focus; listen for any noise the stranger was making. But it was dead silent.
She had to look. Raising her head slightly to her eye level, she saw the back of the stranger, until in a flash, he turned abruptly around and broke the glass.
She screamed but was too late to escape his grip on her arm. Her phone and taser fell. One handedly he pushed her back inside, the shards of glass cutting her exposed arms, her legs hitting against the window frame and the edges of the counter until she hit the floor, and his grip so strong, she was sure a bruise was already forming.
"Stop! Wait! Why are you doing this?" She wailed and he let go of her arm, as she heaved on the floor, looking up at him.
He resembled some sort of devilish phantom, an illusion broken only by the fact that his arms were bare, save for the black gloves starting at his wrists. She could see muscled arms, almost scarily so, which made sense considering his display of physical strength so far.
If those arms belonged to someone else, she might have thought they were attractive.
He tilted his head in an odd manner, that reminded her of a curious animal. Kneeling down, he grabbed some of her locs in his fist, the cool blade of the knife in his other hand touching the skin of her cheek, then her jaw.
"Oosha," She swallowed, his real voice was deep and sharp like his weapon and her name rolled off his tongue like a reprimand he was enjoying having to make. "Did I not say I wanted us to play?"
The blade touched a spot that stung. She had a cut above her jawline from earlier. And another thing she realized was this; this was the game he wanted them to play, not the nonsensical questions on the phone. Those were just to set up his real goal. He was chasing her like a predator playing with his food, even now, he wasn't killing her, he wanted her to fight back.
Well, if that's what he wanted, it sucked that she was going to give to him, but perhaps he would regret it in the end.
With all her strength and a kick between his legs she started running to the front door. But he grabbed her foot in the air and sent her down with a yelp. She kicked and thrashed, temporarily pushing him off. Her lessons in self-defense seemed to be paying off. Her fingers were on the doorknob when he pushed her head on it, making her dizzy for a second.
But that second was enough for him to get on top of her and hold one of her wrists tightly, his knife against her collarbone. Her vision sharpened again and she saw the vase on the table above her. As she fought against his weight and he to hold her down, she managed to make it fall, the crystal breaking on his head.
In his own moment of respite, she crawled, but she didn't make it far before a searing pain halted her and made a scream tear itself from her lips.
He had stabbed her at her side a little higher than her waist, blood gushing through her shirt, her eyes welling up with tears. He turned her over, his ghost mask all she could see. She hated that. She wanted to see who this man was, who had decided to make her his target, and why had he?
"You did so well."
And he sounded pleased, proud, happy, even. He wasn't making other moves to finish her off, knife falling to the floor with a clunk and his gloved hand caressing her wound -as if he wasn't the one that caused it- while he breathed hard above her. Who was this sick weirdo? She reached up, almost missing the sound of a siren outside her house. Her dad.
He didn't flinch away from her blood-soaked hand as it touched his mask, smearing red on a pearly white. It was as if he wanted her to see him, unravel him, to reward her for a game well-played.
But, it seemed, he had also heard her father arriving. The mask fell to her hand but she had the chance to only gaze upon black hair at the back of his head, before he quickly pushed himself up and ran to the backyard, gone just like that.
She blinked, trying to process what had happened, hands at her wound, the pain piercing her still. She held the mask in her grip when her father opened the door and paled at her. "Dad..."
"Osha! What happened?!"
It didn't take long for her to be put in the hospital. They said she was lucky, the wound wasn't deep, so she didn't need surgery. She was bandaged and the bleeding had stopped enough for the cops to intervene.
"Osha, the knife was Indara's murder weapon." Sol explained with a frown.
"Indara was murdered?"
"Yes, precisely half an hour before your father left. We found her with a stab to the heart on her porch. We have the entire camera footage, of someone wearing the mask found in yours and attacking her with that same knife." Explained the sheriff, a woman by the name Vernestra.
"What about the cameras in our house? I took off his mask maybe a camera caught him when he escaped." She asked and watched the faces of the police officers in the room turn unreadable. "What is it?"
