Chapter 9 #3
He pulls his shirt up, the metal of the gun catching on the light from the streetlamp. “Why do you think I brought this?”
“For fucks sake, Cull. You’re not one of the Avengers.”
He rolls his eyes and continues up the steps.
The sight of the gun does nothing to quell my rising fear. “Here I thought I was the only one with a death wish,” I grumble.
He stops cold, his hand gripping the front door knob. He shoots me a lethal glare before turning the handle. The door opens without resistance, the lock long busted by someone before us.
Cull is being reckless right now, and I’m just following him like a dumb lost dog.
We step into a foyer that is a ghost of what it used to be. Heavy cobwebs drape from the crystal chandelier, and a thick layer of dust covers the hardwood floor beneath our feet.
“I didn’t think breaking and entering would be on my bingo card tonight,” I whisper, my hand reaching out to grasp the bottom of Cull’s t-shirt.
“Nothing was broken, so technically, this is just entering,” he whispers back, inching towards the family room.
Yeah, I don’t think the cops would see it that way.
“You do remember I’m still facing false rape charges, right?
I don’t think getting caught trespassing is going to do me any favors.
” My uncle is still working hard on my case, but Heather and her family are doubling down on what they believe happened.
It’s frustrating, but Uncle Eli is doing all that he can to clear my name.
“Why do you think I wanted you to stay in the truck?” he snaps back.
I huff a breath but don’t reply, just follow him through the abandoned house.
The floors creak with every step, dust swirling through the weak strips of street light leaking in through the drawn curtains.
Dark patches of mold crawl up the walls, and every corner looks disturbed somehow, with tiny droppings and claw marks gouged into the baseboards like small animals have been living here longer than people have.
We step into the living room, and the difference is immediate. The air doesn’t smell as damp in here, and I don’t see a single spider web hanging from the ceiling corners.
Family photos line the walls, their frames polished and straight instead of buried beneath grime. A blanket is folded neatly at one end of the couch, and the coffee table holds an empty water bottle and a half eaten take out container.
The whole room feels untouched by time while the rest of the house rots around it.
“Cull, I think Mason is still living here,” I say quietly, motioning to the pillow and blanket lying on the end of the couch.
Cullen carefully pulls the gun from his waistband and holds it loosely by his side. His shoulders are tense as he continues to lead us through the house.
This place is giving me the creeps. I know I was keen on leaving this world a few weeks ago, but this isn’t the way I wanted to go. I picture some slasher villain stalking behind us, waiting to gut us from navel to neck.
I still have intrusive thoughts—sue me.
The sheer size of this house is intimidating. Mason could be hiding anywhere in here, and we would never know it. Not until he jumps out and—
The ceiling creaks above us just as my phone starts to ring. I spring into the air like LeBron James going for a dunk, clinging to Cullen like my life depends on it. He reaches behind him, locking his hand around my wrist, trying to calm me.
Fuck, this place isn’t good for my overworked brain.
My phone continues to wail in the dead silence of the house. I scramble to get it from my pocket to see that my mom is calling. I shoot her a text telling her I’ll call her back asap, and that I’m okay.
My parents are keeping an annoyingly close eye on me lately, and as much as I hate it, I understand why.
I’m basically considered a liability now.
I’m supposed to check in every hour, and even though Dad reminded me before Cull and I left for our date, wandering through Frankenstein’s castle made me completely forget.
“Cull, let’s get out of here. I don’t know what you expected to find, but I currently have the desire to live, and this house is giving off serial killer vibes.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just shoots me an irritated look before dragging me out the front door and back to his Chevy.
We sink into our seats, the truck idling on the curb.
“Hud, I really wish you’d stop with the dying jokes.” He’s on edge, I can tell. Hell, I am too after that not-so-fun house we just walked through. “They aren’t funny. They just remind me of how close you came to actually dying.”
“Sorry. My therapist says it’s a coping mechanism.” I’m not really all that sorry. I’m doing whatever it takes to heal, dark humor be damned. “Can we get out of here? I don’t know what you hoped to achieve by going in there, but it was stupid.”
Cull sighs. “I had a gun. I could’ve handled anything that came at us.”
Arguing isn't going to solve anything, so I drop it. “Let’s go home.”
He nods his agreement and slowly pulls us away from the curb, but not before I catch a dark shadow slipping away from one of the upstairs windows.