Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Kallie
A pitch-black abyss burns my retinas with a vengeance as I stare down the wooden stairs.
Only a few worn planks are visible before disappearing into the darkness, and the set of rotting posts do nothing to ease the bone-churning anxiety taking hold.
Fire appears in my palm on a silent command, lighting up the small distance in front of me.
With a final, sharp exhale, my feet carry me down one step at a time.
The stairs creak beneath my weight, and I swear the eerie silence gets louder as the door grows farther away.
The roughly twenty steps seem never ending as I finally reach the bottom, taking what feels like my first breath since I was standing at the threshold.
It was smart blowing the door off its hinges; now there’s no chance of it getting closed.
Locked. And that’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.
A noise sounds to my right, and I turn instantly, eyes widening even bigger, begging for them to make out a shape that is real and not something my mind has made up.
My other hand runs along one of the posts holding the staircase up, attempting to find a light switch somewhere, but all I get is a splinter in my finger.
“Shit,” I hiss, snapping my hand back to my chest. Whatever made the noise doesn’t sound for the next few seconds, and I battle with myself if I should investigate further. But ultimately, I chalk it up to my mind playing another one of its humorless jokes.
The small flame only offers a small distance of light, and all it showcases is the dust particles floating in the air. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to give a hint that this is anything other than a forgotten basement.
But I know better. Callum has always been full of secrets, never showing his hand. My head spins with the different possibilities of what I could find down here. Peering left, my eyes squint to see anything on that side, but with my next step, my toe hits something hard. A fireplace.
“Motherfucker.” I bite on my lower lip to distract myself from the pain radiating from my foot.
But it is a blessing in disguise, I guess.
Not wasting any time, I shoot the flame into the fireplace’s opening, and instantly, the place illuminates in a soft warm glow.
The fireplace looks to be made up of some sort of white-wash stone.
A bit dusty, covered in cobwebs and some sort of…
slime? Goo? Something that I think is better left unknown.
But looking past all the grime, it could be beautiful. And I bet it was, once upon a time.
It’s tragic how something so beautiful can be cast away, forgotten about, and abandoned until all that remains is the bones of what it used to be.
Getting myself back on track, my attention pulls right once again, but I’m only met with an empty space.
The noise was probably just a rat—or the Siderium version of a rat.
Shaking my head, I pivot in the opposite direction, where a makeshift table sits along with a single chair.
Papers lay scattered along the dusty surface, and it’s hard to tell if it’s organized chaos or pure mayhem.
I pick one of the pieces up, trying to get an idea of what purpose they hold, but I come up empty when most of the writing is worn off.
Scribbles of illegible words, only a few letters here and there, but nothing that’s of any use.
I set it back down, and dust particles fly with the movement, but my eyes continue to browse.
A few cupboards line the wall above a small counter and stove, and I note one of them that’s been left open.
Quickly, my feet shuffle toward the oddity—not that it’s that odd, but everything down here gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Jars and bottles of all different shapes and sizes rest on their sides, like someone was looking for something in a hurry.
My fingers gently wrap around the nearest bottle, but I quickly move onto the next when I see there isn’t a label. Jar after jar, I notice none of them have anything to identify them, either from removal or disintegrated by time.
What a strange game of roulette to play with yourself.
Feeling defeated, my eyes scan the short length of the counter, only to find one last bottle sitting upright on the stove.
There’s a single piece of tape stretched across the side with the word ‘emergency’ scribbled over it.
Out of curiosity, I tip it over, and it’s bone dry. The absence is louder than the spill.
Well, whatever emergency already happened, and I guess I’ll have to pray I’m not met with one myself. So far, there isn’t anything incriminating down here, and it seems so strange to have this room kept so secure.
A rattle sounds behind me, and I spin around fast. The bottle slips through my fingers but I don’t pay it any mind as it shatters on impact.
Taking a hesitant step forward, the broken glass shatters more beneath my weight.
Cautiously, a flame flickers into my palm again, giving me more light, along with the roaring fire I placed earlier.
The top of the stairs calls to me as I pass, begging for me to go back up into the light and forget this place existed.
But I don’t take the bait, knowing answers to the questions I haven’t even asked remain buried somewhere down here.
Rounding the post, I’m not surprised when there isn’t much to see.
Boxes lay haphazardly around the space, some stacked three or four high.
A few sit open, but after rummaging through, I only find a few blankets, empty picture frames, and other miscellaneous items you often don’t care about after you move.
My brows pull together, not understanding the importance of keeping this place so secure.
Frustration takes hold, and before I can stop myself, I light up one of the boxes and watch the orange-red hue engulf the cardboard.
It blazes high, nearly touching the ceiling, but before it can make contact, I make it jump to the next one resting beside it.
And I continue, going from box to box, burning whatever it was he was holding on to.
Because of him, I have nothing left to hold on to.
That pull, the one that sits so deep in my chest, tugs harder and harder with each disintegrating box, because that other side of me, the one that still wants—needs—him is still very much alive.
And I would do anything to burn that out of me.
So right now, when there isn’t anything else for me to do, I burn his belongings, everything he either cared or didn’t care enough about to unpack, and I let that settle as part of the revenge that I know I’ll never truly have.
A glimmer in my peripheral catches my attention, and the flame reflects in a doorknob otherwise hidden on the adjacent wall. My hand quickly swipes in front of me, snapping closed in a fist, causing the flames to vanish in an instant.
Another fucking door. This guy takes paranoia to a whole new level.
Turning the knob, I’m utterly shocked to find that it’s not locked. I guess he never assumed someone would make it this far. But in the grand scheme of things, he should’ve known the moment he told me I couldn’t come down here that it was only going to fuel my curiosity.
