Chapter 24 #2
“The backup should kick in any second,” Hudson muttered, but he was already reaching for his phone. A moment later, the weak glow of his flashlight pierced the blackness.
Daniel’s beam joined his. Then mine.
But the generators stayed silent.
No hum. No buzz. Just the distant roar of the storm.
“Why doesn’t the generator kick on?” I asked.
Then a sound came from somewhere outside the house.
High-pitched.
Sharp.
Loud.
Not just loud. Piercing.
It sounded like a frantic yelp cutting clean through the howling wind and low rumbles of the storm.
“The dogs!” Hudson’s eyes widened in terror.
He bolted through the door and down the entrance hallway.
We thundered after him. The moment he pulled down the entrance door handle, a gust of wind exploded through the doorway, flinging the door open with a deafening blast. It hit Hudson full-force.
He went down hard but scrambled back up, stumbling sickly before charging into the rain.
We followed close behind. Wind tore at our clothes. Salt and rain stung my face the second I stepped out behind Daniel. I wiped the water from my eyes. What I saw made my stomach drop.
Several dogs tore across the yard, barely visible beneath the bruised sky.
Rain slicked their fur as they darted in and out of sight.
Everything was washed in a murky, bluish gray hue that made it hard to tell where the ground ended and the storm began.
For a split second, a flash of lightning lit it all.
The dogs were everywhere, bolting toward the garden, their paws splashing through puddles as their panicked barks were swallowed by the roar of wind and waves.
“The dogs!” Hudson’s voice, raw and frantic, cut through the storm. He stumbled into the downpour, pointing wildly. “She let them out! I need to get them! Bring Emily upstairs!”
Thunder rolled so loudly, it shook the ground. Rain stung my face, sharp and cold. My pulse stumbled, then hammered on, wild and uneven. I wanted to help catch the dogs.
But then the ringing came—high-pitched, piercing, sudden. It tore through my head, and pain shot across my neck like fire. My scar pulsed hot. I glanced down. Blood, thick and fresh, streaked my chest.
The world tilted.
The waves roared louder than before, smashing over the road in heavy bursts. The sky darkened, swallowing what was left of the horizon. Salt hit my nose, lips, face. My bare feet looked pale and childlike against the drenched gravel. The rain hit my skin like cold needles.
I ran straight for the dangerous road, swallowed by gigantic waves. I knew it could kill me. And yet, in that moment, it felt safer than whatever chased me from behind.
Suddenly, a hand seized my arm and yanked me back, snapping me out of what felt like another flashback. I looked down—my feet were mine again, not childlike. Shoes on. The idea of running onto the road seemed insane now.
I gasped and twisted—and there was Daniel. The storm still raged, rain lashing the windows, but it wasn’t the nightmare world I’d just escaped. The sky was dark gray, not black. My scar had stopped bleeding.
“Emily!” Daniel’s voice was strained against the wind. His grip was solid, holding me in place. I’d walked all the way down the stairs and toward the road without realizing it.
“Daniel!” Hudson’s voice cracked as he yelled behind us. “I told you to go upstairs and lock the door!”
Daniel’s grip tightened. In an instant, he was dragging me back into the house.
We rushed through the hallway, our wet feet slapping against the floor. In the kitchen, he snatched two massive knives off the counter. Metal clinked as he handed one of the knives to me.
“Daniel, what’s going on?” My voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded strange, hollow, as if I were speaking through water.
Everything still felt foggy and disjointed, like I was dreaming or stuck inside a memory.
He didn’t answer, just grabbed my wrist and pulled me up the stairs.
We stormed into our bedroom. He scanned the room quickly, his phone flashlight darting through the darkness.
“Fuck!” he hissed, then yanked me down the hall and into his parents’ old room.
As soon as we were inside, his eyes fixed on the tall dresser beside the large double doors. He rushed to it and dragged it halfway across the floor. The heavy wood scraped loudly. He left just enough space to slip through the doors and back into the hallway.
“Close the door,” he said. “Then push the dresser in front of it. If anyone but me tries to open it, lean your body against it. Use your weight. It’ll hold her out.”
“The woman in the basement?” My voice cracked as I felt a cold wave of betrayal.
She was real.
And he knew it.
His response was flat. “Use the knife. Kill her if you have to.”
“Daniel, wait!” I wanted to say so much more, some of it in anger, but it all died in my chest. My worry for him swallowed everything else.
A human scream cut through the house.
It was long and guttural—the kind of scream that could only come from real pain.
Hudson.
My stomach turned. The knife in my hand trembled.
“I love you,” Daniel said. Then he turned and ran down the dark hallway.
“Daniel!” I shouted after him. “Wait!”
But his flashlight beam vanished down the stairs.
“Daniel!” I screamed again, just as another bolt of lightning cracked the sky. It was followed by a deep rumble that shook the floors.
I thought about running after him. But what if he came back? What if he brought Hudson here to get them both to safety—and I was gone?
I hated it, but I closed the door and shoved the dresser the rest of the way in front of it. My arms ached. My heart pounded.
Then I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.
Pacing. Trembling. Furious. Confused.
What the hell was going on here?
Cynthia was real. She’d been real all along. Daniel knew about her. And now she was loose, tearing this place apart.
That meant I hadn’t hurt Rascal. It hadn’t been me. However, dread soon swallowed my relief.
Who the hell was this woman?
And why had Daniel and Hudson kept her locked away?
A lifeless recording answered my 911 call: “All operators are busy assisting other callers. Please stay on the line.”
I listened to the message a few times, cursing under my breath. The storm must have slammed into the mainland hard: power outages, fires, fallen trees, flooding. Who knew what was happening out there? And they weren’t getting to us over that road until the storm passed. It would probably be hours.
I hung up to preserve my battery.
For a moment, the house was still. The only sound was the wind howling outside.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight. The pale beam cut through the room in strips.
Everything looked the same as before. The bed was made, but no nightgowns were laid out.
The wall still held the discolored outlines where old pictures had once hung.
I sighed with relief. At least no fresh photos had appeared, like in some horror movie.
I swept the light across the makeup table.
And froze.
The pig figures.
Those damn pig figures.
They were there again, lined up in a perfect row, smiling like they were proud of themselves. Their little painted eyes glinted under the flashlight, cartoonishly cheerful. Too cheerful.
The high-pitched ringing rose in my ears.
I shut my eyes hard. Pressure exploded behind them. Pain flared in my skull.
A flashback hit.
Bright. Blurry. Disjointed.
I was holding one of the pig figures, small and round, offering it up to someone towering above me.
My father? My mother?
Whoever this person was, he or she slapped the figure from my hands. It clattered across the floor and broke.
“You always had the most useless hobbies,” came a low, gravelly voice from behind me. It rolled through my skull like thunder.
I snapped back to the present. The storm. The dark room. My breath caught.
In the mirror above the pig figures, something moved.
A shadow slipped behind me.
I spun around, but I was too slow.
Something hard cracked against the side of my head. The pain was instant and white-hot. My knees buckled. A sharp sting pulsed through my skull as the world twisted sideways.
Then everything vanished.