Author: Dale Wiley
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dale-wiley/page,17,457982-southern_gothic.html
She rented a villa near the beach. Small and well-kept, it had a tiny backyard pool and vintage Cuban artwork—the kind of place she had always seen in Beach Living but never could afford. Now she could—she didn’t think about how long it would take to see her royalty checks.
Meredith longed for a man, one who would make her forget she ever touched Michael Black. She hadn’t been with anyone since Michael ripped the veils from her eyes and made her understand the expanse of human desire and how much physical pleasure another person could provide. She didn’t need Michael’s condescending emails about taking a lover. He didn’t own her. Her own book would clearly outsell Red Ribbon, and she could forget him altogether. Who would believe him anyway? He was wanted for murder.
She took a deep breath and started making her masterpiece come together. It was hard work. She didn’t want to be overly social until she did it. That attitude lasted until four o’clock the first afternoon.
Time for a drink.
* * *
(Via email)
My M-
I’m sorry if I offended you. I can’t think of what it would be. I’ve always made sure you wouldn’t be harmed. I FREED YOU! You must remember what you do to me. I need you back.
-M
Chapter 64
Broderick could see the sonofabitch was decompensating. What the hell was he doing? Michael clearly had much better track of Meredith for the past year than he thought. He had all kinds of tabs on her, and now the filly decided to leave him hanging in the wind, and the little pantywaist’s whole world went up in smoke.
The loss of control made Broderick very happy. Michael Black’s discomfort made him even happier. But he enjoyed another side of the snooping even more–he liked watching Michael watch her. Eventually, the information would slip, and Broderick would be there to stick it in and break it off. He would make Michael wish he never laid eyes on his daughter. He hadn’t decided if he would kill him yet. But he left it on the table as a potential option.
Now, with Michael coming apart at the seams, Broderick worried he was out of the loop as well. And while he would love to be following Meredith’s every move, he believed Michael being out of sorts would eventually pay dividends. He put his fear of not getting the chance to greet Michael in person away. Still, he decided he needed more information. Staying ahead of the game wouldn’t hurt. He needed information he could he get his hands on that Michael didn’t have.
Chapter 65
(Via email)
M -
Having trouble figuring this out. I MADE THEM cut you loose. At my potential expense. I made your troubles melt away, and now I can’t even find you.
You could be going to jail if I hadn’t stood up and saved your life. You OWE your life to me. I have been patient and kind and have given you the love and devotion your silly and ridiculous husband couldn’t. My sperm work. Quinn taught me that. I gave you your life back, and you won’t even THANK me for it?
I know now I gave up too much for Quinn. I should have crawled back into my four-poster bed with Kate. Been miserable. Raised those shitty kids and just kept on with things. But I wasn’t strong enough. Quinn was young and vibrant, and you were married and not even pursuing me. I needed something other than a dried-up college sweetheart who couldn’t even make a sound that didn’t hurt my ears. How was I not going to fall for Quinn? She was beautiful, and she loved me.
When you get to middle age, you need excitement. Someone with an ass and a smile. Everybody needs that.
You weren’t there. Yes, you reached out, but you weren’t available. If I could have met you then, I might have been saved. I wasn’t a blood stalker yet. I promise.
You don’t know, but I came to Savannah. I would follow you to work. Your husband was a bad boy and never drank the concoction I poured for him back then. When I came and saw you, it was like I didn’t even exist. Then I saw those articles about your bookshop. You were supposed to be mine back then. You didn’t even know.
Now I hunt. My prey is not beasts, but lovely ladies, the ones who spurn my advances. I haven’t harmed any of them yet. That only happens if they turn up pregnant and refuse to shut up like Quinn. No, you’re probably better to not give in to me.
For now, you’re safe. But I’ll find you.
I have a gift for you. You only need to say yes, and it’s yours.
Answer me.
Talk to me.
I honor you.
-M
* * *
Two weeks later, even on a Monday, Key West still looked like a vacation brochure. High and clear, the bright blue sky lifted every mood. She felt her shoulders release a year’s worth of tension as soon as she sipped her first local rum.
Every morning, before the crowds awoke, she rose early and went for a long walk down the beach. She would find an empty spot and sit, listening to the wind in the trees and the waves crashing on the shore. She had found a calm that had eluded since her life went off the rails.
She sent the first draft of Creeping Vines to Allen with a hopeful note:
Dear Allen:
Hope all is well. I guess NYC is all it’s cracked up to be since I can’t ever pry you away. Here is my first pass at Creeping Vines. I think it has potential. Would love to hear your thoughts. Also, thanks for sticking with me through all of this. Michael has made all of this so excruciating. Thank you for being my friend and confidant.
Back out to the Key West sun.
Love you,
Meredith
The response she got from Allen encouraged her, and he seemed to like what he had read so far. She only had two more weeks left to write in Key West but felt optimistic about finishing. She had grown as a writer, and the cloud cast over her by Mr. Black lifted. She hadn’t checked her Hushmail account for almost a week. Those emails were so unpleasant and were beginning to make less sense. A pleading, rather than malevolent, tone colored the last one, and Meredith could sense Michael falling apart. Good. For everything he put her through, he deserved it.
