Terror (Part 1 of the Valeska Series)

The First Step - I Mean, Murder

✮ a c c a l i a  POV✮

Almost an hour later, the building I live in with Jim comes into view. We live in the penthouse at the top of the building with his fiancee, Barbara Kean, and she's more a sister than a mother figure. The blonde woman is a miracle worker and a living beauty without a doubt, and she is someone I can look up to and go to with anything no matter how bad it is. Not to mention, the majority of the clothes that live within my wardrobe are outfits that no longer fit her, or ones that she no longer likes.

A chirping sounds and I pull my phone out, not hesitating to hit the answer button. "Barbara, what are you doing calling me at this hour?"

Barbara laughs, not even slightly berated by my sass. "I was just wondering when you are getting home. Or, by any chance, are you staying with your boy toy tonight?"

"If you're insinuating that Jerome and I are a thing, I'm going to burst your bubble on that one. There is no way in hell that we're ever going to be a thing in any way, shape, or form."

"Oh, alright. I'll believe that when I see it. Either way, when are you going to get home? Jim's at work and I've got no one here."

I chuckle. "You're in luck. I'm on my way up."

"Yay!"

"James said he was going to be there by the time I got here. What is he doing?"

"I don't know, Cali. Who knows what he has roped himself into this time? It may be tomorrow when we see him next."

I sigh, walking out of the elevator as the doors bing open. "Who knows? I'm back now. You can hang up, quit worrying, and go to sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."

"Alright. Thank you, Cali."

Barbara hangs up and I push open the door, latching it behind me as I shove my phone deep into my pocket. It's a strange thing to be coming back to the penthouse at such an hour. The entire thing looks as though it is an utterly different place than where I live. The shadows give the penthouse an eerie feel that sends chills through my body, causing the hairs on my arms and legs to stand erect, and making me instinctively roll my shoulders in an attempt to rid myself of the chill.

There's no lights illuminating this apartment, and that leaves the silver light from the moon to bathe the furnished room in a serene light. The shadows are long and unnatural, and the shapes they have morphed into over the hours are grotesque forms without distinct shape or detail. The lack of unnatural light has allowed a stillness and an almost ice cold atmosphere to descend upon the house.

Weaving my way through the furnishings, I make my way to the bedroom I've been sleeping in for the past decade. It's no small room by any means. With the money Jim makes being in law enforcement, and the money Barbara inherited from her parents, and for the charity work she does, they have enough to last them a lifetime or five.

There's a large, king sized bed in the dead centre of the farthest wall, an entire wall covered in books to my left, a large black desk to my right with a deep purple swivel chair accompanying it, and a wardrobe that is almost half the length of the remainder of the wall. The books are mainly fictional and about far away lands with tyrant kings and seductive villains, but, to the side closest to the back wall, there are books on serial killers, murders and every type of mental afflictions and diseases known to mankind. They're the ones that have allowed me to know that my best friend is more than he lets on.

The giant window on the left wall meets the end of my wardrobe and allows a lot of the silvery moonlight to illuminate my room. In the light, I can make out the geometric patterns on my purple and black bed set, and see the vibrant red of my pillow cases. It's one of those sets that is double-sided. One side has a black and purple geometric pattern, and the other is, for some reason, a vivacious cherry red that sends chills down my spine. The combination of the three colours is unexpectedly complementary and mesmerising.

I don't even bother relieving myself of my clothes. Instead, I make my way over to the bed and fall onto it, embracing the comfort and warmth of the expensive bed. My eyes close not too much later, and I fall into a sleep of twisted dreams and murderers - a particular ginger haired male grinning at me as he clutches a bloodied knife in his hand. The body at his feet is all too familiar. After all, I see her every time I go to visit him. It is Lila, and she is covered in blood.

"Wake up, Cali," he taunts, his grin turning feral. "Wake up and become who you know you really are."

I find myself shaking my head. "I have no need of waking up, ginger. I'm already there."

"Then, why are you just standing there? Give me a hand."

My grip tightens on a handle and I look down, only to find a bloodied hatchet clutched in my bloodied hand. I look up at the ginger in front of me and a psychotic laugh escapes him, his eyes twinkling in delight. An answering grin spreads across my face and I feel laughter bubbling up inside me, a warm feeling spreading through my body as I feel myself moving towards my best friend and his murdered mother. I raise my hand holding the hatchet and swing it down with a force I didn't know I possessed.

Just as I am about to make contact with her butchered corpse, a piercing ringing sounds in my ears. Back in reality, my eyes fly open and I jolt up into a sitting position on my bed, my eyes flying around the room and my breaths coming out rapid and irregular. There's movement in the corner of my vision. A dark figure darts around the room and makes their way out the door. He's going further into the penthouse. Fear rises and clogs in my throat. My breathing becomes even more erratic and my vision begins to swim.

