Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Imogene
I woke to darkness.
My head throbbed, my limbs heavy, as if weighed down by lead. My mouth was dry and parched, begging for even a drop of water. The air was stagnant, carrying the faint metallic tang of...what? Blood? Rust?
I blinked several times, trying to force my eyes to adjust to the black void around me.
Where am I?
My thoughts swirled, but all I could grasp were fragmented memories. Being at the townhouse. Packing. Taking out the garbage. Hearing a sound in the garage. Going inside to investigate and not finding anything.
Then the footsteps.
The arms around me.
The blinding pain in my head.
And then nothing.
What happened?
Did Liam find me? Was he the one who took me?
I struggled to push myself upright, my movements sluggish and disoriented. I touched a hand to my forehead, feeling something sticky. The floor beneath me was cold and rough against my bare feet, my shoes having been removed. At least I still had my clothes, but they did little to protect me against the chill that seeped into my skin.
Squinting in the darkness, I tried to make out any details in my surroundings. The space was small and cramped, the walls shrouded in shadow. There were no windows, only a faint, eerie glow coming from beneath the door.
I carefully reached out with my arms, searching for something familiar.
There was nothing. No furniture. No debris. Just emptiness.
The air was cooler near the far corner, a slight draft brushing against my skin. It was the only sensation to cling to, a whisper of the outside world.
What kind of place was this? A basement? It couldn’t be. There weren’t any basements in California. A storage room maybe? A warehouse? With no light or sound, it was impossible to know.
The air felt heavy, oppressive, like it was pressing down on me. A subtle smell lingered, sharp and acrid. It reminded me of bleach, but not clean — something that had tried and failed to mask something worse.
Trembling, I continued searching the space, my fingers grazing the wall. It was smooth but cold to the touch, like stone or concrete. I moved slowly, searching for anything — a light switch, a door, a clue.
Then my fingers caught on something.
Grooves.
I froze, my heart hammering as I traced the indentations with my fingertips. They were small but deep, carved into the wall. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then a space. Another cluster. And another.
Tally marks.
A chill raced down my spine as I kept moving, my hand following the lines etched into the surface. They went on and on, row after row. My breath hitched as I realized how many there were. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Someone had been keeping track of something.
Time, maybe?
I pulled my hand away, wiping my palm against my pants as if I could erase the sensation of those grooves from my skin. But the knowledge of them lingered, crawling beneath the surface.
Who had been here before me?
And where were they now?
The thought made my stomach churn, bile rising in my throat.
Then I heard it — quiet at first, like an echo in a long hallway.
Footsteps.
They grew steadily louder and closer with each passing second.
Pressing myself into the corner, I ran my hand along the wall again, searching frantically for something, anything , that could help me. A weapon. A crack to slip through. A hidden door.
There was nothing except the cold, unyielding wall at my back.
I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would will the footsteps away. Would make me wake up from this nightmare.
But nothing would.
When they stopped outside my door, my entire body went rigid, every muscle pulled tight, as if that might somehow make me invisible. I bit my lip, willing myself not to make a sound, not even to breathe. My body trembled, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stay still.
My ears strained to catch the faintest sound in the sudden silence, my heart beating so loudly I was sure whoever stood on the other side of the door could hear it.
Then a new sound cut through.
Metal clinking against metal.
It was faint but unmistakable, like keys being shifted in a pocket or held in a hand.
My stomach twisted.
The sound came again, louder this time, and I realized it wasn’t just keys being moved. It was someone searching for the right one. Each jingle seemed to echo, magnified by the oppressive quiet of the room.
I pressed my back harder against the wall, my fingers splayed against the cold concrete, as if I could somehow push myself right through it. I held my breath, biting down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
Then came the click of a key being inserted into a lock.
It was slow and deliberate, as though whoever held it wasn’t in any kind of rush. Like they knew they had all the time in the world.
The mechanism turned with a low, grinding noise, every rasp of metal against metal causing my stomach to tighten with dread.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady the wave of panic crashing through me. The smell of damp concrete and bleach grew sharper, mingling with the biting tang of fear that felt like it would suffocate me.
The door didn’t open right away.
The lock had turned, but there was a pause. A heartbeat. Two. Three. Long enough for me to wonder if they were standing there, waiting, listening, just as I was.
The air in the room felt colder, heavier, like it was closing in on me. My palms were damp, and I curled my fingers into fists, my nails biting into my flesh in an effort to stay grounded.
And then the doorknob turned.
It moved slowly, the faint squeak piercing the silence like a scream.
Light spilled into the room, harsh and sudden. It burned against my eyes, forcing me to turn my head away as I squinted against the brightness. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break free from my chest.
A shadow fell across the doorway, and I blinked rapidly, trying to make out the figure standing there.
But when it finally came into focus, my heart dropped at who my captor was.