The Imaginary Friend’s Obsession (Monster Research Facility #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

I call Ezra and wait on the porch, trying to staunch my nosebleed. This is a particularly bad one, rendering me lightheaded and foggy. My wrist throbs, too; the red marks have now darkened into visible bruises.

Soon, Ezra pulls into the driveway and emerges with an armful of ghost-hunting equipment. But he sets it aside to pull me into a hug and then steps back to look me over.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say with a weak smile.

“Thank God,” he mutters. “Ouija boards are nothing to mess with, Daisy, especially for people like us.” He grabs his equipment again. “Stay here while I have a look around.”

I grab his arm before he can enter the house. “Wait,” I say. “I-I-I don’t think it’s safe in there. Let me come with you.”

He smiles, gently removes my hand. “I’ve dealt with hauntings before. I’ll be all right, I promise.”

And so I end up on the porch, unable to do anything but shiver and wait. Five minutes pass, and then ten.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

I pull the door open and hesitate there, staring into the foyer. It’s quiet and still. Deceptively normal. “Ezra?” I call, and step inside.

The silence is deeper than usual. There are none of the usual creaks and groans, like even the house is holding its breath. My steps seem to echo faintly as I move forward.

“Ezra?” I call out again, louder.

The lightbulb above flickers—and then shatters, plunging the room into darkness. I shriek as glass rains down around me, and I retreat toward the door—but it slams shut behind me.

“ Ezra !” I shriek again, panicked this time. I grab the handle and pull, but it’s stuck. I try to reach for my powers, but my fear is too overwhelming, making it difficult to concentrate.

Something is breathing in the darkness behind me.

I whirl around, pressing my back to the door, and choke on a frightened sob. Blood flows steadily from my nose, dripping over my lips and down my chin. “Leave me alone!”

Footsteps thud down the stairs, and I am frozen, stuck between running toward them or away—but when a warm hand grips mine and that familiar connection sparks, I immediately know that it’s Ezra. The EMF reader in his other hand is going haywire, the meter a bright, dangerous red: Maximum activity.

Ezra drops the reader on the floor, providing a dim illumination, and reaches for something else. “Salt and iron,” he mutters under his breath. “Maybe just salt will hold it off—” He pulls out a salt shaker and spills it on the floor around us.

I wipe my hand over my still-bleeding nose and flick it over the salt. It’s not much iron, but maybe—

The EMF dies. Ezra and I are both still, clutching each other and breathing fast. Then I fumble for the handle behind me, and the door creaks open without resistance.

We both race to Ezra’s car. I curl up in the passenger seat, one hand pressed to my nose to staunch the flow. Ezra reverses out of the driveway hard enough to make me lurch in my seat and stops only when we’re past the gate.

I hug my knees to my chest, heart pounding in my ears and blood still dripping between my fingers.

“Jesus.” Ezra runs shaky fingers through his hair. “I…I couldn’t find anything at first. I wasn’t getting any readings until you stepped into the house, but the strength of that reaction to your presence…”

As terrifying as the experience was, something like elation bubbles up inside me.

“Did you check the attic?” I ask.

“I was about to when I heard you call for me.”

I knew it . I smile, triumphant. “Do you understand what this means?”

Ezra frowns at my expression. I imagine how I must look—blood dripping from my nose, grinning like a maniac—and try to control myself. “That you’re in danger,” he says. “I’ve only felt this kind of malevolence once before, Daisy. It’s…” He shakes his head, sucking in a shuddering breath. “You remember how I told you that some spirits can warp over time? Turn malicious? That’s what it feels like. They become something that most of us would call a demon. ”

I pause at the word “demon,” fear flickering through me, but still I cling to my original thought. “Okay, but it also means there’s another possibility we haven’t thought about.” He tilts his head, clearly not understanding, so I continue. “It means maybe it wasn’t Dorian or me that killed my parents that night. There’s someone—or something—else in the house. It was already there back then. It must be the one responsible.”

And maybe it’s the thing that was haunting me in those confusing old memories. The rules hidden under my mattress: Don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. Ezra told me that attention is how spirits gain strength.

Ezra’s frown is thoughtful but still troubled. “If that’s the case, why wouldn’t Dorian tell us?”

My shoulders slump. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe he’s scared of it. He did say it was dangerous for me to remember.”

A strange expression crosses Ezra’s face. “When did he say that?”

I pause, realizing my mistake. “During one of our sessions? When else?”

Ezra shakes his head. “I would’ve remembered that,” he says. “I never would’ve entertained the thought of doing more memory retrieval attempts if that was the case.”

“But we have to!” I lean forward, desperate for him to understand. “Don’t you see? This is our chance to prove that Dorian is innocent. To argue for his release. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course it is,” Ezra says. “But not if it puts you in danger. We both know what happens when you push too hard to regain your memories. You almost drowned. Maybe that’s what Dorian was warning you about when he told you it was dangerous.” He glances at me again, brow furrowed, and I know that he still doesn’t quite believe me about when Dorian said that to me.

“Then let me ask him about it,” I say. “Face-to-face. This isn’t the sort of thing I can discuss with him through a plane of glass with the cameras on.”

Ezra shakes his head. “You know I can’t sanction that,” he says. “And it’s too risky. We have to do this right if we want to get him released. We have to be patient, for the sake of the future of the MRF and all of the other subjects there.”

Frustration boils in my chest.

“I don’t care about all of that,” I snap. “I don’t care about anyone but Dorian!”

Ezra flinches.

