Chapter 78
The last thing I want to do is go back to the Glendale. But here I am, crossing the street with Dawn and Jamie, walking up the front steps, swiping my key card to let us into the lobby. And there’s the apartment, with the front door still standing wide open.
The whisky-induced calmness evaporates, and I’m overcome by a sudden feeling that something isn’t right, and we shouldn’t be here. I stop halfway across the lobby and try to turn back. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this.”
“We’ve come this far,” Dawn says, taking my elbow and nudging me toward the apartment. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re right here with you.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Just a quick look. In and out,” Jamie says, taking my other elbow.
Every fiber of my being is telling me not to go back into that apartment—to turn and run—and if Dawn and Jamie want to check it out on their own, then that isn’t my problem.
Except all of this is my problem.
I’m the one who broke into that apartment, when I should have just ignored that text message.
I’m the one who ran to Dawn and Jamie for help.
And that’s exactly what they’re trying to do.
I got them into this, so how can I abandon them?
The answer is simple. I can’t. So I force myself to keep going.
Because if they see what I saw in that bedroom, they will understand, and we can call the police.
And if it isn’t blood, if I somehow got it wrong, then I don’t need to be afraid.
We reach the apartment and step inside.
Dawn takes her phone out and turns on the flashlight, then points it toward the bedroom door. “Is this it?”
“Uh-huh.” I want to say more, but the words won’t come. I can barely breathe right now, let alone form a cohesive sentence.
“Okay. Let’s go take a look,” Jamie says. His hand is still on my elbow, and he steers me forward.
The room is mired in darkness.
Jamie reaches out and clicks the light switch.
The scene before me is no less horrific the second time around than it was the first.
A whimper escapes my lips, because there’s no doubt that this is blood.
Although now I notice something that I missed before.
The blood is dry and crusted. It looks .
. . old. And now the expired food in the pantry makes sense.
Whoever lived here didn’t move out and leave everything behind.
They were murdered, and the horrific evidence of that crime is painted up the walls and across the floor and over the sheets of the bed.
“Oh my God. You were right,” Dawn says.
I’ve seen enough. I turn to Dawn. “Give me my phone. We need to call the police. Right now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What? Why not?” I ask, confused. Then it hits me. I had turned on the lights when I was here earlier, but they were off again when we came back. Something is really wrong. “We have to go. We’re not safe here.”
“On the contrary, Dawn and I are perfectly safe,” Jamie says. “And you would be, too, if only things had gone differently.”
“What are you talking about?” I take a step back and turn around, but we are not alone . . . because behind us, appearing out of the darkness like ghosts, are Catherine and the other residents of the Glendale.