Polarity

By Noëlle McHenry

Australian artist Max Aleshire doesn't belong in Boston. The weather's too cold for him, as are the people. With only one friend, ex-girlfriend Stacey, he's become an introverted, socially paranoid recluse. He's convinced the loneliness and mundane routine are there to stay until Stacey dares him to make a friend online. By chance, he meets a handsome stranger: a writer named Cameron, with whom he has a lot in common. Inspired by this former introvert, Max attempts to open up and improve his life. First off, he lets Cameron in, certain that he's a good guy. After only a few days, he's surprised to discover that he might be developing feelings for this stranger—for another man!

Little does Max realize, though, that there's a much darker side to Cameron. If love is blind, then Max might not see the danger he's in until it's too late. If he does, will he care?

A fictional suspense novella by Noëlle McHenry about a lonely young man who finds himself trapped in a dangerous love game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Noëlle McHenry
• Release date: Jul 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370441433

Noëlle McHenry

My name is Noëlle McHenry. I'm a Canadian author, and I've been writing dramatic fiction since I was a young squirt. I began writing my first story in 2006. It wasn't very good, but you need to start somewhere, and I feel like I have improved so much since then. What used to be a mere hobby is now steadily becoming my passion. Almost all of my stories are part of a fictional universe that I call Project Eclipse. I have been developing the characters and stories of this universe since 2011. In all honesty, I could probably say these characters are like family to me. I hope to have many more years of writing and improvement ahead of me. I can't wait to write my next story, whatever it may be.

Book preview

Polarity

Also by Noëlle McHenry

In the Name of Evil

Don’t Wake Me Up Just Yet

Ignore the Camera

Polarity

A fictional suspense novella by Noëlle McHenry

This novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, businesses, softwares, websites, locations, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2017 – 2018 Noëlle McHenry

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1370441433 (Smashwords Edition)

ASIN: B074DHX3D5 (Kindle Edition)

Cover by Noëlle McHenry

Second Edition (01 January 2018 – 14 January 2018)

"The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters." – Friedrich Nietzsche

Table of Contents

Knock

Polarity

1: Stranger

2: Apartment

3: Quarrel

4: Commission

5: Voice

6: Promise

7: Confession

8: Visit

9: Release

10: Doomsday

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Knock

It was 2:17 AM when what sounded like a knock pulled Stacey from her sleep. For a long moment, not knowing what else to do, she continued to lie in bed. She stared into the darkness that drowned her bedroom with eyes that she didn’t realize were wide open. There was silence around her for what felt like ages. Finally, she decided that it had only been a bump in the night. Yet as she snuggled the side of her head into her silk pillowcase, there it was again, from downstairs.

Knock.

Stacey’s eyes flew open once more. She wanted to get up, but found herself petrified. Paranoia flooded her with a barrage of ideas that, albeit foolish, left her terrified. The most prominent was that an intruder had broken into her home and made the loud noise by accident. If she stood up, her floorboards would creak; the second floor was especially prone to this. The intruder would know that she was awake and, worse yet, exactly where she was.

Though she’d thought it was accidental, a few seconds later she again heard the noise.

Knock.

Now, Stacey was growing more confused than frightened.

What is that? She wondered. It’s too early for someone to be at the front door, but if an intruder made that sound, then why make it again? Shouldn’t they want to stay quiet? Those knocks are loud enough to wake me up!

So, despite her fear, she decided she had to get to the bottom of this. She picked her phone up off of the bedside table, plucking it from its charger to hold it close to her chest.

20 years old and living in the house all alone, she felt fear at the thought of standing up, so she took her time when she did. Sure enough, the floor creaked. She froze.

When nothing happened, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief and tiptoed to her open bedroom door. There she stood, peeking through the crack as she waited for the noise that she now anticipated.

Knock.

Whoever—or whatever—was making the sound had to be doing so on purpose. She stood frozen in fear for what felt like an hour but must’ve only been five minutes. Then it came again to pull her from her horror.

