Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
I was prepared for the worst when the “Devil” granted my request.
But what I never expected is our phone calls becoming more deliciously dirty than scary…
And me losing my heart to a man I’ve never seen.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
An email landed in the Devil's inbox, its subject line succinctly written.
I anonymously reported a crime, and now the perpetrator is after me.
It was enough to have him take a seat back behind his desk and click to read the rest.
I was at a 7-11 near my university when I heard someone clearly begging and saying 'please stop' over and over. The noise was coming from the men's toilet at the back, and one of the windows was open...
I saw a couple of men circled around one other guy. He was naked and curled up on the floor. The other guys had PEED on him. It was so obvious by the smell, by the looks of it.
I managed to take a photo without being seen and tip 911 off anonymously.
You might even have seen his story being reported on the news.
The victim didn't know who his assailants were, but he says they obviously knew him since they were calling him by his name while mocking him.
Isaiah the Faggot. Isaiah the Piss Licker. Isaiah the Dick Eater.
Seeing him break down on TV while saying the words broke me, and I knew I had to do more, no matter what.
So I posted the photo on the Internet, and apparently one of his attackers was wearing this limited-edition cap - there was just 50 of them in the whole world. People who sympathized did their own digging, and each and every one of Isaiah's attackers was identified.
All of them but one pled guilty.
The one who didn't...he says he's got mental health problems, and it's his depression that made him do the things he did. He says that not pleading guilty is his way of standing up for all mental health victims. He's even started writing a book about it, and his former-Senator-father is fully supportive about his "journey".
He's been guesting in TV shows all over the country while Isaiah is still too traumatized to leave the house, and then there's me.
I think he's paid someone to look for me. He blames me for everything's that happened, and last month...someone sent me a letter. Inside was a photo of my parents, and then another photo of me...from that day.
I know he's threatening to hurt my parents if I go to the police, and I can't risk that. I know he's playing with me right now, and that it's only a matter of time...
I know he's just waiting for things to completely die down before he makes his move.
I have no one to turn to, and that's why I'm asking for your help.
Please. Please help me. Please.
#01
My phone rings the moment I step out of class, and I think nothing of it until I answer the call, and a robotic male voice speaks to my ear.
Hello, Sheena.
The whole world vanishes for a single moment, and I'm left all alone with my fear.
He knows who I am.
A part of me expected this, but the knowledge still sucks all the hope out of me, and dragging air into my lungs suddenly becomes a chore. I look around me, but everything is a blur, and my heart feels like it's about to stop beating at any moment.
You knew this would happen sooner or later, Sheena.
You knew.
So deal with it.
Time marches on, and the numbness that's taken my limbs captive gradually recedes. I start breathing again, and with this, I regain the need to survive.
That's better.
This time, I feel like hyperventilating. I have a feeling I know why he's said those words.
You have more color in your face now.
And it's exactly what I feared.
The Devil is here, watching me, and I guess that means either my university was lying about having "top-notch" security...or their best simply isn't good enough to keep the Devil out.
Start walking to your next class.
Now is the worst time to draw attention to yourself.
Things like this aren't supposed to happen to someone like me, and the disguised element of his voice only makes things feel more surreal than they already are.
I'm an eighteen-year-old girl in my first year in college. My looks are as nondescript as my grades, and ever since the Devil made me quit my part-time job at the motel for safety reasons, school is the only thing I can write about in my planner.
I'm ordinary with a capital O, the kind that the meanest and most popular girls on campus wouldn't even waste time bullying. I'm the type of person you wouldn't even remember having classes with...and yet somehow, I'm the one who ends up in a phone call with a guy who's supposedly arranged countless unreported deaths of rapists, pedophiles, and murderers.