Chapter 2: Skeletons in the Dark

The closet door swung open, and Landon’s pale, almost ethereal face loomed in the dim light.

"Surprise."

"Found you, sweetheart."

He dragged me out. I fought like hell—scratching, kicking, leaving bloody welts—but the monster who terrified everyone else never hurt me.

My nails dug into his arms, leaving angry red marks, but he just smiled—gentle, almost loving. He scooped me up like a stray kitten, ignoring my curses and flailing. For everyone else, he was pure nightmare fuel; for me, he was something even more dangerous.

At first, I was petrified, but Landon started to take care of me—piece by piece.

He began with the little things—a warm fleece blanket, a box of Kraft mac and cheese, a new set of Target pajamas folded neatly at the foot of the bed. It was like a twisted fairytale, and every careful gesture made my skin prickle with dread.

If I took just one bite of something or pushed a plate away, he’d never serve it again. One time, I left half a tuna melt untouched; the next day, it vanished from the menu forever.

"Jamie," Landon murmured, licking sticky strawberry jam from my fingertips. "You smell so good, it drives me nuts."

Every night, Landon slept beside me, completely hooked on my scent.

He’d curl around me, his breath warm and humid against the back of my neck, arms locked tight around my waist. Sometimes I’d wake up to find him just staring, eyes wide and shining in the dark. He’d nuzzle into my hair, breathing me in like I was his last lifeline.

Eventually, I realized he didn’t mean me harm—he even seemed to genuinely like me, in his own twisted way.

He never hit me, never raised his voice. His affection was obsessive, but almost gentle—like being loved by a thunderstorm that only rumbled for you.

I started acting spoiled, asking for Domino’s pizza or making him dig through the house for shiny jewelry and accessories.

I figured, why not milk it? If I was stuck here, might as well live it up. I’d demand a Chipotle burrito or make him hunt down a Tiffany-style bracelet from the attic. He always came back with whatever I wanted, pride glowing in his eyes.

He even set me up with stacks of books and every streaming device he could find.

He turned one of the sunrooms into a mini library—thrillers, romance novels, even a stack of old Stephen King paperbacks. He brought me an iPad loaded with Netflix, Hulu, and a dozen games. Sometimes we’d binge-watch Friends or The Office, his laughter rumbling softly beside me.

If I slapped Landon, he’d blush and say, "Damn, you smell amazing, babe."

If he came home late and I was hungry—or if there were fresh bloodstains on his shirt—I’d throw a fit.

"Call me master."