“You told me. It’s the place where Emilio Ricci got you from.”
I wish I could forget it altogether, but I know I can’t. The memories are etched into my mind, much like a tattoo is on the skin.
The footsteps creak against the floorboards as he comes to sit beside me by the window, and I can hear his exasperated breathing. He appears agitated, almost wild, with how erratic each step seems. His eyes dart around the room in a frantic speed as he eventually looks at me, grabbing my hand in his as if it could stem the chaos swirling within the depths of his mind.
“There’s no choice, little doll. We don’t have much choice than to investigate the dealings, and perhaps set us free once and for all. Then we can find your friend. It can’t be that hard if she’s now a well-known author.”
I gulp, feeling the truth settle into me. The panic tightens its hold around my heart much like a vice, and soon, it’ll rise to my throat only to choke me to death. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I’m afraid you are,” I murmur.
His hand is much bigger than mine, even colder, as if he’s turned into a wraith. He looks at me with a seriousness that would have made me recoil had he been someone else.
“We need to go back to the beginning,” he says. “We need to confront your past.”
His eyes turn dark, an unreadable expression crossing his expression.
“You want to return to Grimhill Manor.”
––––––––
WHERE IS GRIMHILL MANOR?
I have no memories of its location or where it lay hidden from society’s gaze, deceiving everyone—including the authorities—into believing it was merely an ordinary orphanage.
It’s been too long since Frederick took me after my fruitless attempts at escaping his control—after I killed my mother. How foolish I was to think I could ever break free. There’s no escaping the evil when it comes knocking at your door; you either learn to survive it, or you’re as good as dead.
Nerves settle in my stomach, hammered into place as if by force, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my mouth I can’t get rid of. Every breath feels like a blood-curdling scream trapped in my mind, because, now, I know the truth.
I know where it lies in the woods. And Grey knows how to find the house of my nightmares with the help of an old map.
Tracing down the manor’s location was difficult, nearly impossible, but with enough resources, we did it. It took two full weeks of research, hiding from the ghost of Emilio inside the isolated motel. The real challenge, however, was venturing intopublic without being spotted by anyone. Millvale’s library and bookshop sit right in the town square, a cozy little place I wish I could explore further.
Maybe in another life, I’d settle down here, free from horrors and the masters who want to drag me back to death. But I know Grey despises this place—this is the town where his childhood and innocence were destroyed, much like a fragile vase hurdled against concrete.
Deep inside Millvale’s library, we borrowed computers that proved to be useful for our research. Grey uncovered news from two years ago, eerily aligning with what Daxton had told us at the Dollhouse—Grimhill Manor had burned down.
With more digging, we managed to piece together the story; news articles about an orphanage, the death of the owner Frederick Grimhill, the children who never made it out alive, and then the tragic reports of its destruction by fire. But it was the final article we found that sent my heart spiraling until I couldn’t draw in a proper breath, the world fading around me.
“The fire brigade has been working all night to extinguish the fire, the cause of which remains unclear. They are still working feverishly to extinguish the intense blaze. The house was previously owned by Frederick Grimhill, who earlier this year was murdered, though the killer remains unidentified, and all remaining proof destroyed with the fire. Once used as an orphanage, the property was later revealed to be a front for human trafficking, which the police had been trying to locate for several years. With Frederick Grimhill’s death, the trafficking ring has been dismantled, as he was the leader. Surviving victims have come forward, receiving the help they need.”
The truth had finally surfaced, and survivors had gotten the justice they deserved. Nausea clung to my throat as realityunfolded before me like a film—a truth too overwhelming to grasp. I was a survivor, but I had missed all this, locked away in Dankworth Institute. This only fueled my determination to uncover the connection between Frederick Grimhill and Emilio Ricci.
“I won’t let any harm come to you,” Grey whispers, nibbling my earlobe, which sends a shiver down my spine, waking me from my lingering thoughts.
The wind grazes across my cheek, mirroring the soft stroke of his hand. He stares into my eyes, ensuring I meet the depths of his gaze where every devastating emotion lingers.
“Do you hear me, little doll?” he asks in that gravelly voice, sending delicious tremors through my body like a surge of pleasure, quickly intermingling with the nerves making me tremble.
I nod as words fail me. I don’t know how to act, breathe properly, or walk straight. I’m not sure I know how to function anymore. Every bone in my body protests as we approach the bus station that’ll take us an hour’s walk from the haunted manor—a place I’ve feared with a gut-wrenching sensation for years.
Why am I doing this when I promised never to revisit the past? Forgetting and suppressing would be so much easier. But if we’re to secure any kind of future, we need to confront the past. We didn’t come this far for nothing.
Obliterating everything we thought we knew and figuring out how to stop Emilio is our only shot at starting to live again. Though deep down, I doubt we will ever truly be free. People like us don’t deserve their freedom or happy endings—but I’ll damn sure claw my way forth to get what I want.
We pull our caps low, faces obscured as best as we can, as Grey pays for the tickets. The bus hums with quiet tension as he leads me down the aisle, choosing seats near the back door,giving us an easy escape route if needed.
My chest tightens with each passing minute of the ride that feels like it takes days. Every breath is harder than the last. I can’t stop fidgeting, my fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the seat ahead, which has others glancing at me. Grey’s unease is palpable through the steady way his leg bounces up and down, eyes locked tight on the bus in front of, watching the other passengers with an intensity that could scorch them. He’s taking mental notes on every move they make.
The unpleasant sensation of the bus moving beneath me makes me feel trapped, much like in the car with my mom—anxious, sweating, my breathing shallow. When the engine finally cuts off and we arrive at our stop, my body recoils with the urge to stay in the suffocating vehicle and let it take us God knows where. Anywhere but here. As long as I don’t have to be close enough to the nightmares that still haunt my every waking hour.