Lilia’s eyes snapped open, her heart hammering in her chest. She gasped for air, disoriented and drenched in a cold sweat. Her surroundings blurred and then slowly came into focus. The darkened library, the scattered books across the table, and the heavy quiet that hung in the air.
She ran a trembling hand down her face, trying to shake off the lingering dread. Gathering her things, she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and made her way toward the exit, the huge double doors creaking open as she stepped out into the dark autumn night.
The leaves crunched under her feet as she walked off campus, the chill of the winter creeping in. Her mind raced with fragments of the dream, her thoughts too tangled to make sense of anything. The walk home was short, the streets nearly empty, and soon she found herself fumbling with her keys at her front door.
The house was dark, except for the soft overhead light from the kitchen. A package lay on the doorstep and she sighed, bending down to grab it, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders.
Inside, the silence was thick, the kind that made every little sound amplified. She set the package down on the counter, her mind still buzzing from the remnants of the dream as she dropped her bag to the floor and shrugged her jacket off.
With a deep breath, she flicked the kitchen light on and rummaged through a drawer for scissors. The blades sliced through the tape with a sharp sound that echoed in the stillness. As she peeled back the bubble wrap, a faint, pungent smellwafted up, making her pause. Her hands stilled on the box, and dread pooled in her stomach.
When she finally pulled back the last layer of wrapping paper, a scream tore through her throat.
Her hands shook violently as she stumbled backward, her breaths coming out in ragged bursts. Her eyes squeezed shut, but the image was seared into her mind—the contents of the box, so horrifying, so wrong. She scrambled across the floor, her hands desperately reaching for her bag, her hands trembling as she searched for her phone.
She was about to dial 911 when a message pinged on her screen, the sharp sound like a punch to her gut.
“No,” she whimpered. “Please no.”
Her breath hitched as she opened the message.
Unknown:Need a hand? I figured you could use some help. Cops in this town are shady business—just ask Detective McCall.
Lilia shook her head, her breath hitching in panic. A photo was embedded in the message—a grainy image of Detective McCall and Willow on the night she disappeared.
Her world tilted, and the floor seemed to drop out from under her as she stared at the screen in horror.
Her fingers trembled as she stared at the message. The image of Willow and Detective McCall burned into her mind. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and the room seemed to spin on its axis; she swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a steadying breath, but it did little to calm her.
She needed to talk to someone, anyone, who could make sense of this. Her mind immediately went to Augustus. He’d know what to do, he always knew what to do. With shaky hands, she found his contact.
It felt like an eternity before he picked up.
“Gus,” she whimpered.
“Lilia? What’s going on?”
“Gus,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I need you. I-I need you to come over. It’s . . . it’s bad. Bad.”
“Lilia, I need you to slow down. Breathe, okay?” She could hear the sound of his car door opening. “Talk to me, baby. What happened?”
She can hardly even think about the slip up.
“I got a package. And there’s . . . there’s something in it. It smells funny, like . . . death?” Her words were tumbling out now, frantic and breathless. “There’s something inside.”
There was a pause on the other end, heavy with tension. “I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything. Just sit tight.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay. Please hurry, Gus.”
The line went dead, leaving Lilia alone with the oppressive silence of the house. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold that seemed to seep into her bones. Her gaze flickered back to the box on the counter, and she shook her head.
What felt like hours passed, but it was only minutes before she heard a car pull up outside, followed by the hurried sound of footsteps. The door burst open, and Augustus rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her.
“Lilia,” he said, his voice dripping with relief as he crossed the room to her. His hands cupped her cheeks, the pads of his thumb wiping tears from her face. “Are you okay?” His eyes traveled across her face. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, unable to form the words. Instead, she pointed toward the counter, where the box sat, its context partially visible through the torn bubble wrap.
Augustus’ expression darkened as he moved toward it. He carefully pulled back the remaining layers of wrapping, and hisface hardened when he saw what lay inside—a severed hand, cold and lifeless, the skin pale and mottled.
