1
GEMMA
“Gemma? What are you still doing here?” Eduardo Vasquez asks, and I jump at the sudden voice breaking the silence.
I spin on my heels to greet him the way I was instructed at theMaid in Heaventraining course, folding my hands over my lap and giving a degrading half-bow. Though I left that job long ago for full-time service under the Vasquez family, some habits die hard. Eduardo’s head is the only thing poking through the door, his eyes scanning the room as he speaks.
“Mrs. Vasquez said you two were going away for a few weeks. I didn’t want to leave the place in a mess,” I say honestly. With how well they pay, I’d rather put in extra hours now than face a mountain of catch-up work later.
“Okay, but hurry.” A grim severity lingers in his tone, but his stone-cold face refuses any hint at more emotion. “My timeline’s changed, and we need to catch the first plane out of Hamlet.”
“I’m almost done here. These are the last few boxes, and I’ll be out of your hair.” Cleaning houses for the rich wasn’t where I expected toend up at twenty-one. But with a sick mother who can’t care for herself and no father in the picture, my options are limited. Online courses at a subpar college don’t exactly pay the bills.
I struck gold when I met the Vasquez family. They pay too well for what they ask of me, with one condition above my normal duties—if I see or hear something I shouldn’t, I keep my lips sealed.
Luckily for them, my mom barely remembers my name most days, and I don’t have friends to gossip with. Life has made it easy for me to keep their secrets.
His eyes linger on me for an excruciating moment. My first thought is that I’ve pissed him off, overstepped my bounds, and I can kiss this cushy job goodbye. Instead, Eduardo gives me a stiff nod and vanishes down the hall.
It’s not my place to make sense of the strange interaction, so I get back to work. Tonight’s task is moving boxes full of baby stuff from a pile on the floor into the closet. Mrs. Vasquez told me they’ve been trying to have a child for years without success, and it’s finally time to box up those dreams until they actually happen. Knowing how much this must hurt them makes standing in this room so much harder, but somehow it still feels like a monument of hope.
A few minutes pass, with Eduardo’s muffled voice down the hall my only company. Even through multiple walls and the hallway, I can tell something's off. Not sure what, but it makes taking up his offer to leave much easier.
Finishing half the stack and leaving the rest for when they get back from their trip, I’m satisfied with my progress and head for the door. But as I step into the hall, I hear it. Or rather, I don’t hear it. Not a single sound. The sort of empty, eerie quiet in a horror movie right before a jump scare.
And like that build up, it’s immediately drowned out by a woman’s screeching wail, cut short before the sound can travel too far. Behindwhatever covers her mouth, Mrs. Vasquez’s muffled cries still echo through the house.
That’s my cue to run. Bolt down the stairs and never look back. But my body refuses to listen, staying rooted in place by terror and forcing my eyes to stay glued to the inky black hall.
Eduardo says something, but I can’t make out his words over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. The response he gets is two loud bangs that make my body stiffen so rigidly, my bones ache.
Gunshots. Oh, fuck.
I trip, stumbling back into the nursery, almost toppling into the box tower I left behind. A few inches off, and there would be a third bullet fired with my name on it. Then again, maybe there still is. Just because two shots rang out doesn’t mean Eduardo or Mrs. Vasquez wasn’t the triggerman.
No time to think about that. I have to hide.
Slipping behind the boxes, I crouch low, curling in on myself until I’m as small as possible. Nothing to see here, just another box on the floor.
A box that’s having a mental breakdown. Ready to scream or cry or both.
Yeah, definitely both.
“Ha, the guy dropped funny,” I hear someone say when the ringing in my ears starts to fade. A jolt of terror courses up my spine when I realize it’s not Eduardo talking.
“Didn’t know a body could twist like that.” And that isn’t his wife.
Oh shit. Clear voices. That means the door is open, and it’s only a matter of time until they find me cowering.
“Where the fuck are you going? The Don told us to sit tight until he arrives,” one of them asks, inadvertently becoming my savior.
“Gonna stretch my legs,” the other replies, cocky and careless. The sort of guy you can tell has a chip on his shoulder without needing to see him. “Who cares what Ghost wants anyway?”
Ghost.
I’ve heard the name before, and hearing it now turns a feeling of being in a horror movie into a terrifying reality. He’s more myth than man, the kind of legend kids use to scare each other. The monster under your bed. A creak in the night when no one’s awake.
A shadow looming in the corner of the room, always watching.
