I move further down. The dirt and debris from the floor above are swept away, revealing a sterile hallway. White walls and harsh lighting burn my eyes, and as I blink, I notice that at the end, there is a single metal door.
I open it slowly with a gun raised in my hand, inching forward. As I closed the door behind me, I heard a soft lullaby.
On either side, empty cells stretched into the hallway, their chains rattling faintly. A scream tore through the air from one of the rooms ahead, but when I stepped inside, there was no one there.
Only two tables seemed too sterile, with two black trash bags beside them. As I entered further inside, my stomach clenched, remembering the cottage I discovered in 1998.
Shelves lined the area, filled with jars. He was turning into him.
And he is no longer just a clone but a complete replica of the Ozark butcher.
NINETEEN
Emily
Ionce heard that a dream is a wish the heart makes. I dream again, but this time taste and smell erase every fantasy that still clings to my chest.
I am drowning. My lungs claw for air. Each attempt to breathe leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. I shake myself awake, eyes flying open, and I am lying in a bathtub filled with blood. Above me, bodies hang from chains. Their blood slides down, in little drops, and drips into the bath.
A scream tears out of me, so loud my ears start to ring.
My body curls in on itself. I shake violently, knees pulled tight to my chest, arms wrapped around myself as if I can keep from breaking apart.
The door bursts open. Footsteps rush toward me.
“Are you okay?”
I stare at him, blinking hard, trying to make sense of his face.Is this Zayne, reaching for me, or Zeke, twisting reality again, slipping into my head?
This time, I let him in.
Sometimes broken things recognize each other. He pulls me into his arms, and even that small hug eases the hollow pain that throbbed inside my chest. Tears spill down my face, streaking through the blood that is all over my skin.
I pressed my lips to his, desperate. My mouth moves against his as if I am trying to anchor myself to something real.
He lifts me into his arms and carries me to the shower beside the tub. Warm water pours over us. It washes the blood from my skin, from my hair, and from my hands.
“I got you,” he whispers.
His hands are gentle as the water runs over my naked body.
“I got you,” he says again.
And for the first time since waking, my breathing slows.
But I don’t care anymore. I just want to feel anything other than fear. I want to feel anything that sends my mind somewhere else but this place. I push him against the wall and kiss him again.
“Fuck me,” I say. “Please.”
I don’t have to ask twice.
He grabs me, his hands hold my body, and as my legs lock around his hips, he spins us, pressing me back against the cold tile. My spine meets the wall, the shock of it pulling a sharp breath from my lungs.
“Don’t stop kissing me,” I whisper, breath turns shallow as my fingers work down to his sweatpants.
This is so unethical. This is something my old self never would have imagined doing. But now, knowing I may never be that girl again, I just want to forget who I am. I want him to fuck me until I forget everything.
“I never want to,” he moans into my mouth. “I never want to stop,Freckles.”
