Ruin (The Rhodes Book 1) Read online

  Fuck it.

  I inspect my surroundings before scurrying to the path the girl took. With composed steps, I sneak through shadows and catch up with her in a few minutes.

  Her heels slow her escape. Their clanks interrupt the calm night and mask my already hushed footsteps.

  The girl stumbles a few times, but not once does she look sideways or behind her.

  A few streets later, she stops in front of a two-storey house in an elegant street lit by two yellow lamps.

  Chest heaving, one of her hands clutches the dog and the other fumbles in her pocket. A key falls from her trembling hand, twice, before she jiggles it into the lock.

  So, this is where she lives. It’s like a house out of ‘Cosy Family Homes’ program.

  Interesting.

  No. Not interesting. None of this is supposed to be bloody interesting. She’s by no means a target, nor someone I can use in my plans. Therefore, she’s of no value. Full stop.

  And yet, my feet are glued to the ground behind the corner, opposing her house. Close enough to see the tremor in her fingers, but too dark for her to perceive me.

  A middle-aged woman emerges at the doorway. The girl jumps.

  “Mae! Where have you been?”

  A faint smiled appears on the girl’s plump lips. She leans to press a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Mum. I got caught with Sydney. You know how she gets.”

  “Your father and I were worried about you. We called you several times but...” I stop paying attention to the woman’s words and follow the girl’s field of vision. Her squinted gaze falls on the spot where I lurk. She stares at my hideout as if she could see me. Or right through me for that matter.

  After several long seconds, the girl frowns and follows her mother inside.

  I stand rooted for a minute, picturing blood flowing out of that pale skin of hers. So red. So metallic. I can almost smell it.

  “Mae...” I whisper to the dark walls surrounding me.

  A girl who would never fit as a target, which makes her even more tempting.

  The poor, poor girl. She should never have stirred my attention.

  Tonight, Mae has invited monsters to play.

  Chapter Two

  Mae

  My gaze plunges into the darkness of what I painted.

  The sombre faceless figure with a broken wing stares back at me. No eyes. No features. Just blackness. Deep, swallowing atrocity invites me to his grim, lawless world.

  I did it again. That suppressed part of my soul took over my hand and plummeted my art into the tunnel of no return.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I paint the usual? Horses. Landscapes. Anything normal. Why do I keep sinking in the forbidden territory?

  My delinquent painting habits became worse since that night a week ago. After I met that stranger in the alley, none of my paintings can be categorised as normal. As if being triggered, all what my fingers orchestrate are patches of darkness.

  The brush falls from my trembling hand, leaving a black splash on the ground. The university’s art studio seems to close in on me. The scent of oil paint constricts my throat. I calm my breathing in order to pick up the brush.

  I retrieve Turpentine from the shelves and clean the brush and the floor before wiping the painting equipment with pages from a newspaper.

  My fingers itch to spill the bottle of Turpentine on the canvas. To erase the terrifying side of me.

  “That’s brilliant, Mae.”

  My head cranes to Professor Turell. He walks through other students’ work-shopped paintings before stopping by my side. His eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, travel the length of my ‘mythical creature’ as his hand strokes his short beard.

  “Although you’ve done dark pieces before, this must be the grittiest amongst them all.” His soft blue eyes fixate me. “What’s the inspiration?”

  A real life experience in a dark alley.

  I can’t say that. Even admitting it to myself is hard. “My style is more subconscious, so I don’t know. Probably a horror film.”

  “Wonderful.” His lips curve into a warm smile. “Let’s exhibit this.”

  “What?”

  “The art school’s exhibition’s in a week. Your painting deserves to be in the gallery.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Professor.” I wipe my hand on my apron, trying to mask the tension in my limbs. “But can I pass this time?”

  Showing this unhinged side of me to the world would break me apart. I’m barely trying to cope with it and understand I have such a terrifying facet.

  Professor Turrell frowns, and a strand of grey hair falls on his forehead. “Your skills and perseverance got you thus far, why would you want to hide them?”

  “I...” am terrified that part will eventually take hold of me and I won’t find a way out.

  “I taught you to have more faith in your skills. You’re usually confident, what happened?” He faces me. “You don’t actually plan to wander around little school exhibitions, do you? There are endless contests waiting for you. The natural talent you have is something many dream to have.”

  “I want to work more on my technique and...” my gaze trails to the mythical creature of my nightmares, “the subject material.”

  “Art can’t be forced, Mae.” He stares at the canvas, then at my smudged hands. “What you have is something brilliant. If you fight what your hand wants to paint, you can lose your muse forever. And losing one’s muse is every artist’s nightmare.”

  After he leaves, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

  I don’t want such muse. Why can’t it be a different muse?

  “Stop over-thinking, Mae,” I whisper, “Just stop.”

  It’s hard to do so when alone. Ominous thoughts plague my mind like horrible, constant howling.

  All I need is to stop being alone.

  Turns out I have the perfect date for that.