I pause, mouth open, shocked at myself. I’ve harbored guilty thoughts like that before, said it to Dorian when he needed comfort, but I didn’t mean to say it aloud. It was like something pushed the words out of me.

“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I whisper. “But please, Ezra…” I lean forward, taking one of his hands in mine.

There’s a crackle of power as our fingers touch.

Ezra freezes. The color drains from his face.

I jerk back in my seat, suddenly afraid. “What?” I ask. “What did you just see?”

He looks away, his mouth opening and shutting as he struggles for words. Then he glances back at me, and his lips move, but no sound comes out, and—

* * *

I’m elsewhere. My head spins and my knees go weak, but strong arms hold me up. Four of them.

Dazed, I blink up at a familiar white mask above me. Nearby, static and distorted bits of song scream out of the radio as it rapidly switches. “Dorian?” I whisper.

I’m in his cell. I glance around, trying to reorient myself as my head spins. Is this real? A memory? My imagination?

Dorian’s arms are solid as he holds me, but I pinch my own hand hard , just in case. A flare of pain tells me this is really happening, though I’m not sure how I got here.

Looking around again, I notice that the light on the camera is off. The shutters are closed, and so is the door. It’s just Dorian and me in here, no Ezra, no MRF recording.

I don’t know what just happened, but I must’ve convinced Ezra, somehow, to bring me here. I can’t let the opportunity go to waste. I grab on to Dorian’s shirt, but he pulls back like he’s been burned. I finally get a good look at his eyes, wide and wild behind his mask. He looks…terrified.

“Dorian,” I say, my voice trembling. All of me is trembling; there’s a chill in my bones, a weird fog filling my thoughts. “We don’t have much time. I need you to tell me the truth. Please .” I reach for him, but when he flinches back, I grab at my own hair instead. Winding my fingers through the long strands in an attempt to hold myself together. “But I’m remembering. I know there was something else there that night.”

The radio’s song goes garbled. The lights flicker above us.

“No. No! No,” the radio says, each one a different voice, a different volume.

“If you didn’t do it, just tell me,” I plead. “Then we can go home, Dorian. We can be together. Isn’t that what you want?”

He retreats from me, fingers dragging down the sides of his mask hard enough that I can hear the awful scrape of it.

“What are you afraid of me remembering?” I ask, stepping closer to him. “There is nothing you could’ve done that would make me hate you. You’re my best friend. My lover. My other half. Even if you did something awful, I know it was just to protect me. It’s okay. Even if it was me who did it, please just tell me, I promise it’ll be all right.”

He looks up at me, his eyes haunted behind the mask. His mouth moves, and a moment later sound comes through the radio—his voice, whispering.

“Anything,” he says. “I’d. Do. Anything. For you, Daisy.”

“I know,” I say with a sad smile. “So tell me the truth.”

He takes a step closer to me. I stay very still, afraid to scare him off, as he slowly approaches.

“But you—” His voice in the radio gets louder, clearer, the closer he comes. “Betrayed me.”

I jerk back. “What? No, I—”

“Turned me in to—” The radio switches to a mechanical voice, like an old recording. “Melsbach Research Facility.”

“No,” I croak. I can’t remember, but I wouldn’t have done that. I couldn’t have. I refuse to believe it.

The radio goes back to Dorian’s voice. “Abandoned me.”

I step toward him despite my heart pounding in my ears. “But I came back! I was confused, I was scared, but I’m here now. I’m here for you, and I won’t leave you again—”

“After I—” He steps closer too, until we are mere inches apart. “Killed. For you.”

My heart drops. “What?”

“Killed. Your. Parents.” His voice through the radio is clearer than it’s ever been, but I can’t seem to understand through the numbness. “For. You .”

“No,” I say. “No, no, no, that can’t be right…”

“You did this to me .”

And suddenly his hands are around my neck, squeezing.

This isn’t like the empty threat the last time I was here. He lifts me off the ground, grip cutting off my air entirely. His thumbs dig in until I gag. I struggle against him, choking and gasping for oxygen that won’t come.

The door flies open behind me. My eyes dart toward it as my legs kick uselessly in the air. Ezra is there, striding toward us.

“That’s enough,” he says. “Get away from her, Dorian.”

He flicks a handful of something at Dorian— salt —and Dorian flickers out of view.

I fall to my knees on the floor, gasping.

Dorian reappears, standing over me. He lets out a low animal snarl from behind his mask; the radio screeches and the lights flicker above us.

Even when Dorian had his hands on me, a part of me didn’t believe he would truly hurt me. But Ezra…yes, I believe he would hurt Ezra.

“You,” Dorian snarls through the radio.

He lunges toward Ezra, and I jut out a hand. “ Stop ,” I shout, and the entire room seems to vibrate with the echo of my word. My emotions are a torrent, fear and regret and pain. I reach for my powers and they surge through me in answer.

Stronger than I expected.

Dorian flies across the room, his tall, spindly body slamming into the opposite wall. With a sharp crack, his mask splits down the middle. I gasp and drop my hand, cutting off the surge of power.

“Oh, God,” I say. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

Dorian looks up at me, and I get a glimpse of twisted scar tissue and missing flesh before he covers his face and disappears from view.

Ezra, pale and trembling, turns to me. “Thank you,” he whispers.

I stare wordlessly at the spot where Dorian disappeared. The shock in his expression keeps replaying in my mind.

For a few seconds, we are both frozen. Then someone clears their throat behind us. Ezra and I both turn to see a woman in a sharp suit standing in the open doorway, her expression one of barely contained fury.

“Mr. Bradford,” she says, eyes narrowed on Ezra. “What exactly are you doing?”