"When we checked for the footage your cameras were damaged." An officer called Kelnacca said. Osha furrowed her brows.
"The last footage uploaded was a week ago. It is curious that the murderer would leave the cameras of their victim intact, yet destroy those of an attack, exactly when the recording would not be uploaded so we could not see who it was. As if they knew exactly how the system worked."
Osha blinked. "He somehow hacked our security, I had armed the house when my dad left home but when I checked again when I was on the phone with this man, it was disarmed."
Vernestra coughed.
"Why didn't you call 911?"
They're suspecting me.
"I thought it was a prank at first." She swallowed. "Then I was scared to hang up in case it angered him and once he started chasing me I couldn't- I was trying to protect myself." She looked at everyone with wide pleading eyes.
"It is just so... unfortunate that your phone was not found. We would have been able to locate the caller in a matter of minutes."
"Officer Indara stabbed her attacker with a kitchen knife trying to defend herself. From the footage it looked about the spot your wound is." She felt cornered, helpless, maybe in ways, even more scared than when a man dressed as a specter hunted her.
She looked at her father for help. "Sheriff, I've told you; Osha was at home, I saw her before I left, she was fine, not a scratch or wound on her."
The woman sighed. "You're right, deputy." She directed her eyes back at the girl. "Is there anyone besides your father, Osha, who can confirm you were home from 11pm to 11:30pm?"
Osha tried to keep her tears from falling as she shook her head.
"You took off his mask, did you see his face?" Asked another.
Osha shook her head again, but this time added. "I only saw the back of his head, uh-black hair, and light skin."
"What was that?" Sol asked as soon as they were out of Osha's hospital room. "Osha had nothing to do with Indara's murder, sheriff, you know that."
Vernestra rolled her eyes. "Listen, Sol. You're her father, it's natural to protect your child."
"She has an alibi!"
"That nobody but you can testify." He brought a palm over his face. "Sol..." She started, putting a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. "I don't want her to be involved, truly. I know after what happened three years ago, this would devastate you, my friend."
When Osha's father came back to her room, she felt like she was a child again, asking for a parent's comfort. "Daddy, you know it wasn't me, right?"
"Of course." He hugged her carefully, avoiding too much contact for her injury. "They can't do anything; they're just looking for somebody to blame because the perpetrator left no traces."
Osha pulled back. "There was no DNA found from when Indara stabbed him?"
"No."
She sighed.
The weekend that followed she stayed in the hospital, doing examination after examination. Her sleep was not peaceful, she was running from someone, or she had lost her voice and nobody could hear her. She got a new phone, well, her father got it for her, and she hadn't even had the time to mourn the pictures of her family now lost. Some reporters tried to interview her when she was still at the hospital, but her dad had shooed them away for her. She wasn't in the mood for any uncomfortable questions, recollecting that night.
It was a week later when she went back to university, where avoiding those reporters became impossible. "How does it feel to be almost murdered?" "Do you know why the killer didn't finish you off?" "How did you escape the killer's attack and not Officer Indara?"
"I- I don't know- please let me through."
She ran to the university doors, where another audience of gossipers awaited her. Everyone, even kids she had never noticed before, were staring at her. She went to her class trying to avoid eye contact. It was not a cold day by any means, but she hid in her hood at the back of the class, apparently one of the first to join.
She watched as two of her classmates sat at the front, a girl named Jeckie and a boy named Yord. "No, Jeckie, I'm not inviting a potential murderer to my birthday party."
"You used to be friends with her. You really think she did it?" The short blonde asked.
"I don't know. All I know is she's bad news."
Later, after everyone had left class, she went to the bathroom. She locked the door and searched her bag.
Someone else entered the bathroom. "Come on, Mog. Tell me!"
The boy called Mog laughed. "Here's the thing, Torbin. It was her. They're all suspecting her, but nobody is saying anything because she's that cop's daughter."
"So how do you know?"
"My mom is on the case, of course. She's paying close attention to her."
