The cult, p.1
The Cult, page 1
The Cult
Cult #1
Penelope Sky
Hartwick Publishing
Hartwick Publishing
The Cult
Copyright © 2021 by Penelope Sky
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Prologue
Constance
Backstage, I sat in front of my vanity and wiped away the makeup that was pounded into my flesh. My eyes were heavy from the fake eyelashes and mascara. Too tired to take my time, I grabbed the corners of both eyelashes and ripped them off at once.
My ballet slippers came next, carefully unwrapped and removed. My bruised feet were visible underneath, dried and cracked. I dug my fingers into the beaten areas and massaged the aches away.
Ballet came at a price.
I would continue to pay that price until I went broke.
A man’s voice came from behind me, talking to one of the dancers. “Have you seen them?”
I lifted my gaze and looked into my vanity mirror, seeing the conversation taking place behind me. A tall man stood in front of Allison and held up his phone, showing her a picture of someone. His long-sleeved shirt was tight around the muscles of his forearms and the array of muscles of his upper arm. He had short blond hair, cords visible down his neck. With broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he looked strong enough to rip a tree straight out of the ground.
I watched Allison glance at his phone for a moment before she lifted her gaze and looked at him once more. “Sorry, I haven’t.” She tried to step away. “I need to get going—”
He shifted with her. “She’s a dancer here. Are you sure?”
She looked again, but her answer was the same—a shake of her head.
He lowered his phone and turned around, exposing his face to me for the first time.
With bright-blue eyes and a face tight with tension, he looked around the area for the next person to question. His large body was tight with unease, and even though he didn’t look outwardly panicked, there was a sea of trouble behind his eyes. After a scan of the area, he locked his eyes on mine in the reflection of the mirror.
My hands were still on one of my feet, digging into the muscle in the arch of my foot. My fingers paused when he looked at me like that, when hope shone in his eyes, like perhaps I would have the information he wanted.
He came over, his hand still holding up the phone. When he reached me, he put the screen in my face. “Have you seen them?”
My eyes didn’t look at the phone because I continued to look at him, hear his deep voice reverberate in my mind like a chamber with an echo. He didn’t need to fall to his knees and sob to wear his pain on his sleeve. It was audible just in his voice. “Uh…”
He pushed the phone in my face. “Do you recognize the woman? She danced here.” He was all business, desperate for answers.
I looked at the phone and saw a beautiful brunette woman standing with her arm around a young girl who looked to be maybe seven. The woman was gorgeous, a slender figure, nice smile, kind eyes. “Uh…no.”
“Are you sure?” He raised his voice as his blue eyes burned into mine.
I released my foot and rose so we could be level with each other, but he still towered over me, so our eyes were nowhere near each other. I took the phone from him to take a closer look. “What’s her name?”
“Beatrice,” he barked. “She’s gone missing. She had a show here a while ago. I’m trying to figure out if anyone knows anything since the police are fucking worthless.”
I stared at her a little harder. “I’m sorry…your wife must be with another company. We’ve probably crossed each other backstage, but I can’t place her.”
“She’s not my wife.” He took the phone back. “Have you seen the girl?”
I looked at the phone again, seeing a cute little girl with long blond hair. She smiled through large gaps in her teeth, and she had the same eyes that he did. “Is your daughter missing too?”
He dropped his gaze and looked at the phone in his hand, his hostility and desperation quickly gone, replaced by a deep sadness that seemed to shake him to the core. His fingers relaxed on the phone, and he nearly dropped it. “Yes.” He relaxed his arm to his side and didn’t shove the screen in my face anymore. “Her name is Claire.”
It was almost too hard to look at him, to see a father grieve like that, to look weak when he was so fit and strong. His shoulders fell, and he kept his gaze averted, like he was reliving something in his mind. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you.”
He lifted his gaze and looked at me again, his expression distant, like he wasn’t really looking at me at all. “Yeah…” He stepped away and went to the next vanity to ask Charlotte the same questions he asked me. His phone was in her face, and he interrogated her like his life depended on finding the truth.
The angel wings were sewn into my white leotard, sprinkled with glitter, and even though they added pounds to my shoulders, I never danced better. The dancers struck their poses and remained still as I took center stage. Kicking my leg high, spinning around in an elegant twirl, pointing my toes, and flicking my wrists, I became the angelic character I was honored to play.
I was the angel they worshiped.
I spun around slowly then strutted to the front of the stage, my hands angled outward so I could show off my wings. The audience was dark because the lights hit my face and obscured almost everything before me.
But I could make out something.
A man dressed in all black stood in front of his seat, dead center of the theater, absolutely motionless. He didn’t shift down the row to use the bathroom. He remained there, blocking the people behind him, his arms resting at his sides with deliberate stillness.
