Chapter 44
Brooke
I'm still in the manor.
The ground presses cold and wet beneath my palms, and the mud glues itself to my skin in heavy streaks.
Pine needles cling to my forearms as I struggle to push myself upward.
Pain throbs through my shoulder where the crossbow bolt tore through me, and the sensation crawls down my arm in steady electric pulses that make my fingers twitch uncontrollably.
Miles lies motionless behind me with his blood soaking into the forest floor, and his body doesn’t move or respond.
I try to crawl forward with every ounce of strength I have left, but my legs refuse to cooperate. My arms buckle beneath my weight, and every inch forward feels futile and hopeless.
Asher steps out from between the trees with his crossbow already raised and aimed at my head.
Elliot follows with the chainsaw balanced in his hand.
The motor roars awake with a jagged snarl that vibrates through the ground and through every bone I have.
Sophie moves to his left with her curved blade catching the dim light that filters through the branches.
Knox stands behind them with his axe held loosely at his side while he watches me.
They form a half circle around me.
Elliot tilts his head with a slow smile that carries nothing except cruel satisfaction. He lifts the chainsaw, and he lowers the snarling blade toward my face.
I scream as the world shatters open around me.
I lunge upright in bed with my breath tearing through my chest and my hands clawing at the sheets as if the fabric can stop a blade.
Seth reaches me before I can even inhale.
He wraps his arms around my body and pulls me tightly against his chest. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other presses firmly against my spine, holding me together while the nightmare shakes every part of me.
“Hey, breathe,” he murmurs into my hair with quiet patience. “Breathe baby. You’re here with me, and you’re safe.”
My heart slams against my ribs with frantic force.
“I was still there,” I whisper with shaking breath. “All of them were there, and I couldn’t move or fight or breathe.”
He tightens his arms around me.
“I got you,” he holds me tighter. “You’re safe with me.”
I let my forehead rest against his chest until the tremors inside my body soften into something manageable.
After a long minute, I pull away from him.
“I need to move.”
His eyes search mine with slow concern. “Where?”
“I need to clear my head,” I say. “I’m going to the gym.”
He studies me for several seconds before he nods. “Alright, I'll stay here.”
I press a kiss to his shoulder, slide out of the bed, and dress quickly. My feet move silently down the hallway while the house settles into stillness.
The punching bag waits in the corner of the gym. I wrap my hands slowly and step toward it.
The first punch lands with a deep, hollow thud that echoes through the quiet room.
I throw another punch and then another. Each impact sends a sharp spike of pain down my injured shoulder, but the burn only fuels the motion.
I keep hitting until sweat collects at the base of my neck and my breath grows loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
I picture Elliot’s grin, and my fist slams into the bag. I picture his eyes, and my knuckles sting with the force. I picture the chainsaw, and my breath grows ragged.
He feels like an infection that refuses to leave my mind. Sophie, Grant and John live there too. They lodge themselves inside the darkest corners of my thoughts, and they wait for me whenever I close my eyes. Killing them won’t fix this.
I can put a bullet in Elliot’s head. I can carve Sophie open. I can watch Grant bleed out on the floor. It won’t matter.
They will still be here.
In my sleep. In the dark corners of my head. In the split second before I relax.
They don’t just die and disappear. They stick.
And if I am still waking up like this years from now, then in some twisted way, they already won.
I step back from the bag with my chest rising too fast and my hands trembling from adrenaline.
My phone rings with a sharp sound that slices through the room.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and answer without checking the number.
“Hello, Brooke,” a distorted voice says. “Wanna play a game?”
I freeze for a breath and scan the gym, checking each shadow and every corner.
“Cute,” I reply. “Are you Jigsaw or are you Ghostface?”
“Neither.”
“Seth?”
“Nope.”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“You shouldn’t be asking who I am,” the voice taunts. “You should be asking where I am.”
My jaw tightens hard enough that I feel it in my ears. I step into the hallway slowly and my nerves climb fast.
“Bad dream?” the voice asks, and the mocking tone crawls under my skin instantly.
I move toward our bedroom with steady steps.
If this turns out to be Seth, he is about to piss me off.
I stop in the doorway and look in. The blankets on his side are still raised around him.
I stay where I stand because nothing about the room feels right.
I reach toward the dresser and grab my knife, letting the weight settle into my palm as my heartbeat picks up.
“Are you planning to ask about my favorite scary movie?” I ask slowly, “or are you planning to try to kill me? Kristie doesn’t have money to pay for bounties since she’s dead, and you will join her if you choose to fuck with me.”
The voice pauses for several seconds.
“I like your fire,” the voice says finally, quieter now, almost amused. “Let’s see if you can find me, because you’re very cold right now.”
I step into the hallway with my pulse rising, knife steady in my hand.
“Cold,” the voice says.
I turn left first and check the guest room. The bed is empty. The blinds are closed. The closet door sits slightly open. I push it wider with the tip of the knife and find nothing.
“Still cold.”
I move down the hall, slower now, listening. I check the bathroom next. The shower curtain is open. There is no one inside.
“Freezing.”
My jaw tightens. I step back into the hallway and head toward the stairs.
“Cold.”
I move closer to the top of the stairs outside the gym.
“Still cold.”
I start down, one step at a time, my hand sliding along the railing as the second floor opens into the main level below. My eyes sweep the space automatically, checking the couch, the windows, and every corner.
“Better,” the voice says. “Not by much.”
I step off the last stair and cross the living room, passing the long couch and the wide windows that look out toward the dark line of trees. The glass reflects my movement back at me, knife in hand, shoulders tight. The house is quiet, but something about the silence presses against my skin.
“Warmer.”
I pause near the kitchen and glance toward the back door, then toward the hallway that leads deeper into the house. My pulse starts to pick up.
I turn toward the back hallway. I reach the hallway and slow my steps, every nerve pulling tight.
“Warm.”
I pass the laundry room and find it empty. I check the storage closet and find nothing there.
“Warmer.”
I stop in front of the basement door. My fingers tighten slightly around the knife.
“Hot.”
I push the door open. The staircase down disappears into shadow. I descend slowly, the steps creaking beneath my weight as the tension thickens with every step. My breathing stays controlled, but my pulse is loud in my ears.
“Burning.”
I step off the final stair and onto the basement floor. I flick on the lights, and the room fills with harsh brightness that cuts through every shadow.
The figure stands in the far corner with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest in a posture that shows complete confidence and control.
He wears only gray sweatpants that cling low on his hips, exposing the deep line of muscle that frames his abdomen.
A faint trail of dark hair runs from his navel downward, disappearing into the waistband of the sweats and drawing my eyes lower before I force them back up.
The black skull mask covers his face entirely, but everything below it is unmistakably Seth.
He looks relaxed and confident and completely aware of the fear he has manipulated inside me.
My breath catches despite the rush of irritation through my chest.
He tilts his head slowly in a gesture that carries wicked amusement. He lifts his phone to his mouth, his voice deep and distorted as it comes through the mask.
“You’re on fire.”