inferno | 18+

XXIII

"The kind of love letters I write are the ones
you read in bed, stretched out under the sheets
with one hand between your legs."
- Michael Faudet

DEVINA
Today

My leg bounces uncontrollably. He's back. They're all back, and there's so much I can do about it. This is fucking with my head. I shot them. I watched Zakaria bleed out. The rest of them were unconscious. How they were back made absolutely no sense, but all I know is I've probably pissed them off real good this time. For fuck's sake, I tried to kill them. The sound of a grunt brings me back to earth. I look at the cop on the other side of the desk, reading through the journal I'd brought him.

Anything the police needed to know I was in danger, I'd bring. He looked very cliche-ish. There was a box of donuts on his desk, and his belly was very round. He had a moustache, and leaned back on the chair. His desk was messy. My ears ticked as someone yelled my name out loud.

"Mrs Baqri?"

This man is wearing a suit and not the uniform the other cop is wearing. I stand up, and snatch the journal from the cop's hand, making him stare me down. As if it's a science fiction book, and he's reached Point Of No Return. I follow the other man into his office, and take a seat in one of the chairs, as I watch him walk around his desk, sitting down. He crosses his hands before him.

"I had a few of my officers go to your house and check for any sign of break in, and nothing was found. No skid marks on the porch, no broken door from the back. It's safe to say you broke in yourself," he laughs, but bile runs up my throat. He catches me not finding this funny, and turns serious again. "It's almost as if they had keys to your door, Mrs," he continues.

"And my dog?" I quak. "He took him," I say. "You've seen the note, sir. It says very clearly what the hell he did, so why am I even being questioned right now?!" I raise my voice, and instantly regret it, when I see his eyes. He looks so uncomfortable.

"The notes, yes?" he starts digging in his shelf for the notes in question. They're bagged in evidence. I stare at them through the plastic, goosebumps covering my body. This wasn't some little game, where we taunted one another. This was real life, and something told me there was no redemption for what I'd done this time. "They're all identical to your own handwriting," the officer says, and my eyes go wide. I start shaking my head.

"That's impossible."

He cringes and digs in his shelf again, bringing one of my old files up. It was from a different case, before Zakaria. I used to write notes down. He compares the two handwritings and I think a tear rolls down my face. I shake my head, looking at the resemblance. The was the i's curl. The m's. I stare at the officer, and he seems to be studying me.

"You think I made this up?" I shriek. "How bored do you think I am?"

"I don't know what to think, Mrs Baqri. There are no signs of forced entry. Nothing in the journal you've given us backs up anything you've said. The notes are identical to your own handwriting. Nothing of this makes any sense," he explains to me, and a dry laugh escapes my lips, making him halt in his speech.

"You don't understand," I say, shaking my head. "This is what he does! He's a sadistic psychopath, for the love of God. He's going to keep playing these games with me, until I'm dead. And he will succeed because all the police department thinks I'm pulling a prank, instead of doing their jobs!"

I am now pacing his office, running my hands through my hair. This can't be happening.

"Accusing someone for possible murder isn't something we take lightly. You may have issues with him, but nothing you've turned in backs up your words."

"Issues?" I yell. "I don't have issues with him" -I look around in his office, until I see his name on something that looks like a graduation paper framed on the wall- "Ben. I studied him! I took my time to learn every movement that came from him, and learned what each meant. You think I'm exaggerating but when I turn up dead, what will you do, huh? Stand on a talking-stand, explaining how I predicted everything but you and all your officers thought I was making it up, because I had some issues with the man?!"

I walk toward his desk, and grab the journal, before turning my back to him, walking toward the door. He doesn't stop me, which only infuriates me more. What the hell is the police for, if they're going to turn their backs on you? When I open the door, all the officers are looking at me, including the fat one that's eating his donuts.

I send him a glare, and he drops the donut, becoming self-aware. Good. They should all know how terrible they are at their jobs. I walk out of the department, and toward my car. Only my car isn't where I left it. I scrunch my brows together. I'm sure I left it here?

I rummage my purse for my keys, but they're not in there. What the hell? I drove here. Where the hell is my car and the keys to it? I walk back into the police station, and into Ben's office again. I should call him a pig. "Did I leave my car keys in here?" I ask.

He looks around. He almost looks terrified. He shakes his head too fast. Sweat is on his forehead, and his hands are clenched into fists. His cheeks are red. Something is so terribly wrong. My heart drops to my stomach. My toes curl. "He was here...wasn't he? He...he threatened you?"

The man breaks into goddamn tears. He denies it, though, but it's obviously a lie. He keeps shaking his head, saying he doesn't know what I'm talking about, and asking me if I'll kindly leave his office. I look at him, disgust filling my eyes. "You'd let him kill me?" I ask. "You're letting him kill me?"

He looks at me, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

***

I walk into his bar. Anas's bar. I smile when I see him cleaning the counter. He looks up at the sound of the bell attached above the door, and he almost chokes on his own saliva when he sees me. He goes rigid, when he sees me sitting on the exact same chair I sat in before hell broke loose on earth.

"You already know what I want," I tell him, and despite my icy tone, he gets to work. A few moments later, I see the dry Martini with an olive in it. I grab the olive, bite it off the stick, and chew on it, letting the sour juice run down my throat. Then I grab the glass, and drink the entire thing in one big sip.

He keeps making them, and I, like the idiot I'm being, keep drinking them. "He baited the cops didn't he?" I ask, and Anas doesn't reply. He doesn't even meet my eyes, which is enough for me. "Is he going to kill me?" I ask. "Where is my car?" Silence. I chuckle, before drinking the third, or fourth Martini, before he finally speaks up.

"You fucked up big-time. You out of all people should know, that push and pull thing you two had going would do nothing but make him more interested in you. You did this to yourself, albi," he speaks.

"What was I supposed to do? Let him keep me as his toy stranded away from everything?" I sneer at him.

"You shouldn't have engaged in it. I know my cousin, I know he can be too much. But if you'd told him to stop just once he would have. You wanted it as much as he did."

I scoff. "I can't believe you're victim blaming me, you fucking douchebag," I say under my breath, taking another sip of the strong alcohol.

"That'd mean that you are an actual victim. You're as fucked up as the rest of us. You're just too much of a coward to admit it. You think you can prepare yourself for what's coming, but you can't. You've never met him properly, if you think killing your husband, or leaving figurines around your house, is the worst he can do. He has no good in him, Devina. You can't fix him. What you can do is run. Run for the fucking hills, and pray to God that it's far enough."

He thinks I'll let this man terrorise me out of my own home? He must be on some good drugs.

"If Zakaria wants to kill me, he can come at me. We'll see who's lying dead on the floor first."

I drink the rest of my Martini, and get up from the chair walking toward the door. My heart is pounding in my chest, and tears are forming in my eyes, when I finally make it outside the bar. He will kill me, and I can either do as Anas suggested to me; run for the hills or;

I can kill him, before he kills me.