His dark eyes reflected the light from the show, open and wide, unblinking.
He had a large mouth, and it was pulled back into the widest grin I’d ever seen, showing all his teeth, his mouth taking up a larger proportion of his face than the average person. The grin was practically maniacal.
And he stared right at me.
My mind, body, and soul had been so absorbed in the performance just moments ago, but now everything was dead inside me. The music turned into a blur of sounds because I couldn’t focus. I missed my next cue over and over again because I couldn’t take my eyes off the man who stared right at me.
The adrenaline made my heart race, and my instincts told me I was in danger. It was an innate warning, my psyche reading the scene as disturbing…and terrifying. It was like a nightmare that wouldn’t go away, even after you woke up.
It was fucking creepy.
His smile didn’t change. His eyes didn’t blink. His body didn’t move at all, and his creepy effect was felt by everyone around him because no one dared to ask him to return to his seat.
And the creepiest thing of all…was that the stare was intentional.
He wanted me to know.
The fear cut me to the bone.
I told security about the freak in the audience, but they didn’t take my warning seriously. When I asked the girls if they’d noticed him, they all said no. When I told them I was scared, they said I was overreacting, and he was just an admirer.
Plain and simple.
But it was more than that… I could feel it.
No one could change my mind about it.
No one could gaslight me into believing that reality didn’t happen.
A few days passed, and when my next performance came, I almost stepped aside and allowed my understudy to take over. The experience had only lasted a few minutes, but it had traumatized me deeply, left a scar that I tried to show people, but I was the only one who could see it.
But I found the courage to do my job.
He wasn’t there.
I was so convinced that he would be standing there, in the same seat, with the same grin. I started to question what I actually saw, if it was just a trick of the stage lights, if my mind allowed the shadows to manipulate my reality.
Did it happen at all?
It did…right?
I returned to my apartment, just a few blocks from the theatre. The Eiffel Tower was far away in the distance, lit up like a beacon of hope and pride for all the Parisians who worshiped it with their eyes.
My purse and keys were tossed onto the kitchen island. My scarf was pulled from around my neck and set on top. Fall had arrived, and it was slightly chilly, but there was still a hint of summer at the warmest time of the day.
I walked to the large window in the living room where the parted curtains rested. The lights from the city were so bright, they illuminated my apartment even in the deepest night, and it became hard to sleep. I liked to sleep in after a performance, and the bright sunlight could easily sabotage that.
I grabbed each side of the curtains and started to pull them to the center.
But my eyes moved to the building across the street, as if I already knew something was there before I even looked. It was instinct, as if someone else commanded me to look and I obeyed.
There he was.
Standing in the window, dressed in black, staring at me from across the street, the same grin on his face, pulled back as wide as possible, showing his molars in the very back. His dark eyes were open and staring, taking me in like an experiment rather than a human being.
My hands gripped the curt ains as the tremors took over.
I was terrified…but couldn’t look away.
My chest rose and fell quickly as my eyes began to smart. The man was nowhere near me, but it felt as if he were right in front of me, his breath falling on my face, his teeth even whiter now that they were close up.
He didn’t shift his body. He didn’t blink. He didn’t make any movement at all…like he wasn’t real.
I yanked the curtains closed as quickly as possible, blocking the light and the city, putting a structure between us so I wouldn’t have to stare at the fucking psychopath who drilled through my flesh and organs, directly to my spine.
I hyperventilated in front of the window, feeling him staring at me through the glass and curtains. I’d been mugged on the street and fought to get my purse back. I’d been groped on the bus and broke his balls. I lived my life alone without fear. But…this was different. This was bigger than me. This was so dark, so twisted, that I knew it couldn’t be defeated with a simple punch.
I sprinted to my purse and quickly pulled out my phone with shaking hands. I dialed the number and listened to it ring once before the operator answered.
“Police. What’s your emergency?”
The police sent two officers to investigate my claim.
When they opened the curtains and looked through the window, they saw an empty window across the street.
“He was there. He stood right there and stared me down. He was at the ballet, and now he knows where I live. He was smiling at me… It was fucking creepy.” I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, still shaken to the bone even when I was with officers with guns.
The first officer looked for a while before he turned to me. “If he was smiling at you, why is that creepy? That’s friendly.”
“No,” I snapped. “Trust me, it was creepy. He was at the theatre a few nights ago, and now he’s here. I’ve seen my neighbors across the street before. It’s a young couple, and the guy looks nothing like that.”
The officer looked again before he turned to his partner. “We’ll go across the street and see if there’s been a break-in.” He nodded, and they headed to the door.
I was hot on their tail. “I’m coming too.”
“You really need to stay here,” the first officer said. “In case—”
“I’m not staying in this apartment by myself until he’s caught.”
