Haunted Prey (Unmasked Duet #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The rain had stopped, turning into a fine mist as night settled in. Raindrops coated the window, merging with others as they slid down the glass.

I stared at the rows of twisted bare trees into the dark woods. Beyond the darkness, lights twinkled down the hillside.

But in my mind’s eye, I saw the river.

I closed my eyes and sat straight on the bed, listening to the trickle of water falling from the roof. Splashing to the ground…gushing…roaring.

The roaring of the water was so loud in my head.

I covered my ears.

I saw him go under again and again.

The water turned to blood, and a scream split my skull.

Gasping, I opened my eyes. The roaring disappeared, leaving silence.

Except for an insistent dripping that sounded from behind me.

I turned my head a fraction and saw the shadow of a man as water pooled around him.

No, not water.

I shuddered and didn’t dare look at him.

But I knew what I would see if I did. No, I couldn’t look.

I shut my eyes and covered my face.

Go away. Go away. I can’t face you, I can’t.

GO AWAY.

A knock at the door startled me, and I jumped off the bed. The shadow disappeared as the light from outside the hallway filtered in.

“Eve?”

Nurse Jackie, a small older woman, who had a kind smile that didn’t match the icy blue of her eyes, opened the door so the light reached me and she could see my face.

“Just checking in. Do you need anything before you sleep? Some water?”

I hugged myself as if I were cold, so cold, even though I wasn’t. The room was warm enough, and I wore a gray sweater that was a little too big, covering the top of my pajama pants. Thick socks kept my feet off the cool wood floor.

I should be as comfortable as anyone. I had a warm bed, a dresser with a mirror, and an orchid plant on one side. The walls were painted a nice deep blue with little flower patterns on the edges, covered by neat tropical paintings that made me want to cry for some reason. There was a little blue rug beside the bed and a nightstand to one side with a green glass lamp. The ceiling was high and had a decorative fan. A door to one end led into a bathroom with green and blue tiled floor, a marble sink, and a standing shower. Everything was clean and shiny. It was nicer than a bed-and-breakfast or a hotel despite its simplicity. So unlike a typical psychiatric hospital room.

But they didn’t call it that. Nurse Jackie preferred Rehabilitation and Recovery Center.

“Eve?” she repeated when I didn’t answer right away.

I licked my lips and swallowed. “I’m fine,” I said softly.

“If you need anything, just ring. You know where to find us.” She shut the door, shrouding me in darkness.

I stood there for a long moment before returning to my seat, turning back to the window.

Severfalls. I remembered hearing about it before and it was hard to believe I was here. This was only the first night, but I’d seen much already. And learned more of what I already knew.

It was an old mansion-turned-sanitorium in the twenties. Then, eventually, into a mental health facility many years later with an added addition at the back. It wasn’t like St. Agnes. Only special cases were treated here. Famous people who didn’t want to be seen at a regular facility. Or the highly regarded groups who had a “disturbed” family member they wanted out of the limelight.

Then there were others like me, trauma victims who had gone through intense ordeals. Kidnapped politicians’ daughters, high-profile family murder survivors, cult victims from elite families, and the occasional nationwide sensations like yours truly.

Severfalls was a recovery ward for the rich and famous. But they conducted special studies here too. At least according to Jackie. Only, she wouldn’t go into detail as to what.

Despite what I’d been told, I’d seen very little of the other patients. Most of my time had been spent in the medical wing where they performed various exams, to see if I had any physical or internal injuries due to my horrifying ordeal at the hands of a psychopath . Scans, blood tests, head trauma, organ trauma, vaginal exams. The nurses remarked on some internal bruising and asked me if I wanted to have a rape kit done, but I refused because I hadn’t been raped. They were confused but didn’t pry, probably thinking I had been Stockholm'd just like Liam had said.

When they finally released me, I was taken to the recovery ward. I met Nurse Jackie who was the head caretaker; and a man named Leo, who was tall and lanky, with dark, intelligent eyes. My therapist. He seemed cool-headed, with a suave demeanor like Tyler. A session was scheduled with him the next day even though I didn’t need it.

“I thought I was leaving after the exams,” I had said to Nurse Jackie.