Knock.

Stacey pressed herself against the wall, ponytail crunching against it. When she turned on her phone, she flinched when the bright screen flashed in her face, blinding her. As she blinked her eyes to adjust, she found herself about to speed-dial her parents. The moment she realized what her body had in mind, though, she stopped herself.

It had been her own idea to live alone. Her mother had told her that it was a bad idea; that sooner or later she’d come crawling back to stay with her. She’d always been a paranoid girl, disturbed by the most innocent of bumps in the night. Her hyperactive imagination, she felt, was to blame. If she called her parents and started crying, only to find out that the noise was nothing, she’d feel like an idiot!

Knock.

I know; I’ll text Max!

She let her hands return to her contact list. At the top was Max’s name; her ex-boyfriend, but still a friend. Opening their texts, she saw the last one they’d exchanged, yesterday: Thanks for what you said there. It meant a lot to me. No worries, Stace.

She’d always worried that he didn’t care about her anymore. After all, she’d been the one to break up with him, last New Year’s Eve. During the countdown. She’d always regretted that detail. Would he ever enjoy a New Year again? To her surprise, though, yesterday he’d confessed that he did care and that he enjoyed being her friend. It had been such a surprise, in fact, that Stacey had cried over it the instant she was alone.

He’s bound to be awake right now.

Max, come over, she wrote. Wait, no. He doesn’t have a car. A few backspaces. Max, are you there? Again, hesitation. Of course he’s there, but he’s not likely to respond . . . He ignores me unless I have something important to say.

Is this important? I could be about to die. But what if it’s nothing? He’ll think I’m a scaredy-cat.

Knock.

So, with a mask of faux bravado, she decided her pride as a woman was a priority and deleted the text. No one had murdered her yet, and still that knocking continued. If someone wanted to harm her, they’d have done so already. She waited for the noise. Right on cue, she heard it.

Knock.

After turning off her phone’s screen, Stacey finally pulled herself off the wall. She slunk from her bedroom, being as careful as she could; those floorboards were the loudest in the house.

Creeeeaaaak.

She froze again and waited for the sound.

Knock.

Considering that to mean that she was still in the clear, Stacey let out an anxious huff. The stairs were terrifying. Even so, she made her way down them one at a time. She walked sideways, distributing her weight more on the middle of each step than on either end. She did this because at some point she’d learned that this prevented them from creaking so much.

It didn’t take her very long to make it down to the first floor. At the foot of the stairs, she held her phone close with trembling hands and waited for the sound to guide her.

Knock.

Stacey felt her blood run cold. The sound was coming from the basement. Quivering like a dying leaf, she approached the top of the descending stairs.

This floor had moonlight pouring in from various windows, basking it in a celestial blue glow. Juxtaposing this serenity, the basement was pitch black. Stacey’s heart was in her throat.

Oh, why does it have to be coming from the basement, of all places? Why not the kitchen? Why not from under the living room couch?

Knock.

There it came again to haunt her, like a bad dream. Though every fiber of her being told her to run away, she turned on her phone’s flashlight. With a level of hesitance unknown to her until that moment, she panned it down to look into the dark abyss before her.

The basement was spacious and large, but also filled with a maze of boxes still packed from her move. As such, though she could now see the stairs, she could see little else. She waited again for the knock.

. . . But there was only silence.

Mortified as Stacey was, her curiosity got the better of her. She felt numb, as if her conscience was cowering in terror. Regardless, she made her descent into the dark basement. Her heart pounded like she was running a marathon; it felt like she’d die of sheer fright!

Then, she saw it: a hollow wooden box sitting on the floor near some of the others. That particular box had held photographs, but she’d emptied it at some point. While she did recall leaving it down there, she couldn’t recall whether she’d left it on the floor like this. All of a sudden, from behind a stack of boxes came a thick ball of artificial yarn that she’d bought for her cat.