Chapter 23 Jace
JACE
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The steady sound carries through the dark room.
A musty scent hangs in the air, the smell of being underground or in a basement.
My skull throbs, the soreness radiating through my brain and spotting my vision.
Course rope fibers chafe my wrists as I attempt to move, rocking side to side.
Solid metal collides into my arms. My ass is numb from the cold, damp floor.
Each movement sets my muscles ablaze as I try to acclimate to my surroundings.
Dread sinks in, and I realize I’m trapped.
My chest tightens, the tendons of my rib cage straining with every breath.
Bits and pieces of memories break through the fog in my mind—the creature in the woods, Elias’ confession, and then his hand on the back of my head as the door rushes up to meet my face.
I move through a cycle of facial expressions, testing my skin for injuries.
My nose is tender, but sharp bolts of pain shoot through my temples when I raise my eyebrows.
I groan, struggling harder against my restraints, the rope rubbing my skin raw.
My shoulders grind in their sockets from the uncomfortable angle my hands are tied behind my back.
Heavy footsteps thump overhead, sending dust sprinkling down on me.
The sound moves from one side of the ceiling to the other, ending in the far corner of the room.
A door swings open, slamming against the wall.
I sprawl my legs, trying to scoot myself further back, but I run into the harsh solidness of a pipe.
It strikes between my shoulder blades, and I suck on my bottom lip to keep from crying out, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
Boots clunk down a set of stairs, one slow step at a time.
There’s a pause, then the familiar click of a light switch.
In the center of what I can now tell is a basement, a single light comes to life.
It flickers hesitantly, as though it might extinguish of its own accord.
My eyes sting from the sudden brightness, but I can make out the blurry outline of a figure standing at the bottom of the staircase.
“You’ve found yourself in a whole lotta trouble, girl,” Elias slurs. He reeks of liquor; I can smell it on his breath even from my spot on the floor. He stumbles toward me, beer bottle in hand. “I never thought I’d have you down here.”
“Please,” I beg him, the word a razor blade slicing through my dry throat. “Just let me go.”
“‘Fraid I can’t do that now.” Elias stops halfway between me and the stairs.
From this angle, he looks larger, more menacing, even with the clammy sheen of sweat on his skin and glassy eyes.
One hand balls into a fist, and he uses the other to take a swig from the bottle.
He belches, rubbing his gut over his stained work shirt, and shuffles another step forward.
My stomach barrels over, my face paling as waves of queasiness roll over me. Tears prick my eyes, but I’m unable to wipe them away. I look up at him, my bottom lip quivering. Is this how Cyrus felt before he died? Sick with fear?
“Yer what it wants, darlin’,” he chuckles ominously. “Thought killin’ my boy would keep us safe. Then that little bitch Mattie went and died—but it keeps coming back.”
“What?” I whimper, forcing myself to focus on what he’s saying, though my mind is reeling. “What does?”
“The fuckin’ monster.” His voice goes flat, like mentioning it takes the air out of him. “The thing in the woods. Ya saw, I know ya did. Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me now, girl.” He spits, the wad splatting on the floor near my foot.
Terror slides up my spine, tendrils of it breaking off and twisting through my body.
I’m paralyzed by the memory of the creature, the shadows and the voice it used to try and lure me in.
The mockery of my mama’s voice echoes in my mind.
I want to deny it, scream at the top of my lungs I don’t know what he’s talking about.
Instead, my muscles refuse to move, but my bones are ready to shake themselves out of my skin.
The cold truth of what I saw spreads like frost through my nervous system—because I do know.
“No matter what I offer it, it keeps comin’ back.
When will it be enough?” Elias snarls, looking up and calling out to some invisible force.
He doesn’t move closer, only shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
His presence hovers over me though he’s still at least three feet away.
There’s sadness seeping through the anger in his voice.
He chokes up, becoming distant, like the words are no longer directed at me.
“Maybe you’ll finally be enough. They weren’t.
Cyrus wasn’t. Mattie wasn’t. Ezra promised this would end.
Maybe it needs somethin’ from all of us. ”
“Why?” My question floats away from me, disappearing from my throat before I realize I’ve said it out loud. His head snaps down, disdain flickering in his eyes.
“To pay it back.” He drags a hand down his face. An animalistic sound rumbles from his chest. “So this can be done!”
I don’t ask anything else, and he doesn’t offer more.
Elias’ nails tap against the glass bottle, like he’s making silent decisions about how this will play out.
Seconds drag by, and I’m watching my fate slip through his fingers, but I’m too scared to move, too scared to even breathe.
Finally, he mumbles something indecipherable.
I hear the air whip past his arm as he raises it.
I flinch, trying to draw my body inward.
The bottle explodes above my head with a bang.
Shards of glass rain down on me. I duck my head, but I’m unable to avoid them.
My tongue suffocates the roof of my mouth, suppressing a whimper.
“Fuck you,” he grumbles to no one, stumbling up the stairs. He turns the light off before slamming the door, and I’m alone again in the dark.
I sit in unsettling silence for several minutes—maybe hours, I can’t be sure.
In the corner of the room, something rustles, shaking me from my dissociative state.
I squint, straining to see anything in the dark.
My eyes stare into the endless inky abyss, waiting for the source of the sound to take shape.
I shiver in the quiet, cold stillness, knees knocking together.
I squeeze my legs together, trying to restrain them.
My voice trembles, coming out as a whisper of a shout. “Hello?”
Nothing answers, but the noise comes again—louder, closer.
The outline of a figure emerges, like it’s stamped upon the musty air of the basement.
The opaque appearance looks like millions of dust particles suspended together in the shape of a person.
It gradually becomes more distinct, drifts nearer, until intense hazel eyes appear on a face only a foot away. I gasp, softly choking on his name.
“Cyrus?”