  After cleaning up, I gather my belongings and exit the art studio.

  As I walk down the marbled hallway, I stop every now and then to greet my classmates, professors, and school staff.

  Minus the occasional student, the car park was empty. The grey sky cast a gloomy spell on the cars, muting their paint. A cold breeze makes my hair fly with the wind. I readjust my coat and scarf when an unmoving figure catches in my peripheral vision.

  My grip tightens on the scarf, but instead of being overwhelmed by fear, a strange sense of excitement travels my limbs.

  He’s here.

  Pretending to fiddle into my bag, I steal a side glance and there he is, on the other side of the pavement, wearing the same hood from a week ago.

  I’ve been catching glimpses of him over the past week, but this is probably the only time he had been this close. The hood and the distance shroud his face, but I still know it’s him.

  The stranger from the alleyway.

  The trigger of my darkest fantasies and a terrifying muse.

  My feet twitch to walk his way.

  And do what? Talk to him? Let the fantasy and the muse take me over?

  No.

  I close my eyes for the briefest second. That isn’t me. Everything about my excitement is wrong. I’m supposed to report him, not initiate a communication with someone sick enough to stalk me.

  When I open my eyes, there’s no trace of him. I search my surroundings. Nothing. It’s like he vanished with the wind.

  I slump to the driver’s seat with furrowed brows. These brief glances are starting to leave a
sour taste in my mouth. Why can’t he show up more often? Or at least come talk to me and tell me what he wants.

  Ugh. Why am I not seeing this as a horrible thing?

  Muting my chaotic mind, I start the engine and turn the radio’s volume all the way up. Some unknown rock music blasts inside the car. I allow it to transport me anywhere but inside my thoughts.

  Once I reach the restaurant’s car park, I dash out of my Audi. The car parked next to mine left little space, and I struggle to get my handbag out. When I finally pull it free, my keys drop to the ground.

  With a groan, I hunch down to retrieve them. When I stand up, a finger taps on my shoulder. I jump, heart racing and chest tightening.

  Oh, God. Please no.

  Please yes.

  “Hey sexy, fancy a shag?” my friend Owen asks.

  I release a breath. Whether it’s out of relief or disappointment, no idea.

  Spinning around, I swing my handbag and hit him in the chest. “You scared the hell out of me! And I told you a million times that I don’t care for,” I make finger quotes, “ ‘a shag’.”

  “Hon.” He give me one of his playboy winks. “One day you will.”

  “Stop with the sexual references, Owen.” I laugh and nudge him on the shoulder. “We’re friends, for God’s sake!”

  His gaze gleams with deviltry as he leans forward. “Ever heard of friends with benefits?”

  If it isn’t for national beauty preservation, I would ruin his face with my nails. Owen might be attractive by societal standards, but to me, he’s like the obnoxious brother who won’t shut up.

  Before I can retort, a silver-haired girl brushes past me to hit Owen on the chest. “Ever heard of shut the fuck up, arsehole?”

  I bite my lip to suppress a smile.

  Oh boy, a war is coming.

  “Hello, Sydney.” Owen’s voice mimics the tag line from Scream, which sends Sydney fuming every time.

  “Fuck. Off.” She smacks him twice, then turns to plant a kiss on my cheek. “A sod like him doesn’t deserve that face. How about we ruin it for him?”

  Laughing, I interlace my arm with Sydney’s and walk to the building. “I was having the exact same thought.”

  “I’m still over here if anyone cares.” Owen follows close behind us. “Say, Mae, me and witch-head here,” he points to Sydney, which earns him a glare, “are usually late. What’s your excuse?”

  I wave my free hand. “Got caught in painting.”

  “As always.” Sydney green eyes twinkle. “Ever since primary school, you used to get lost whenever painting.”

  At least I hadn’t been possessed by whatever dark entity back then. I would do anything to go back to that innocence.

  Go away, omniscient thought.

  Today is to have fun with my closest friends and forget about everything.

  Contentment fills my chest when the three of us sit like the old days. We have been inseparable close friends since young age. Although Sydney chose theatre and Owen opted for the police academy, we still meet on a weekly basis.

  We settle in the cosy restaurant decorated with a palette of warm colours and make our orders. The tones of honey-coloured wallpaper against the soft yellow curtains are aesthetically pleasing.

  “Hey, Mae,” Owen says. “Any chance you will become a renewed artist soon? Should I start collecting your autographs?”

  “My professor wants to exhibit my painting and sign me up for contests.” I sip from the glass of water. “I’m not so sure about any of this.”

  “Why do you seem down?” Sydney asks. “This is your chance to attract people of the industry.”

  “I know. It doesn’t mean I’m less stressed.” Or scared.

  “Listen, Missy.” Owen’s voice takes the rare serious tone. “You’re brilliant. Work hard for it and you’ll do just fine.”

  “For the first time in ever, I agree with the wanker.” Sydney points a finger at me. “What’s the worst case scenario? Lose? Sign up for another contest. Besides, you have us. We’re here to support you.”