She’d glanced at Leo before smiling at me. “No, sweetheart, not just yet. They want you to stay, maybe just for a night or two to make sure you are stable.”

For whatever reason, I hadn’t argued. What did it matter? I had no real home. My apartment was temporary and would feel too empty now. Uncle Wes’ never felt like home. My childhood home was full of painful memories.

So, I stayed.

They showed me the grounds—the pretty gardens, the pools, the spas, the gym, the lounges with TV and sound system and all the streaming services. In the front lobby, before the stairs, was an entrance hall with an art gallery, and at one end, were conference rooms and a banquet room which looked out to a back courtyard that sat between the recovery ward and the medical center.

Impressive. Yet, I hardly gave a shit.

The one thing I did notice was how empty it was, how few people we encountered.

The people I did see were other women, of different ages, walking the gardens or halls. One in particular was a young girl, maybe even younger than me, bright blond hair and brown eyes. She was reading in one of the sun rooms and smiled at me as we passed.

All the women appeared fine, happy even. They were all different sizes, race, and age groups—but most were young. Nothing seemed off about them, except that they were pregnant.

Big bellies. Almost close to delivery. They were content, a little dazed even, as if they couldn’t believe where they were.

Nurse Jackie waved to them as we passed. She talked about how Kennedy was renovating some rooms and expanding the medical facility even more.

“They are going to have a reveal party here in a month or so,” Jackie had said. “For the new expansion.”

Tyler had mentioned that to me earlier on when he first brought me in. Mr. Foley had left to return to the Martel company and let my uncle know I was okay. Tyler had stuck around for the initial tests, to ease my concerns, then he, too, had left to check in on the work, promising he would visit soon.

If I had an ounce of fuck to give, maybe I would have asked more questions, had been more curious, more aware. But I wasn’t in the right state of mind, too shocked, too numbed out to care much about anything. Definitely not right now. I was still reeling from earlier in the morning, still trying to come to terms with my new reality. Of not being next to Emery on my dad’s boat in Lake Huron by now. Unable to accept that he was gone. Trying to find some way to believe there was the smallest possibility that he survived, but losing out on that hope.

Emery was strong, stronger than any regular man. But he took several gunshots and fell into the icy dark of the river, into a current that moved fast, carrying even the strongest under.

Under…under…and away.

Even if he did get to the shore, I could only imagine he would have bled out before he could get himself to a hospital. There were too many factors, too many scenarios stacked against him.

The only hope left was that I hadn’t seen his body. But surely in a few days, it would wash up somewhere, and I’d hear about it or see it online somewhere.

And that would destroy me even more.

I couldn’t accept that he was gone. I couldn’t.

But the dread of reality was there, killing me slowly.

When they had finished the tour, they’d brought me to the cafeteria and given me something to eat—food I didn’t touch. With the meal, they provided a cup of water and a smaller cup with a pink pill.

“What’s that?” I had asked, suspicious.

“For anxiety,” Nurse Jackie said. “Like Xanax but less side effects and more effective. The others take it too.”

“The others?”

“The other patients. They all take it. It helps with recovery.”

I thought of the women and remembered how content and relaxed they looked. I hadn’t had my own pills in a few days now, and the anxiety had reared its ugly head. Now it was too much to bear.

“It’s one of Kennedy’s most successful products, exclusive only for our patients here,” she explained. “Just try it and see, you won’t be disappointed.”

I probably should have seen a psychiatrist first to be sure, or looked at some paperwork, or even asked what it was called, but to hell with it. I just wanted the pain to go away, to not feel this awful feeling, like I’d wished I had fallen in the river too and joined Emery in his underwater grave.

That thought made my heart break all over again.

I took the pill and popped it into my mouth, then washed it down with water.

Caretakers took my tray away, and Nurse Jackie took me to my room. She left me alone to shower and change. The pill kicked in when I left the bathroom. I was calm, relaxed, like that feeling of waking up on a Saturday and just lounging in bed, never wanting to get up.

I relished in the feeling, sitting on the bed, watching the light fade away.

In the dark, I curled up, pretending I didn’t just have a tiny break from reality, hadn't seen anything in the corner of my room.

Tomorrow, they told me I would see my friends. I wished I could be happy. Instead, I just hoped I didn’t break down in front of them.