"Accalia!" Jerome's voice echoes in my mind and I cling to it like a lifeline. "Snap out of it! There's an intruder in your house! Get your head in the game!"

I can't...

"Cali, come on. Where's the fearless and ruthless girl I know?"

She's gone...

"There's someone in your home. Barbara is in trouble, little terror. It's not just your life at stake here."

Barbara...

A strange calmness washes over me and I feel my heart rate beginning to steady out. My trembling stops and my vision becomes clear once again as I swing my legs off the bed and make my way to the door, my feet padding silently on the hardwood floor. On my way, I grab the switchblade Jerome gave me for my birthday and slip out of the door, my eyes scanning the open area for any humanoid shape. A small shuffling sound causes my cold gaze to swing in the direction of Barbara's room. Just in front of the door, I see a dark shape looming in front of it.

Rushing toward the shape, I shove them away from the door and stand protectively in front of it. The intruder clambers to their feet and the moonlight illuminates their face. It's nobody I recognise, but they are definitely male. His dark eyes burn into mine with ferocity, and that's the only warning I get before he launches himself at me, a silver instrument glimmering in his hand as the moonlight hits it. Damn. Of course he has a weapon on him. He is breaking into a house after all.

Gritting my teeth, I shift my stance and thank Jim for making me take self-defence classes of all kinds. I angle my body and raise my arm up to block his attack. I shove his arm away and land several well-placed punches on his torso, causing his left arm to fall limp by his side. Unfortunately, it's not the arm I wanted to fall limp. He snarls in anger at me and swings the knife. I am too slow to react, and the blade swipes across my face, carving a gash onto my face.

A stinging pain radiates from the gash below my eye, spanning an unknown distance across my face. I suck in a sharp breath at the stinging pain, but I don't let on that it hurts much more than that. The man grins in victory and goes to attack me again, but I'm ready for him. He stabs at me and I grasp the blade with my left hand, ignoring the stabbing pain, and, using the momentum to slam his wrist against the wall, force him to drop the knife. It clatters to the ground and I flick out my switchblade, the blade glinting in the light.

The man snickers and swipes the blade from my hand before I get a good grip on it, flipping it around and jabbing it me. I glare into his eyes and move out of the way of the blade. It is undeniably sharp, and I know that it hurts when it slices your skin open. Knife training was never fun. The intruder continuously attacks me, and he manages to land a few gashes on my arms and torso, but not enough to warrant any stitches or staples. As he goes in for another one, I step to the side and grab his wrist tightly, digging my fingers in as an attempt to find his pressure point. A strangled sound leaves him and his hand spasms as he drops the blade.

For good measure, I slam his wrist against the closest solid object, hopefully breaking it. From the lack of exclamation, I'm not sure that I applied enough force. Pushing that to the back of my mind, I dive for the switchblade. Almost as soon as I grasp it, the man flips me over and launches himself at me. Pain contorts his face and I stare up at him with wide eyes before looking down between us. Blood is beginning to coat my hands, and it's not just mine anymore. I yank the blade free from his body and he grunts, pushing himself off me and collapsing to the ground beside me.

He limply places his hands over the wound and, in futile desperation, attempts to staunch the blood flow. With trembling hands, I push myself up from the floor and move as far away from the dying man as I possibly can. All too soon, my back comes in contact with the bookcase on the other side of Barbara's door, and it's not far enough away from him. He's only a few steps away from me, and his eyes are staring into mine, imploring me to save him. All I can do is watch as he dies.

Using my non-wounded hand, I pull my phone from my pocket and call Jim. The phone rings for only a few seconds, but it feels much longer. Time feels as though it has slowed down, and it is no longer going normally through the hourglass. Time. Such a funny thing. After all, I did just give someone a fatal blow and their time is running out faster than it can be stopped.

"Accalia?" Jim asks, the worry already evident in his voice. I never call him during the night, or early in the morning. He knows something is wrong. "Accalia, talk to me. What's wrong?"

I open my mouth to reply, but it catches in my throat. I can't speak.

"Talk to me! Come on!"

"...J-James..."

"Thank god. Cali, what's going on?"

"Someone broke into the penthouse. I... James, I..."

"It's alright. Just tell me what's going on." I hear shuffling on Jim's side of the phone and then the sound of a car door slamming, the engine starting a few seconds later. "I'm on my way home."

I swallow loudly. "James, he's dead... I killed him... He tried to kill me..."