Title- He Found Me
By- Whitney Barbetti
Expected Publication Date- May 29, 2014
~Blurb~
When I was seventeen, I disappeared. I walked out the door of my apartment with a backpack and never looked back. I left the life of Cora Mitchell behind, seeking freedom from my real-life nightmare.
But my freedom came with a cost. I lived a fictitious life for the next six years, never letting anyone close enough to see underneath the façade that was Andra Walker.I was content with my simple little life.
Until I met Julian.
And the moment I started allowing myself to open up, allowing someone to see through the superficial, was the very same moment the Monster from my past would return to find me.
~Links~
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~About the Author~
I am married with two boys. When I’m not changing diapers or cutting food into tiny bites, I escape to Starbucks for hours.
I love music and have a playlist for everything.
I like watching creepy shows when I am home alone but then I instantly regret them once my mind starts breeding irrational fears.
I have about 20 bacon things in my fridge.
~Links~
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~Excerpt~
I felt my ankle vibrate once. The phone. I froze. Then it vibrated again. And again. It didn’t stop vibrating.
HIDE.
I quickly closed the lid of the jewelry box and picked it up, whipping my head around in desperate search of a hiding place. I heard the pounding on the concrete steps outside. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” I exclaimed under my breath. I didn’t have time to panic. I reached the bedroom door and closed it quickly before dashing into the closet.
As I closed the bi-folding doors, I heard the sound of the front door being unlocked right before the swish sound of the door swinging open. It was at that moment I remembered my backpack in his office, the USB still plugged into the computer. My entire body went still at that moment, except for the boom-boom-boom of my heart. I prayed harder than I ever had for a miracle.
I peeked through the slats of the closet doors, seeing the light from the moon slashing a stripe across the dresser. It illuminated the now-empty space where my jewelry box once sat. An unmistakable square of dustless space signaled that something was missing. I’d grabbed the box on a whim, not realizing until now that it was my intention to bring it back with me.
I heard the sound of keys hitting the entry table before I heard the door to the freezer open in the kitchen and checked my watch. 12:20 AM. My right leg started dancing up and down, a definite sign of nerves getting to me. A moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a glass bottle being set on the counter. Then, the creak of a cupboard and the sound of a lighter piece of glass being set on the counter. Vodka and his shot glass. I couldn’t help but think of the frozen chicken I had purposefully avoided so many times and wondered, momentarily, if it was still there.
Unfortunately, the dust that had settled in the closet from my absence was sprinkling the air around me, disrupted by my movements. I felt my nose twitch from the tickle. Shit. I covered my free hand over my nose and mouth and prayed for quiet.
I sneezed.
I wasn’t sure how loud it had been, but I knew soon enough that it had been loud enough to alarm the Monster.
I saw the hallway light turn on, illuminating the space between the door and carpet. My heart was beating like a jackrabbit’s. I wondered, briefly, if I could see my heart beating right through my shirt. Panic squeezed my veins. There were no colors to name off in the dark to calm me. Any moment now I would go into shock from the fear of coming face to face with the Monster. Nearly seven years and I was still crippled by anxiety. I willed myself to be brave, to be strong, but my body betrayed me. Sweat prickled my palms.
I saw a shadow of his steps to the door and sucked in shattered breath. It hit me then that I was breathing in the same air as the Monster once again. Bile rose up into my mouth and I swallowed it back. This was reliving one of my many nightmares, but worse. I closed my eyes, praying this was just another nightmare. Praying this wasn’t real.
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