CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
Panic consumed me. It pounded against my ribcage, the cracks echoing loudly inside the now empty gallery.
The Devil’s laughter sent me to my knees, hands over my ears in a pathetic attempt to shut him out.
I struggled to breathe, as if smoke were infiltrating my lungs, and that was when I heard the crackling flames.
They slithered toward me, inch by inch, heat drawing sweat from my pores.
“No,” I whispered, trying to stand up, “no, no, no, no.”
I whirled around in search of the exit, but there were only flickering flames surrounded by an endless void. Where was Nathaniel? Had he gotten to safety?
Struggling to capture enough air in my lungs, I stumbled forward, hoping the exit would appear as I ventured through the darkness.
But there was no end in sight. I was going to die.
This was real. It had to be. Surely hallucinations couldn't kill you.
Not like this. Coughing, I collapsed to my knees and hunched over, tears burning down my cheeks.
You better get used to the heat…there’s a lot more of it in Hell, the Devil cackled.
The flames crawled closer and, with no other way to process my fear, I screamed.
Hands clasped my shoulders and shook me, a voice that was not the Devil’s calling my name. I opened my eyes, slowly, and blinked as the white walls of the gallery and the classic artworks filled my vision, brown eyes locking on mine with concern.
“Breathe,” Nathaniel whispered, both his hands on my shoulders as he crouched down in front of me. “Breathe, Augustus. In and out. Just like that.”
I inhaled when Nathaniel inhaled, exhaled when he exhaled.
A security guard approached with a plastic cup of water, and I drowned it in one go to cool my burning throat.
The gallery had been emptied of people, no doubt frightened from the screaming mad man.
What was happening to me? It had never gotten this bad before. Was I completely losing my mind?
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?” I heard the security guard ask Nathaniel.
“No, it’s okay, I’ll take care of him,” Nathaniel replied. “We’ll leave now so we don’t cause any more disruptions. I apologise for the inconvenience.”
I let Nathaniel pull me to my feet and guide me back out into the carpark.
He was speaking as he helped me into the car, but his words formed a string of nonsense I could not decipher.
It wasn’t until we were pulling into the hospital car park that I snapped out of my daze and finally registered the words he was saying.
“…and we’ll just get you checked out in case maybe you’ve taken something that’s making you unwell…”
“I haven’t taken any drugs!” I snapped.
Nathaniel blinked, whether surprised by my snap or simply that I’d finally spoken, I didn’t know. “Okay,” he said, calmly, “but I still think we should let a doctor take a look at you.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt while I sat, unmoving.
There was no way I was going inside a hospital. All I wanted to do was go home, sleep, and then have dinner with Auden. If I went inside the hospital, I wasn’t sure who would come back out.
“Augustus,” Nathaniel sighed. “I don’t know what happened back there. It was like…like you were somewhere else entirely.”
“It was a panic attack,” I said, glaring straight ahead of me as my hands curled and uncurled on my lap.
“Okay…but you couldn’t even see me. I was right in front of you and you–”
“I’m sorry if I scared you but I was having a panic attack that obstructed my vision and hearing,” I interrupted.
“You were hallucinating,” Nathaniel said, voice more firm now. “You were seeing something that scared you. You were screaming.”
My hands trembled uncontrollably. I moved them under my thighs, my bottom lip caught between my teeth as tears pooled in my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. Not again.
“I’m not going to force you,” Nathaniel whispered, his hand resting on my knee. “But I really think you should. The doctors can organise an MRI or a CT scan and–”
I pushed his hand off my knee and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me. Nathaniel followed, his own door clicking shut quietly.
“Augustus–”
I didn’t wait to hear what he had to say—I ran. I ran until I reached a park bench and dumped myself down onto it, face buried in my hands. Nathaniel must have lost track of me, or given up, for I remained alone.
Never alone, little monster.