But that was before she read the most recent one. Then all of her calm went out the window.
Before, she always assumed Michael had a definite method to his madness, and the genius remained as well as the devil. Now he was downright crazy.
She could see his smile, wherever he was, pleased he had blown her off her moorings. Pushing her, threatening her, owning her. That excited him. She could sense it now. He was a monster. She was done being nice.
Key West
Dear Michael:
Hi. Remember me?
I used to be your pupil.
Not so much anymore. Now I’m here in the sun, writing my own book. Allen loves it.
I’ve gotta go pretty soon because my daily lay will come by in a few minutes. I had to teach him some of your tricks, but he’s a quick learner and has easily surpassed you. I see what you mean about the young ones—firm, tireless, eager, sexy.
Go find another girl to terrify.
Your former friend,
Meredith
As she went to hit send, she stopped herself. She would have a drink and let it marinate for a few minutes. It would make her feel good, yes, but come on. Was it smart? She downed her cocktail and quickly deleted the email. Playing with fire means you might be burned.
Mason worked at a neighborhood bar. He stopped by every afternoon. He had short, sandy hair and six-pack abs. He looked the part of Key West fling, and he could talk for just as long as she needed before she gave him orders and he enthusiastically obeyed. He generally went shirtless, which Meredith didn’t mind one bit. One less thing to take off.
When he came by, the writing part of her day had finished. He was good to go for 90 minutes or so, and for the first time since all the madness, Meredith could completely let her guard down—along with her panties.
Meredith had lied when she compared him to Michael. Mason was a strong and satisfying lover but not wild like Michael. Meredith was convinced Michael tapped into his crazy when he
made love. She doubted she would meet another one like him.
Her phone beeped with a new email.
Meredith:
The powers that be didn’t like the new novel. At all. I asked them about the bones, and they said it had the bones of a meth user. Sorry. Just wanted you to know the tone of their conversation.
They do not want to see this again. I say they may change their minds if we can make it more to their liking. They’ve extended the deadline (second time) to December 15 for your first draft submission. You have three months to make this work—should be enough, right?
LK made it clear to me if she doesn’t get it or doesn’t like it, she’s making a formal request for the return of the rest of the unsatisfied advance. At this point, when I calculate what you’re still owed from Red Ribbon, it’s a little over a million dollars.
Sorry to ruin your vacation.
Allen
Meredith held her head between her hands. She massaged her temples. She could do this. She looked at her watch. 1:30 p.m. Not long until Mason would make his shirtless appearance. She would let him make her forget—for at least 90 minutes.
Chapter 66
How was she going to write a novel in less than three months?
She thought Creeping Vines was pretty great. Maybe not better than Red Ribbon but equal. She wanted to blame it on her editor’s bad taste, but she knew the truth: she wasn’t Michael Black. In most ways, that was a gift from the heavens. At this moment, it felt like death.
He still wanted her. He begged for her to make contact. Would it be outrageous to ask him to write another book?
No. Michael was certifiable. She would tell the publisher she couldn’t write another novel. She would pay them back from Red Ribbon’s royalties or sales from the movie. Wouldn’t that be preferable to speaking to that monster again?
He probably had other novels, she thought. He probably wrote one a year and left them in whatever hole he lived in. Proofread and copyedited little crystals of perfection—better than she could ever write with her sober, normal mind. It wouldn’t be any sweat for him to give her one of those.
She looked up at the clock. 1:45 p.m. She let out a long and utterly pointless curse. She sat down at her computer. Maybe she should just check the Hushmail account again.
* * *
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make herself look at the email account. She told herself she didn’t need to; deep yogic breathing and her daily visit from Mason would make it all better. When she saw Mason now, she felt guilty about bragging about him and how he didn’t measure up to Michael.
But she liked this part of her life—being desired by a younger man, the certainty of the pleasure, the pure bliss of those island breezes with him next to her between the white sheets. In some ways, it reminded her of sending the first email to the Hushmail account, when she first asserted the smallest bit of independence.
Now she had changed her settings so she actually had to open the app to see her messages, which had calmed her. But not pressing the button left a loop in her brain that never closed; she knew she should be answering. But this was her working vacation, and she would enjoy it.
She looked at it as a victory. More distance from this devilish man.
Chapter 67
(Via email)
Tuesday
Key West.
I knew you’d slip up.
I meant you could take a lover if I got to watch. Be involved somehow. Watch him deliver the goods so to speak.
I order you to stop seeing little Mason.
He will not like it if you disobey.
M
P.S. How do I know you’re in Key West? Write to me, and I’ll happily tell you.
* * *
Wednesday
M-
I notice you didn’t even open your email yesterday. You are always good and prompt about that. I would hate to see Mason have to bear the burden of your mistake. I really don’t hold any animosity toward him. He’s a horny boy. In a way, we have that in common.