They let me have my way because I was so shaken up, and we crossed the street and entered the building. After taking several flights of stairs, we approached the front door.
I stood in the rear, letting them do their work.
With one hand on his gun, he knocked.
No response.
He knocked again. “Police. Open up.” He grabbed the handle and checked to see if it was locked. Then he turned to me.
“Go in there!” I threw my arms down. “He’s in there!”
He exchanged a look with his partner before he turned back to me. “We can’t just enter people’s apartments without cause—”
The door opened, and a man stood there—but not the man I’d seen. It was the husband I’d seen before, his eyes shifting back and forth between the officers. “Can I help you with something?”
What? “Did you just get home?”
The officers turned to me, wearing looks of annoyance.
“No…” He glanced at the officers before he turned back to me. “Just got out of the shower.”
I turned to the first officer. “That means he could be in there. He could have been in there when he was in the shower.” I knew what I’d seen. I didn’t make it up. I wasn’t crazy. I’d put my hand on the fucking bible and swear on my dead parents.
“Wait, who?” the guy asked. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing,” the first officer said. “We’re sorry to disturb you.”
“Wait.” I rushed forward. “Can we do a quick search of your apartment? Please?”
The officer placed his hand on my shoulder. “Constance, the door was locked.”
“So?” I snapped.
“He broke in then locked the door on his way out?” the officer asked incredulously.
He was there. I knew he was there. He was in this fucking apartment—taunting me. “He could have gotten in through a window—”
“Constance.” The officer squeezed my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. “There’s no fire escape. So, unless he jumped out the window and fell three stories, there’s no other way in or out of this apartment.”
“I saw him! He was there!” I pushed his arm off. “He was at the theatre, and then he was here!” Tears started to stream from my eyes because this was all bullshit. I looked like a fucking crazy person when I was the sanest woman alive.
The officer dismissed the tenant in the apartment then directed me down the hallway. “Sometimes immense stress can make us see things that aren’t really there. Are you having financial difficulties or—”
“I’m. Not. Making. It. Up.” I had to lower my voice and steady myself so I wouldn’t scream at the officers who were just doing their jobs. I was infuriated that they didn’t believe me, but I also understood why they didn’t—because I had no evidence. “Please, you have to believe me.” I pressed my palms together and rested my hands against my lips, silently praying for someone to help me.
The officer exchanged another look with his partner. “Look, I’ll give you my personal cell number. Call me if it happens again. But, if you call me and there’s nothing…don’t call me again.”
I didn’t sleep for two days.
I put cameras outside my apartment door and also across the street. That way, if the freak returned, I would have evidence.
It had happened. It fucking happened.
I got myself a knife that I carried on me at all times. I wasn’t using pepper spray if that guy got close to me.
I would stab him in the heart and go to jail for it.
I’d rather spend a life sentence in jail for murder than let him touch me.
I had my performance on Friday night, so I had to get some sleep. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be able to remember the dance moves. I considered letting my understudy take over, but if I didn’t dance, I didn’t get paid. And I’d already spent a lot of my savings on the camera system.
But I had a feeling something would happen tonight.
I just knew it.
And if it did, I would call the police.
I sat at my vanity and waited for the show to go on, looking in the mirror at my pale and sunken face. Bags hung under my eyes, and there was a lifeless look to my entire appearance. My sleepless nights were spent in anxiety, and my slumber was filled with nightmares.
I stared at myself and suddenly remembered the man who had been here a week ago.
Asking about a woman…and his daughter.
She was a dancer…I’m a dancer.
She’s missing…and the police are of no help.
I lifted my gaze and looked at my face in the mirror, staring at my own expression of disbelief. I gazed at my pained and disturbed expression, seeing all the emotions written on my face like words of a horror story.
I had to find the man with the photo.
Who was he?
What was his name? Had he told me that?
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
I left the vanity and turned to my stage manager. “Mark, you remember that guy who was asking about a missing woman and child?”
He spoke into his headset then flipped the mic up. “What?”
“The guy asking about his missing daughter. He was tall, blond, attractive… Do you know his name?”
He still looked confused by the question. “Do you realize we’re about to go on in less than a minute, Constance? Can we talk about this later?”
“Do you know his name or not?” I snapped. “Just answer the question.”
Now he truly looked irritated. “Can you do this or not, Constance? Because I need to tell Lily to get her wings on if she’s taking your place. The girls have told me you’ve been off lately.”
“There’s a guy who’s been stalking me. I’m not off. I’m fucking afraid.” Why didn’t anyone take this seriously? I was an intelligent and pragmatic person whom people respected, but the second I voiced my concerns, people considered me unstable. “A guy just came here looking for other girls who are missing. You don’t find that to be a coincidence?”