A quiet sob escaped the back of my throat, the Devil's clawed hands sliding over my shoulders, piercing through flesh. I still didn't know the truth. Was he real? Or was it all just in my head?
I didn’t remember how I got back home, only that when I did, Auden was reading a book on the couch, headphones on and uniform discarded for sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.
He looked up when I entered, and his eyes widened in a way that indicated I must have looked as bad as I felt.
Not wanting him to see me in such a state, I shook my head and told him I was going to shower.
He was waiting in the hallway when I emerged from the bathroom in only a pair of black shorts, my wet curls slicked back away from my forehead.
“Are you okay?” he asked, following me into my bedroom.
“I’m fine, Audie,” I tried to give him a reassuring smile, “just tired.”
“Are you going to have dinner?”
“I think I’m just going to go to sleep. Are you okay to eat leftovers?”
“Yes, but–”
“Goodnight,” I announced as I flopped down on my bed.
In a matter of minutes, sleep lured me into what I had anticipated to be a nightmare, only for it to be a dream I’d never had before.
I was inside the House on North Lane, seated at the dining table, sun pouring in from the kitchen window as I finger-painted with Auden.
He looked only around three or four, which meant I must have been around eight or nine.
We wore identical Spider-man aprons, our fingers stained a mix of green, red and purple.
My father was mowing the lawn out the front, the sound echoing through the entire first floor while my mother dusted the living room.
She was asking Auden and I what we were painting when she accidentally knocked a candle from the bookcase, smashing it to pieces.
With a yelp, she stepped back and in distress, called for me.
“Help me clean this up,” she said, hands shaking.
I reached for a dustpan and broom and began cleaning up the shattered glass and wax.
“Help me, help me, help me,” she kept repeating.
I was confused, given the fact that I was helping her. And then her words changed to find me, find me, find me. And those quickly became save me, save me, save me.
I turned to face her, dustpan falling from my hands as I instinctively backed away. Her hair was dishevelled and tearing from her scalp, her skin deathly pale. She was wearing the same white gown she’d worn that last night in North Lane, ash and dust clinging to the material.
Her hands found my wrists, holding me in place as she whispered, “Help me. Find me. Save me.”
“You’re right here, Mumma,” I said, desperately trying to unshackle myself from her firm grip.
“Help me. Find me. Save me.”
Her face twisted and her jaw snapped open, an inhuman scream escaping her throat as the floor trembled beneath us.
Small critters poured from her mouth, falling to the wooden floorboards like a raging river.
They crawled up my legs, slipping beneath my shirt and under my skin.
She leaned closer, the stench of death and decay massacring my nostrils, and repeated her phrase. Help me. Find me. Save me.
The nightmare ended with heavy breathing and a pool of sweat.
I sat up, glancing toward my alarm clock and the blearing red 3:33am.
Running a hand over my face, I focused on my breathing and blindly reached for my phone.
I had dozens of messages and missed calls from Nathaniel, and the memory of the day before came crashing back to me.
Guilt weighed heavy on my chest as I read through each one of Nathaniel’s messages asking if I was okay, apologising, begging me to let him know where I was.
I didn’t understand why he cared so much, and although I was still weary of whether any of it was real, I knew I’d hate myself if I let him worry a moment longer.
'Hey, sorry, I’m okay', I wrote back, 'I’m home.'
I didn’t expect a response until a reasonable hour, but Nathaniel’s message came in under a minute.
'Thank God. I’m sorry for today. I’m here if you need anything.'
I didn’t have the energy to assure him I was fine, so I liked his message and put my phone away, my mind returning to the dream.
Help me. Find me. Save me.
It was no doubt a crazy thought, but what if my mother was trying to reach me?
She needed help, she wanted me to find and save her.
Maybe after all this time, she realised she was in a cult and couldn’t get out on her own.
I had no evidence to back up this absurd claim, but it was the only reasonable explanation for why she never came back.
She needed saving and my father had failed.
And I, too, would fail if I didn’t try to find her.