  God, I love these idiots.

  “I’m here to eat!” Owen pats his stomach when our food arrives.

  The scent of recently-cooked pasta seduces me as I pick up my fork. “I could kiss the cook.”

  “Oh come on, Mae.” Owen slams his napkin on the wooden table, fake hurt in his eyes. “Have pity and kiss me instead!”

  Sydney puts her glass of wine down and points her fork at Owen. “No one wants to kiss a pervert like you.”

  “Sweetheart.” Owen’s devil smirk is on. “Lots of people want to kiss me in many places that your imagination can’t fathom. For instance—”

  “That’s it, Owen. We get it. Shut up.” I cut him off with a napkin to his mouth.

  He grabs the cloth and throws it near Sydney’s plate.

  No war this time. Just a glare.

  As we dig into our meals, my mind wanders to my latest disturbance. I itch to share the encounters of my stalker, but I also want to keep him a secret. Besides, what was there to share? I didn’t even know what to think of it myself. I’m scared, but to my horror, that’s not all what there is to it.

  A current of something unfamiliar passed through me when I met him the first time. Similar to the dark recesses of my soul. A shudder crawls up my spine every time I think about him or sense his eyes following me.

  I’m either being too paranoid or slowly going nuts. It was only once. The real meeting was only one time. The others were mere glances. Why was I so aware of him?

  Why do I like being aware of him?

  “Leave me alone, Owen!” My attention switches back to my friends’ bickering.

  Owen holds a curl from Sydney’s hair in his palm. “Why silver, though?”

  She stuffs some salad in her mouth. “Both of you wankers are good looking.” She points her fork at me. “She’s a doll. Enough said” She reverts her attention to Owen and rolls her eyes. “And the tosser over here doesn’t deserve it, but he’s an actual Greek god.”

  Owen smirks.

  Sydney flips her hair back. “I need to stand out too, or people would take me for the group’s bloody maid.”

  I chuckle, patting her hand. “You’re perfect to me.”

  In a blink, Sydney is on her knees in front of my seat. “Marry me, Mae.”

  My chuckle turns to a deep laugh. “Not that perfect, Syd.”

  She staggers back to her seat with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m going to die alone.”

  “You certainly won’t have better chances with the white hair.” Owen’s brows knit together before his mouth moves into a grin. “Seriously. Did you steal some witch’s wig?”

  Oh dear, here we go again.

  I laugh my butt off at Owen and Sydney’s battlefield, before I try to initiate peace talks. It’s a lost cause with these two.

  Lunch is delightful, and it partially takes my mind from what haunts me.

  After waving Owen goodbye, I get in my car and wait for Sydney to come out from the ladies’ room.

  I reach for my handbag when a shadow passes my side vision. Sweat beams in my forehead as my gaze roams sideways.

  Nothing. No one. Only an empty parking lot.

  Still, my mind wanders where it shouldn’t. Unease creeps within me like a giant spider, crawling along the door of my car. The ticks of my wristwatch fill the space, and with each tick, trepidation builds in the depths of my psyche. My lips purse and I glance at the rear-view mirror. Not that I would see anything. He’s like the monster I used to think
lived under my bed. Every fibre in my body screams he was there, but my vision never spots him.

  The passenger door clicks open. I jump in my seat.

  “Whoa.” Sydney settles beside me. “Why are you jumpy?”

  “N-Nothing.”

  It’s something. Something atrocious. I sit at the edge of a mental breakdown. If I haven’t met my clique today and had a dose of the normality they provide, I would’ve gone nuts.

  “I studied psychology.” Sydney’s forefinger darts back and forth as she speaks. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Fine, I can’t.” She rolls her eyes. “But as your friend, I know something is up. Now, spill.”

  All the misery I hid thus far comes back to overwhelm me. “I’m scared.” But also excited. How is that possible?

  “Of what?”

  Of him. A stranger who plagues my dreams. But I also love how he intrudes on my fantasies as if he always belonged in there.

  There’s no way to open my heart to Sydney without worrying her or sounding ridiculous.

  Or crazy.

  “I’m scared of the unknown.” Part truth.

  My friend sighs. “You’re brilliant and lovable, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “That’s what terrifies me. My entire life’s painted. Sometimes, it seems surreal like this isn’t how it supposed to be and something needs to happen for my whole existence to become right.” I bore my eyes into her soft green ones. “What if something goes wrong, Syd?”

  “Then let it go wrong!” She waves her hands in the air. “It’s an authentic fear. It proves you’re human, not some perfect bitch no one can measure up to.”

  Despite my biting mood, a chuckle leaves my lips. “I give that kind of impression?”

  “It’s worse than that, believe me. I’m being nice because I’m your friend.” Sydney laughs. “But seriously, you’re only twenty-three. Stop thinking like a middle-aged woman and live your goddamn life.”

  Sydney is right. Maybe I’m being insecure for no reason.