"But why would she keep the weapons and not, I don't know, hide them?"
Osha was still, waiting for the response. "Maybe she's crazy, just like her mother. Split personality and all that shit? You know her mom was a schizo, right? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And Jeckie was in the class last year when Osha started screaming that there's a fire." A laugh. "Then she saw her taking anti-psychotics, told us and that's how pretty much everyone learned it."
"But why Indara?"
"Well, you know, why would a psychopath do anything? There's no understanding these people."
Osha gritted her teeth, but she said nothing, she just kept still until the boys left. The bathroom was gender-neutral which sometimes was good thing, it felt validating to her gender-nonconformity, and sometimes it wasn't. This was one of those times.
She felt the tears spill to her cheeks as she stared at the pill in her palm. The worst was they weren't entirely wrong. Her mother had schizophrenia. And Osha missed her so badly. She was bright and beautiful and loving. Her eyes danced with things unseen, and she would whisper about something called the Thread and how it made her and her twin Mae special, but it was always harmless. No, her mother was not to blame for what happened three years ago. Never.
She swallowed the pill and drank some water, her empty facial expression in the mirror across from her as empty as she felt inside. Psychotic depression, they called it.
When classes were over the girl Jeckie neared her with a grin. "Hello. I heard about what happened to you. I'm so sorry. Are you okay now?"
Osha blinked, looked around uncomfortably, and finally opened her mouth.
"How silly of me, of course you're not! So, would you like to join me and my friends tonight? We're going to a local bar, I'm sure you will feel much better afterwards."
Osha doubted that. "I would be intruding-"
"Nonsense. See you at the Crimson Clover 9pm! Here's my number in case you get lost." She handed her a piece of paper with a hand-written phone number.
Was she a charity case now? Maybe this was her chance to fix her reputation somehow. Even though that girl was one of the main reasons it was tarnished. If people saw she hang around with those types of people, perhaps they would stop suspecting her. Unless this was a trap of some sort, and they were just planning on humiliating her. There was no way to know.
It was all she could think about on the way home. She hadn't hung out with people in two years. Yord's friendship had ended quite abruptly, he couldn't deal with her after she lost her mother and her sister. And it was fair, it made sense. She didn't think anyone was able to handle her during that grief. Grief she still hasn't let go, after three years.
In truth, it was not simply that nobody could handle her. She didn't want anyone around her, she didn't want to look at their faces full of pity, a daily reminder of what happened to her, she didn't want to think about how their mothers and siblings were alive or just so annoying, she didn't want to smile or laugh at jokes, how in the world was anything funny after her mother was brutally murdered and her sister fell to her death?
She attempted to end her life once, looking at her face meant remembering Mae and she kept thinking how she should have died with her on that fire escape.
"Going out? With who?" Asked Sol.
"Some kids from uni invited me." She was wearing clothes she hadn't worn in years. Nothing flashy, just a red crop top-not black, and high waisted jeans-not sweatpants. She even painted her lashes dark and her lips a soft pink.
Sol was driving her to the bar and even though she felt a tinge of embarrassment, she was thankful for it. After what happened she was growing increasingly anxious being alone in any space, she felt like was being watched; it was delusional surely.
The taser was in her bag.
When Osha heard Crimson Clover, a local bar, what she pictured was a small place, with a pool table, a short but good bar and lights and music low enough to talk. What she found was a bar, long and sophisticated, leather couches from one end to another, and stools, a disco ball overhead and an archway leading to a room of flashing lights and booming music-techno or some other kind.
She stared, like a deer in the headlights, until she spotted a petite blonde with a cocktail in hand who waved at her.
Apprehensive, she walked to the table. "I'm so glad you made it." Said Jeckie, and Osha almost believed her.
Yord was there like she expected, but there were others she had never spoken to before. Lewis, Celina, Ross, the other two names Osha forgot as soon as they told her.
It was not a trap after all, they weren't being mean towards her, though, they didn't care about her either. Most of the time she stood there -the seats were taken up by the rest of them, they had booked the table before they invited her, she understood- while they talked, sipping a martini.