Take this seriously, Meredith. Talk to me. I am in control again.
Your blood stalker
* * *
Thursday
M-
Really? You’ve gone AWOL again. You don’t even know I watched you two today. You don’t know I have your panties sitting here next to me. You looked for them for a couple of minutes and then went into the bathroom.
Mason did a serviceable job. I’ll give him some pointers at some point if he wants. But if you don’t respond to me by noon tomorrow, he’s not going to like me very much. He’s going to blame me. But you’re the one who holds the key to his ... completeness. Get my drift?
Too bad, so sad.
Your blood stalker.
* * *
On Friday, in her early afternoon time when she really did little more than think about Mason, she couldn’t take it anymore. She decided to check the account to shake the strange feeling she had been having. She breathed deeply as she opened the emails.
Her heart sank as she read them. She looked at the clock—well after noon. Oh God. What had she done? What would he do?
She grabbed her phone and called Mason. Straight to voicemail. She called again, hoping he was just on the phone. Same thing. Kicked to a voicemail he hadn’t even bothered to set up.
She tried one more time with the same result. Then she texted.
I think you may be in danger.
Is everything okay?
My ex may know about us
He is deranged
Psycho
Pick up ur phone!
Mason!
The read receipts said they were not being received.
She put down the phone and went to the front door, hoping she could see him, hoping he would come and would somehow still be okay. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a shot of whiskey and felt the burn as it screamed down her throat. Surely, that would calm her nerves. She stood there, half a room away, when she heard the sickening plink of her cell phone, telling her she had a new text message. She ran to the phone.
This isn’t Mason. This is Michael. Mason’s on his way. Check your email. The one you’ve been neglecting.
Chapter 68
(Via Email)
M-
Okay. I’ll tell ya. Spill my trade secrets. Saw you finally read these. Too little too late for poor Mason. If you care.
Silly girl. If you leave an email unsent but open for more than a minute, it creates a draft. Didn’t you know? I’m as computer illiterate as they come (look at my manuscripts—hell, I might as well type the damn things on a typewriter), and I still know about autosave.
Mason lost a finger on his right hand for stealing my woman. Could have been avoided as you well know, but you can explain. After watching, I considered cutting off his penis. He came quite close to getting that treatment. Call me homophobic, but I couldn’t. What I did to him? Sharp ax, foolproof clamp. It’s a sure thing. I hope he hasn’t lost too much blood. He screams, you know. Quite a lot. Maybe you like that. Today, though, I don’t think he’s going to be able to fuck you to your expectations. The only thing getting hard this afternoon is his frozen finger, packed on ice, en route to you.
I had to bribe someone in New York to get a copy of the novel. Really? You should have at least let me read it. It’s not good. I doubt they’ll like it at all. It reminds me of a novel a writer—one who seemingly hasn’t learned much of anything—sent me once. I stand ready to write you a novel. All you have to do is ask. You don’t even have to guess my name. I’ll be your Rumpelstiltskin.
-M
* * *
She ran from the computer to the door and opened it to find Mason holding a zip-lock bag filled with ice and his bloody finger. His face held a look of betrayal and fear. He fell to his knees, holding the bag out to her.
She pulled out her cell, dialed 9-1-1, and then reached down to comfort him.
“Do not touch me, lady.” Terror seeped throug
h his words. He looked around, carefully. “Please, just leave me alone.”
“This can’t be happening,” she said. “Mason, I’m going to get you help, okay? Everything is going to be okay.” Who was she kidding? Anyone who ever got close to Michael Black was never okay.
“Your husband’s crazy,” he said, pushing her away. “He said to stay away from you and be thankful it wasn’t worse.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, pleading with Mason’s crumpled body. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He passed out before the paramedics arrived.
She kept repeating “I’m sorry” like a mantra to no one in particular. They sounded hollow, of course.
Chapter 69
(Via email)
Master:
I need your help. I know that now. I cannot do what you do.
I’m back in Savannah. I’m sure you know. I hope my return makes you happy.
I need a novel. I am begging. My due date is December 15. I cannot have another mistake like the last one.
I cannot be your lover ever again. I’m sorry, but I can’t. But I can be your pupil.
Will you accept?
Pupil
* * *
Master:
I expected to hear from you by now. I need the manuscript in just over a month. I am a nervous wreck. I wish I weren’t, but I am. Please write back.
Pupil
* * *
Broderick wanted to puke. This woman played right into Michael’s fantasies. He read about the craziness in the Keys from the Hushmail account and, from a friend who lived down there, pieced together how Michael got away in a helicopter like a villain from a Bond movie. Michael had enough money and nothing to spend on it; he could have any situation rigged to his advantage.
He hated Meredith. What a simpering fool. She clearly couldn’t write the back of a Corn Flakes box, much less a novel, but she lapped up being famous. Hell, from what he could tell, she didn’t even have a lot of money, and that was part of her problem.