13. Hysterical Screams and Half-Naked People
Selene
This place is gorgeous. Actually, no. This place is a fucking masterpiece.
Stepping over the threshold, I realize the master bedroom is by far the most beautiful, evocative room I’ve seen yet. The walls are lined with dark wood wainscoting, the ceiling is crossed with massive exposed beams, and the floorboards creak beneath my boots with an antique, almost musical sound.
I think I’m staring at everything with my mouth hanging slightly open, captivated by the decadent, majestic atmosphere. It’s so gorgeous that, for a split second, I almost forget I have to share it with Ron Willers.
For that exact reason, I force myself not to focus too much on the bed.
I make a superhuman effort not to look. I keep my gaze stubbornly fixed straight ahead, even though I can still see the towering wrought-iron bedframe and that dangerously inviting mattress in the corner of my vision.
The room has an en-suite bathroom, which is already a huge plus, but my favorite part is the massive bay window built into the back wall. It looks straight out onto the dark edge of the woods, and beneath it is a wide window seat covered in lavender pillows.
I can already picture myself curled up there with my laptop, staring out at the trees on rainy nights.
Actually, I can't wait to do it. A hot shiver of pure creative excitement runs down my spine. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long, long time.
No, I am absolutely never telling Jessica she was right.
"So, what do you think?"
Ron’s voice drifts over my shoulder. He sounds cheerful and enthusiastic, like a puppy begging for praise.
Meanwhile, I’m doing everything in my power to get him out of my head.
Which would probably be easier if he stopped talking for more than five consecutive seconds.
I take a deep breath.
I must not think about the fact that talking to him is actually... almost pleasant.
I must not think about how, a little while ago, I instinctively looked for comfort in his presence when I felt completely out of place around the other contestants. Or how I drifted closer to him without even realizing it, drawn in by his warmth.
And I absolutely cannot think about how intrigued I was to find out he likes reading and old legends.
Most of all, I need to stop thinking about the way something in my chest twisted when he told me about his past.
How does he do it? How does he manage to stay so ridiculously optimistic all the time, no matter what?
I wonder what it must feel like to be him.
What it would be like to have a brain capable of finding something good in everything.
To be so bright, so full of life, able to shrug off the weight of the world like it’s nothing.
To make friends with literally everyone...
or even inanimate objects, apparently. Because I’m absolutely convinced he could.
I can picture it perfectly: Ron alone in a room, giving an inspirational speech to a dull pencil. Yeah. That feels very him. Completely ridiculous.
Dammit. Just imagining it almost makes me smile.
“It’s... wow,” I finally answer, latching onto the first words I can find to pull myself out of the dangerous spiral of my own thoughts. But even to me, my voice sounds distant.
He, however, seems completely satisfied with that answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him nodding, his expression lighting up with almost boyish pride.
I turn toward him. Our eyes meet in the dim light of the room, and instantly, I feel myself slipping again.
Falling straight back into that endless blue of his eyes.
My pulse kicks up hard, merciless and impossible to control, because—God—I’ve just remembered that we’re going to be sleeping in the same room for the next few weeks.
And then, suddenly, an utterly absurd noise.
Followed by a piercing female scream that rips through the silence of the house so violently I nearly jump out of my skin.
Ron and I stare at each other, eyes wide. Ollie, who had been peacefully sniffing the baseboards, suddenly snaps to attention, ears perked and nose pointed toward the half-open door.
“What was that?!” Emma’s voice echoes from the hallway, sharp with alarm as she rushes out.
“It came from downstairs,” Ron says immediately.
I step up beside him. “Did someone already pee themselves?” I murmur.
Ron stops dead. He turns to look at me, surprise quickly melting into a wicked, lopsided grin.
“So you can crack a joke when you want to, Queen of Darkness?”
I glare at him and shove his shoulder lightly as we both head for the door.
He pretends he’s been hit, staggering theatrically against the doorframe, one hand pressed to his chest as he chuckles under his breath.
“Clown,” I whisper, shaking my head.
On the wooden stairs, halfway down to the first floor, Sierra and Dustin are making out with alarming intensity, tangled together as they stumble their way down.
Heavy sighs, muffled groans. Those two clearly don’t know the meaning of decency.
Everything erupts in an instant.
Footsteps thunder up and down the stairs as everyone rushes out of their rooms.