The room on the other side is cold—freezing, is more like it.
Subzero-degree temperatures constrict my lungs as I fight for my next breath.
Instinctively, my arms wrap around my front, trying to keep whatever warmth is left intact.
Suddenly, an indescribable feeling washes over me, and I have to fight not to run like my ass is on fire.
Fear creeps in like an old friend, caressing down my spine, enticing goosebumps to follow with the sudden phantom touch.
Peeling one of my icy hands from my sleeve, I run my palm along the small wall to my right, searching for a light switch I know deep down isn’t there.
My fingers achily wrap around something hard, almost velvety, and I have the smallest sense of relief when I realize it’s a torch. How very caveman-like, because of course it couldn’t be as simple as installing a light.
As easily as breathing, I light the top, and my body instantly gravitates toward the little heat it gives.
My breath puffs out in front of me as I exhale, and I take a step forward.
Going over to the right, there’s a map spread out across the wall.
Notes are written over it, strings connecting one point to the next, but the map is of somewhere I don’t recognize.
However, that could just be from lack of light.
Air catches in my throat when I see pictures upon pictures of myself plastered next to the map.
Candid shots of me at school, at the gym, dozing off in class.
Literally every aspect of my life before this one is captured in time.
And it’s a bit jarring. I study each frame with excruciating focus—especially in this exceptionally low lighting—and each picture is like a blast from the past, and I think back to all these times, knowing I had no idea I was being watched.
But maybe I did. All those days and nights I felt eyes on me, all the days I convinced myself I was crazy because there wasn’t ever anything there.
But there was—hidden in the shadows, completely out of sight.
Underneath the wall covered with my face is a small end table with a notebook I know all too well.
It’s the same one I used to write in every night.
Every time I had a nightmare, every time I couldn’t sleep, every time I had to convince myself that it was going to be okay.
And I convinced myself that if I just wrote it all down and got it out of my system, I could move on.
I wish that was the case.
Why did he take this? Then again, why didn’t I notice it missing?
Without a second thought, I pick the torch back up and set the pages on fire.
The pictures follow closely behind, the edges scorching before the flame consumes my face.
Over and over again. I ignore the cold still seeping through to my bones, uncaring if the single tear sliding down my face freezes to my cheek, and just watch as that part of me dies for good.
The small table threatens to become a casualty in my despair, but I quickly put a stop to it, afraid if I let it keep festering, I’ll watch this whole place burn around me.
The distinct rattling that I heard when I first got down here pulls me out of my daze, sounding louder and closer than before. I hold the torch out farther in front of myself, swaying the flame as I try to get a better look.
My steps are hesitant, calculated, because I have no idea what I’m going to run into. The frigid air seals ice in my veins, my body locking instantly when the flame showcases the bottom of a metal cage. The start of iron bars cemented into the ground is the first thing I see.
A fucking cage.
A prison cell that’s been down here this whole time.
Was he always planning on throwing me in one?
Waiting for the perfect moment if I wasn’t compliant in going with him to Astralis?
But no, that doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t like that before we left.
Right? No, Ambroyss made him like that. And that’s what I have to believe.
It’s the only last remaining shred of redemption I can hold on to.
The bars shake with a thunderous bang, and I jump back, tightening my grip on the torch.
Whatever’s inside pushes on the enclosure over and over again, and for a brief moment, I think it’ll break through.
It lets out a guttural cry, frustrated that it can’t get out.
My steps are slow and precise as I muster up the courage to go toward whatever beast is locked away.
I make sure to keep a healthy distance between me and the enclosure, afraid if I get too close, the creature will swipe through the bars and get ahold of me.
Shadows cast over the structure, light and dark mingling over the small space.
A space that looks even smaller than the one I had.
My heart stills in my chest as my eyes catch sight of the cowering creature in the farthest corner.
There are so many conflicting things wrong with this picture. The glowing eyes and snarling mouth with rows of razor-sharp teeth are both on this otherwise seemingly normal…fae?
My mouth gapes open in horror. “What are you?” The question hangs heavy in the air, stretching thin between the empty space.
The creature turns its head like it understood, and it very well could’ve.
But the off-the-wall shit is that it looks to be half Demicrogen, making the already jumbled images in my head blurry, unable to make sense of it all.
It stares at me as I take sideways steps, crossing one leg over the other in slow, unrushed movements, needing to get to the other side to get a better look.
I raise the torch higher, but it quickly tries to get farther away, shying away from the orange hue threatening to expose its face.
My hip bumps something off a nearby table, knocking it onto the ground and startling not only me but the beast.
I swear for a moment he was embedded into the bars.
It bares its teeth at me as I bend down to pick up what fell, and I never take my eyes off him as I slowly wrap my fingers around the velvety leather binding. Luckily, there’s another holder close by, and I gently place the torch inside.
I remove the strap, and the journal nearly busts open.
Turning to a random page, I hold it close enough to the flame that I can make out some of the words—words scribbled in Callum’s handwriting.
Data entries litter the paper. Some of the information doesn’t make any sense, but others are just simple intake and outtake.
My eyes shift up at the creature then back down at the notes, connecting the dots.
He captured this creature? Studying it like a rat in a lab?
I flip all the way to the front, wondering if there’s a name written down somewhere. But all I find is more unanswered questions.
Name: Unknown
Origin: Unknown
Purpose: Unknown
Species: Demicrogen, Fae
Powers: Unknown
Do powers transfer once the transformation is complete?: Unknown
But in the midst of my research, I never heard the footsteps, never heard the stairs creak. And the sound of his voice transports me back in time, sending chills down my spine that has nothing to do with the dropping temperatures.
“Looks like you’ve stumbled into my playroom.”