Chapter 7 The Gift of Horror

Izalea had just returned from the agency, where her manager had presented contradictory accounts regarding her recent scandals and how they had impacted her career and the agency. Despite the unsettling conversation, he had not proposed terminating her contract. Unfortunately, she learned the startling news from the press. The agency's van slowly stopped on the roadside by her apartment, the radio murmuring in the background, broadcasting the latest reports.

...

Suddenly, a familiar name broke through the static, "...the well-known actress Izalea Benson's career has taken a turn for the worse..." Belle, in the front seat, instinctively reached to lower the volume.

"Don't," I said firmly from the back seat.

Belle's hands hung mid-air as the radio droned on, "...and her eight-year contract with the ABC agency will not be extended for another year, according to recent reports..." Tension hung in the air, the weight of the words settling around us like a thick cloud. Leonard and Belle, sitting in the front seats, exchanged frightened looks as they listened.

"Turn it down," I said softly as Belle reached over to lower the radio.

"How long have you both known this?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion. The van remained silent. "I believe you both heard me," I said, my tone more agitated.

Leonard, the agency's driver, answered, "I promise, I am as shocked as you, ma'am."

"Belle?" I called out.

"Yes, ma'am," Belle responded, turning in her seat to face me.

I gave her a stern look and waited for her to speak.

"I do know about it, ma'am," Belle said, embarrassed.

Astonished, I waited for an explanation.

"I overheard the manager on the phone discussing it. I apologize, Miss Izalea. I couldn't bring myself to tell you," Belle said, her voice shaking.

"It's your job to tell me everything," I replied sternly. "Belle, everything," I said firmly, locking eyes with her.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Izalea. It'll never happen again," Belle promised.

Trying to control my emotions, I called my manager, but he continued declining my calls.

"Hold on, what? He never rejects my calls," I said to myself, the realization hitting me.

"So it must be true then," I commented, gazing out the window, holding back my tears.

"You both have a safe return," I said dismissing them.

"Thank you, ma'am," they both echoed.

I stepped out of the van, pulled out my sunglasses, and put them on, struggling to suppress my tears as I proceeded toward my apartment. The weight of the day's disclosures weighed heavily on me, my composure barely holding. I approached my flat door and noticed a gift-wrapped present waiting nicely by the door. The bright gift paper and decorated bow contrasted sharply with my disoriented mood. Intrigued and slightly optimistic, I went down to pick it up, wondering who had sent it.

The package was elegantly packaged, indicating a personal gesture. I hesitated before unwrapping the gift. I first unlocked the door and stepped inside with the gift. I gently placed it on my kitchen counter, the splendid packaging temporarily raising my emotions. But as I began to untie the ribbon and peel back the paper, an awful odor emanated from the box, intensifying as I removed the lid.

Inside was a dead rat, its lifeless body producing a foul odor that made me gag. Next to it was a framed picture of myself, but instead, my face stared back at me in horror. Dark red tears, drawn from the rat's blood, streamed down the photo's face, converting my image into a terrifying one.

My breath seized in my throat as I stumbled back in shock. My quivering hands lost their grip on the box, which tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents across the kitchen tiles. The rat's body and the bloodstained picture were scattered on the floor, and the stench filled the room.

Heart thumping, I stepped back, questions racing through my mind:

'Who could have done this?'

'What did they want?'

The act's obvious malevolence sent a shiver down my spine. I ran to my front door and checked the surveillance screen, glancing down the hallway for any evidence of the culprit. The hallway was empty, and the building's usual sounds were strangely absent, making me feel alone with this eerie message.

For an instant, I stood motionless, unsure of what to do. My first instinct was to give my mother a call, but I immediately disregarded it, knowing it would just cause her to worry. Rather, I grabbed my phone and called Jasmine, my best friend.

"Jasmine," my voice faltered. "You just won't believe what happened. Would you please come over? Right now, I need you."

As I waited for Jasmine, I tried to keep my breathing steady, the hideous scene in my kitchen a vivid reminder that someone was attempting to scare me. But I refused to let them succeed. I was stronger than that, and with Jasmine by my side, I was confident I could handle whatever happened next. When Jasmine arrived, I promptly brought her to the kitchen, where the dead rat and blood-stained photos were scattered on the floor. The stink was still strong, but Jasmine didn't budge.

"Oh my God, Izalea," Jasmine exclaimed, pulling out a handkerchief from her bag to cover her nose and mouth. "Who would do something like this?"

"I don't know," I answered, my voice jerking. "It's just... it's too much."

Jasmine gave me a reassuring hug and rolled up her sleeves. "Let me take care of this," she said calmly.

I reached out to help her, but she held her hands in the air, signaling me to stop.

"Don't worry," she said, her tone steady. "What you need to do is to calm down."

I nodded and gave her a pleased smile.

She took the cleaning supplies from under the sink and began cleaning up the mess. She wrapped the dead rat in several layers of plastic bags and threw it away before carefully wiping the blood from the photo and the floor. She scrubbed the counter and tiles until no trace of the atrocity remained.

I watched, relieved but still shaken. "Thank you so much, Jasmine. I'm not sure what I would've done without you."

Jasmine finished wiping and thoroughly cleansed her hands before turning to me. "You don't need to go through this alone. We'll find out who is behind this, I promise."

I nodded, feeling more calm in Jasmine's presence. "I was so scared," I said. "It was so cruel, so personal."

Jasmine sat down beside me at the kitchen table and took my hand. "We'll get to the bottom of it. But first, you should rest. Let's have some tea and then come up with a plan."

As the kettle boiled, Jasmine made calming chamomile tea, the warm, pleasant scent enveloping the kitchen and helping to mask the remaining odor of the previous incident. We sipped our tea in silence for a few seconds, the tension gradually subsiding. Jasmine advised that I call the police, but I refused. I didn't want them involved for fear of causing further trouble in my already embarrassing predicament.

"What about calling your mom to let her know?" Jasmine gently pressed.

"No," I refused. "I don't want to worry her."

Jasmine hesitated before continuing, "I'm sorry, but haven't you been seeing the news?"

I was puzzled. Jasmine had heard about the agency's plans to end my contract, but she failed to reach me. "It's unlike you, I'm surprised you heard and didn't check on me," I speculated.

My perplexity intensified as I watched Jasmine stutter and fumble for an excuse.

"Oh! Um, uh, well, I... I was thinking, you know. I mean, I thought I sent a message. It may have slipped my memory cause I have been so busy lately," Jasmine said, pondering. "I'm sorry babes."

"It's fine, busy girl," I responded mockingly.

Jasmine chuckled and continued, "Your mom must have seen the news and be worried sick," she stated, her voice steady. "You should call her."

I exhaled. "I'm sure she hasn't seen it yet. If she had, my phone would be overloaded with her messages and calls."

We both chuckled, an insignificant moment of relief in the middle of the tension. Then my expression became serious again.

"Jasmine, could you kindly spend the night? I'm genuinely shaken by everything."

Jasmine agreed without hesitation. "Of course. I planned to stay." She said smiling.

The night hung ahead, uncertain and intimidating.