“Did you guys hear that scream too?!” Josh’s voice cuts through the chaos as he appears, closely followed by Lizzie, her hair visibly messy and her cheeks flushed.
“Yeah,” Sam says, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Then he does a double take, frowning as he looks his teammate up and down. “Wait a second… what the hell are you doing without a shirt on?”
Josh is, in fact, shirtless, his unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely from one hand. He’s adjusting his belt buckle while trying very hard to look alert and professional.
“That’s not relevant right now,” he huffs, running a hand through his messy hair.
He was clearly already occupied with Lizzie… judging by her furious blush and the guilty little laugh she’s trying to hide behind her hand.
“Dude…” Sam crosses his arms over his chest, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. “So that’s what you needed those twenty minutes for—carrying bags upstairs.”
Right beside me, I hear Ron clear his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. I know him well enough by now to recognize that look—he’s about to drop one of his ridiculous innuendo jokes.
I whip my head toward him and shoot him a death glare before he even gets the chance. He immediately throws his hands up in surrender, but his blue eyes are absolutely laughing at me.
“What’s going on?!” Carolina bursts into the living room, completely out of breath, with Indya and the rest of the group right behind her.
In the middle of the room, Katherine looks at us, mortified. She’s clutching a massive leather-bound volume to her chest, her face so flushed with embarrassment that even her nose is bright red.
“Guys… I’m sorry,” she says, raising a hand. “I got completely absorbed in reading the legend of the Scarlet Lady in this journal, and then… a window slammed somewhere and I jumped out of my skin.”
A collective sigh of relief breaks the tension in the room, and a second later we all burst out laughing.
Sam walks over to her, grinning, throws an arm around her neck, and pulls her in close, ruffling her hair before pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to her temple.
“Sweetheart…” he says, glancing over at Josh. “If we’d known that, we could’ve put our infamous twenty minutes to much better use.”
Josh shoots him a death glare while Lizzie giggles again.
Indya steps forward. “What’s the legend of the Scarlet Lady?” she asks, tying her copper hair back.
“Elizabeth Dawes,” Ron says, cutting in—and he starts telling the story.
As he speaks, effortlessly holding everyone’s attention with that easy charisma of his, something tight coils in my stomach. Sharp, annoying, unwelcome.
And I hate the fact that I’m not the only one in the room watching him like that.
“Yes, exactly!” Katherine jumps in, clearly excited, flipping through the pages of the tome as soon as Ron finishes speaking.
“And right here, tucked between the pages, are a bunch of newspaper clippings and articles. They mention local kids who, over the years, claimed they saw her apparition near the gates, or heard her desperate wails…”
“Oh, please. That’s obviously bullshit.” Emerson pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger, striking a stiff, almost lecture-like pose, as if he’s about to address a room full of idiots.
“No, it’s not,” Katherine snaps back. “From an anthropological point of view, it’s fascinating.”
“I can list, point by point, all the thermodynamic reasons why it’s scientifically impossible for a concentration of energy to remain trapped in a visible form after death,” he continues, looking so smug it makes me want to throw the leather-bound tome straight at his face.
Katherine straightens, her eyes flashing behind her round lenses. “Hey, just so you know, I’m a scientist too.”
“Now this is interesting!” Susan says, plucking one of the yellowed clippings from the book with her red-painted nails. “It says here that if you say the Lady’s name four times in front of a mirror and blow out a candle, you can talk to her spirit.”
Emerson sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes, but no one is paying attention to him anymore.
“Four is an unusual number, though,” Katherine says, tapping her chin. “Most folklore symbolism revolves around three or seven. Four doesn’t really have a strong esoteric basis…”
“Four is the number of weeks that, according to local records, the original citizens of Elm Hollow spent hunting her beloved before they captured him and chained him up.”
Ron’s voice.
Fuck.
My stomach does a backflip. It is unbearably, fucking sexy that he knows all this stuff.
"And how exactly do you know that?" Levi asks, crossing his arms, amused and impressed at the same time.
Ron leans casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, and gives a lopsided smile. A smile that sets the entire living room on fire. "I studied the historical archives and the closed files at the Elm Hollow town hall."
Yeah. Damn him. He is way, way too sexy.
"Seriously?!" Katherine's eyes light up. She takes two quick steps toward him and grabs his arm. "You and I absolutely have to have a long chat!"