No more movements come, and I hesitantly turn my back to the living room and the kitchen. That’s when I spot the door leading outside standing ajar, all thoughts of hesitation leaving my mind. I drag the hoodie tighter over my frame to stifle the freezing temperature, heading outside while fearing the absolute worst.
What happened to Grey? I never should have fallen asleep.
I can’t shake the feeling that Emilio Ricci might have gotten to him. Grey never believed me when I told him I’d seen Emilio—I get it; I wouldn’t have believed myself either. But what if he was truly there? Guilt churns in my gut as I step out into the quiet night, the crisp air biting at my skin.
A soft, humid warmth melts away the lingering coolness—summer is now in full bloom. The world has long shed its thin layer of frost, replaced by a vibrant greenery, the fragrant scent of grass, and blooming flowers. It’s hard to believe so much time has already passed since we escaped the dollhouse just a few weeks ago, when early summer still clung to the landscape with its fading chill.
The grass feels soft underneath my feet as I step off the porch, the warm soil making my feet sink. The serene silence of summer wraps around me, broken only by the creak of a branch as a bird’s wings flap against it, or the distant howl of an owl far in the distance.
I focus my gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the car to my right. It’s the car where Grey’s parents died—I realized that when his eyes locked on it the day we arrived, before he collapsed to his knees in defeat. I can’t think of what Daxton did, or that Grey took accountability for the murders.
I don’t even want to think about what horrors the crumbled walls of this house have witnessed over the years. The place reeks of stories untold, ghosts of the past lingering around every corner like a haunted silhouette.
“Grey?” I ask, hoping he’s out here, but he’s not.
On instinct, my nails find my wrist as I scratch as hard as I can, continuing down the path leading outside the manor’s perimeters.
With each step I take, the more my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach, as hard and steady as the Titanic did.
The gate stands wide open, its rusty hinges creaking as I close it behind me while casting an eye over the yard. The manor stands eerie in the darkness, with clouds covering the moonlight and preventing any source of light. I swear I see a silhouette moving from behind the house walls, but it’s gone the next moment.
Gravel crunches underneath my feet as I scan the area, but Grey is nowhere in sight. Panic tightens its poisonous grip on me. Where the fuck is he?
Self-hatred wells up inside me alongside dread as I fist my hair, at a loss for what to do next. In frustration, I scratch my wrist once again, finding a preserved satisfaction in watching my paler skin turn red from the irritation, small blisters forming as blood seeps from them.
“Grey?” I call out, my voice tinged with desperation, praying he will answer me.
I want to believe this is all a joke, but deep down, I know that isn’t the case. I can feel it down to my marrow. It’s like being back at the dollhouse all over again when Arthur had me running through the woods in the hope of saving Grey in time. Like then, everything falls apart around me.
Another step outside the manor’s perimeters has pathetic tears burning behind my eyelids, loneliness and distress seepingthrough the cracks of the carefully constructed shield around my soul.
I gaze toward the rusty train tracks and swallow harshly at how dark it is. One might think that you’d be immune to the darkness after being ensnared in it for months, endlessly trapped, but it’s in these shadows that monsters worse than me thrive, and I have no desire to become their prey once more.
Something out of place catches my attention on the tracks—a slumped figure lying motionless. I squint my eyes, trying to discern any details. It doesn’t move an inch, only lies there.
When it finally does move, it lets out a horrible cough penetrating the silence. As the moonlight peeks through dispersing clouds, I glimpse strands of black and red hair, sending a surge of adrenaline through me.
Without hesitation, I break into a run, the few meters between us disappearing in a blur. Each step crunches on the tracks, the icy air burning my lungs.
The figure is battered, blood trickling down his nose, bruises darkening his eyes and lips. His arms are wrapped protectively around his ribs, his face twisted in agony.
“Grey?” I whisper in horror, but he doesn’t move. “Grey!”
My heart beats wildly within me. The other day, I saw the signs—he wasn’t nearly as hurt then, but I knew something was wrong. I should have done something. This is all my fucking fault.
It devastates me to see him so vulnerable, sending a spear through the cracks of that shield protecting my soul. I fall to my knees before him, taking in his usually composed demeanor that’s now shattered by the bruises on his body. The moonlight filtering through the trees casts a glow on his pale skin, revealing even more injuries. Nausea has bile rising in my throat that I’m forced to swallow.
His eyes don’t open, which only has the panic worsening,pounding inside me like the deadliest weapon. I try to wake him, but he’s unconscious, and I can’t help the fear running through me.
“Grey!” I scream, but he doesn’t even stir.
A phone peeks out from his pocket, and my heart skips a beat. When did he get the money to buy this? None of this feels good. My hands tremble as I grab the phone, nearly dropping it onto the ground as I fumble to unlock it.
There’s only one person I can call, and a small spark of hope blooms inside me. He’ll know what to do. I memorized his number the moment he gave it to me in case of emergencies.
As I dial, I stare at Grey’s unmoving form, his face too bruised and face contorted in agony even in unconsciousness. I can’t help the tears spilling down my cheeks, salty on my tongue as the phone rings…and rings…no answer.
“Please, Daxton,” I whisper, my voice a broken plea.
