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 grayhue 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.
