Chapter 8 - THE HAUNTINGPsychological warfare requires patience, and I had plenty of it.
I began small.
It started with the smell. I purchased a very specific, high-end incense that smelled remarkably like burning pine and singed carpet. I would light a tiny piece of it in the air vents of Jessica’s penthouse before she woke up, letting the faint, acrid scent drift into her bedroom.
The first time she smelled it, she panicked, calling the building superintendent to check for electrical fires. They found nothing.
The second time, three days later, she hyperventilated and had to take an extra Valium.
Then came the physical objects.
I visited a vintage toy store in Brooklyn and found a stuffed rabbit that looked identical to the one I had left in the floorboards fifteen years ago. Using blue thread, I meticulously stitched the left ear back together, just as my father had done for me.
On a Tuesday—exactly the day of the week the fire had happened—I placed the rabbit on Jessica’s perfectly made bed right before she came home from a gala.
I waited in the kitchen, pretending to review spreadsheets.
A bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence of the penthouse.
I sprinted toward her bedroom. "Jessica! What is it?"
She was backed against the wall, her face entirely drained of color, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at the bed. The bunny sat there, staring blankly.
"Where did that come from?" Jessica shrieked, her voice cracking. "Who put that there?!"
"Put what there?" I asked, feigning confusion. I walked over and picked up the rabbit. "This? It must be a gift from one of your PR sponsors. It was in the mail."
"No!" Jessica snatched it from my hands and hurled it into the hallway. "Throw it away! Burn it! Get it out of my house!"
"Jessica, calm down, you're shaking," I said, gripping her arms. "What is it? Does it remind you of something?"
She looked at me, her pupils dilated with pure terror. For a second, the arrogant socialite vanished, and I saw the ten-year-old girl who had walked away while her little sister pounded on a locked door.
"I didn't want to leave her," Jessica whispered, tears spilling over her mascara. "Mom made me. Mom said we had to walk away."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but my face remained a mask of gentle concern. "Leave who, Jess? Who did you walk away from?"
She snapped her mouth shut. The fear in her eyes hardened back into paranoia. "Nobody. It's nothing. Just get that toy out of here."
May you like
I nodded, picking up the rabbit. "Of course. I'll take care of it."
I walked to the trash chute, but I didn't throw it away. I smiled. The cracks were forming. It was time to introduce the sledgehammer.
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