Growing restless, she looked around the room. Some people were older, some about her age. Suddenly her eyes spotted a man in the corner, sitting at the bar. He was older, a leather jacket on his shoulders, inky strands framing an angular face. He was drinking what Osha presumed was whiskey.
And he was hot.
Osha inhaled deeply, because he was taking off his jacket to reveal muscled arms, in a tight black t-shirt. She looked away and sipped from her drink, trying to appear impassive. With everything going on, did she have nothing better to do than ogle at people?
Evidently, not. She looked back only to find his dark eyes on her. She almost choked and she was glad she had already swallowed the liquid in her throat, otherwise she would be spilling it from her nostrils and making a revolting mess of herself.
The stranger looked away and smirked into his glass. Osha felt her face burning. Did she make a fool of herself anyway?
He stood from the stool and she felt her heart jumping out of her chest. But he was not making his way to her, nothing ridiculous like that. He was walking to the backroom, where the music was too loud to speak, and the lights almost too blinding to see.
Should she do it? Was this another invitation? She bit her lip anxiously as he disappeared from her vision and turned to the group she was with. Fuck it. She was going to make the most of this.
"Hey guys, is it okay if I um- go to the back for a bit?"
They were all too eager to let her go.
Nerves prickled her skin, but she walked in what she hoped was a confident manner. She didn't know the song playing, but the bass was heavy. Her eyes searched the crowd, unable to find him. She started moving through dancing bodies, anxiety peaking-
A set of hands found her waist and she snapped her head back to find the man she was looking for. That moment the beat dropped, and he guided her hips as they danced against each other filthy intentions in every movement, his breath hot on her neck. Her heart was pounding, and goosebumps had found themselves doing laps on her skin.
She turned around, keeping his hands on her hips. There is something familiar about this man.
He cocked his head to the left, one corner of his mouth lifting. Where had she seen something like that before? She put her palms flat on his chest, the hard muscle obvious even under clothing. His hands, now free, moved to the small of her back, rubbing back and forth, occasionally squeezing.
It had been so long since she had felt wanted. Since she felt desire.
She wanted to know his name. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to take him to bed.
But as fast he showed up, that fast he vanished. One minute they were grinding on each other, close enough to kiss, her skin hot wherever he touched her, the next he left, disappearing in the crowd. She was confused. Did he not want the same thing as her?
She tried following him, right when she thought she saw the back of his head, she had lost him again. She had seen him somewhere before. Maybe he was popular online.
She could not find him, perhaps he went to the bathroom? But she couldn't really check there. It was men only. Maybe outside for a smoke?
There was a door to her right. She tried it and it led to a back alley. She looked around for a bit, but she couldn't see her mystery man. Then-
A gloved hand found itself over her mouth. She thrashed and screamed but all she did was make little whimpers against his big hand. His knife, a new one, she supposed, was placed against her neck. He walked backwards, leading her into the trees.
Once they were far enough, he put his hand over her throat, keeping her in place against him, unable to see him. "I missed you." He said somewhere next to her head.
She could cry. "Why are you doing this? Why are you framing me?"
"Framing you?" He asked with genuine curiosity laced in his voice.
She gritted her teeth eyeing the gloved grip on the silver blade. "My wound? The cameras?"
He chuckled lowly. "The wound was purely coincidental. As for the cameras well," He pushed her tighter against him, his biceps flexing. "I wanted our first meeting to be special, private."
His tone was flirty. "You're sick." She murmured.
"We have that in common."
She swallowed. What did he mean? Did-did he know? "What do you want?" Her voice was a small whisper, quiet, a lamb at the mercy of a wolf.
Sweaty skin met hers, and with a start she realized he wasn't wearing his mask. His grip was at her jaw now, keeping her from seeing his face even with a peek from the corner of her peripheral. She felt his lips beneath her ear, and she fought a shiver.
"Guess."
With that gentle voice he let her go and by the time she looked back after running away, he had disappeared into the dark.