Chapter Twelve Lakey #2
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling as I reached for the small set of drawers beside it.
The wood was warped, sticky with age, but it gave way with a groan.
Inside, a jumble of papers caught my eye.
My heart clenched as I pulled them out, recognizing letters I'd written to Cam, but could never send.
"You good?"
I nodded, but my voice betrayed me, cracking as I spoke. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."
It was a lie, and we both knew it. I took a shaky breath, steeling myself.
"Lydia," I began, my eyes fixed on the bed across the way. "My roommate. God, Cam, the things she told me that night... things that were so horrific, I thought she was lying. Things I think..."
I could feel Cam's intense gaze on me as I recounted the horrors Lydia had confided.
The words spilled out, a torrent of dark secrets and cruelty.
As I spoke, there was that detachment creeping in, the psychopathic chill that usually kept me safe from emotions.
But here, in this room, surrounded by the ghosts of my past, even that shield was cracking.
"She was so scared," I whispered, my fingers tracing my words on the paper. "And I... I couldn't protect her."
My voice faltered, the memory of Lydia's disappearance hitting me hard. "And then she was just... gone. Like she'd never existed."
I looked up at Cam, my eyes stinging. "Sister Anne, that sanctimonious bitch, she looked me right in the eye and said Lydia graduated.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Her shit was still here, and it didn’t make sense why she’d leave her only belongings.
Looks like most of it is cleared now. You know…
over the years I convinced myself that maybe she wasn’t even real.
A figment of my imagination. It was the only thing that truly made sense. Here and then gone."
I stood abruptly, my legs shaky but propelling me towards Lydia's old bed.
My hands skimmed over the surface, searching desperately for any trace of my lost friend.
The mattress was lumpy, springs poking through in places, but I didn't care.
I had to find something, anything. As I searched, a broken spring cut into my hand as it caught on my skin.
I hardly noticed the blood I was smearing all over as I kept looking.
"Come on, Lydia," I muttered, "give me a sign. Show me what they did to you."
My fingers caught on something wedged between the mattress and the bedframe. I pulled, revealing a small, folded piece of paper. With trembling hands, I opened it.
There, in faded ink, was Lydia's name. Underneath she had written 'remember me'.
"Oh god," I whispered, a sob catching in my throat. I pressed the paper to my chest, proof that she existed. Proof that I wasn't crazy. Proof that this place had swallowed a girl whole and then pretended she'd never been born. "I remember you, Lydia. I swear, I'll never forget."
I stood there for a minute, maybe two. Just holding that paper against my chest and breathing.
Cam didn't say anything. He didn't try to hug me or comfort me or tell me it was going to be okay.
He just stood by the door and waited, because he knew that what I was feeling right now wasn't something that could be fixed with a kiss or a slap on the ass.
This was grief. Real grief. For a girl I'd failed to save when I was too young and too small and too powerless to do anything but watch her disappear.
I folded the paper carefully and slid it into my bra, right against my skin. She'd stay with me now. Close to my heart, or whatever was left of it.
I clutched the spot where the paper sat against my chest and took a deep breath, then turned to Cam. "We're going to make them pay for what they did to her. To all of us."
"Let's go," I said, my voice unnervingly sweet even to my own ears. "We've got some motherfucking ghosts to chase, darling."
My steps echoing in the empty hallway as I strode out of the room. I was no longer that helpless little girl. Now, I was the monster they should fear.
As we approached the elevator at the end of the hall, excitement rolled through me. "This is where the real fun begins," I chirped, my fingers trailing along the grimy wall.
I peered down the elevator shaft, the blackness below stretching deeper than it should.
The rusty cables swayed slightly, creaking in the silence.
My stomach lurched, memories of being forced down there flooding back.
Being wheeled on a gurney. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling passing over me one by one.
The feeling of not being able to move my arms or legs. And then nothing. Always nothing.
"Well, shit," I muttered, turning to Cam with a pout. "Looks like our express ticket to hell is out of
"What's the matter, sweetheart? Scared of a little climb?"
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smile. "In your dreams, asshole. We just need to find another way down. There's gotta be a stairwell or something."
We walked down the hall, looking for hidden doors.
"Hey Cam," I said, "want to make a bet on how many bodies we'll find down there?"
"Probably a lot. I have an idea... sometimes these old buildings have underground pathways.
Would make sense if they were doing shady shit here.
" I remember reading in some obscure handbook I downloaded off the dark web that cults usually hid everything in the basement.
Seems fucked, honestly. If I were hiding a bunch of bodies, I wouldn't write exactly where I was dumping them, but I suppose it's human nature, a morbid curiosity, to see if someone would believe them. Entrance will be somewhere outside.”
We dump our bodies into the ocean, where the sharks can eat the evidence, and no one will be able to find them. Amateurs.
"Ooooh, a secret tunnel adventure? I love that idea. Let's go find out." I clapped my hands and skipped ahead.