Chapter 63. Holly
Holly
“Jade? Are you down here?”
Holly had never moved so quickly in her life. The girl who once got a C in gym class—which takes real effort—was somehow faster than Ethan now, her adrenaline peaking. The busker’s words echoed in her mind: Nothing was plugged into that machine except a metal tube venting through a small window …
Time was her enemy. Every second could mean the difference between life and death.
She rushed into Miramar and down the uneven tower steps. The scent of mold was strong—musty and earthy, dank like wet, decaying leaves. Dampness sank into her skin. It felt like venturing into a crypt.
Ethan yelled to her breathlessly from above, “Holly, wait up—it might be dangerous!”
But his warning only made her descend faster, skipping steps, almost flying down the stairs. At the bottom, she lost her footing and stumbled into the opening, her knees colliding with the rough-hewn floor.
She righted herself as though nothing had happened; she couldn’t allow herself to feel pain.
She called Jade’s name again.
No response. All she heard was the muffled roar of the generator running outside. Was it a mistake to rush into the basement before turning it off? Nothing she could do now.
Holly had stumbled into a dank, gloomy landing—part of the neglected underworld of Miramar.
An imposing wooden door stood directly in front of her, left slightly ajar with a key still in the keyhole.
Holly tried to hold her breath, but it was impossible.
The air didn’t taste poisonous, but carbon monoxide was a silent killer.
She opened the door and stepped into the room without hesitation, aware that her safety was at risk.
Ethan came up behind her, hunched over, hands on his knees, desperate to catch his breath.
A faint smell of urine coated the air. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark as she took in the scene.
Shards of broken glass littered the floor, scattered over pools of sour-smelling wine.
Outside the window on the other side of the room, the generator shuddered and roared, a tube extending from it pressed against a metal grate. A sweatshirt stuffed into the opening of the tube hopefully prevented a fatality—or two, as there were not just one, but two bodies lying on the floor.
One was unquestionably Jade. Was she moving?
Was she alive? Holly couldn’t say. She lay peacefully on her side, as though asleep.
A second figure, female, with long, dark hair, had her back to the door.
She huddled behind Jade, pressed up against her inert body, one arm draped across her waist. She was bleeding heavily.
Ethan didn’t hesitate. He went straight for Jade, hoisting her off the floor like she weighed nothing. He heaved her over his shoulder while backing into the landing. “Drag the other woman out,” he yelled to Holly. “I’ll be right back to help.”
As if in a dream, Holly reached for the second victim, grabbing under her arms and trying to avoid the raw wound on the woman’s shoulder.
When she turned the woman over, Holly’s world came to a stop.
Until that moment, she believed she had words for everything. She had built her life around words. But now Holly found herself both speechless and numb, as though she had dissociated from her body.
It’s the trauma. The gas. I’m hallucinating.
The face before her was so familiar, so deeply carved into her memory, so very much … like her own.
Anna.