My gaze dropped to his hand. A small part of me wanted to reach for him, to collapse in his arms and surrender to the warmth of his body. It would have been easy. It would have been safe. Nathaniel would have calmed the raging storm in my head, bringing me to safety like a lighthouse guiding a ship home from sea.
But I left his hand there, alone and untouched, shutting out the sound of his choked sob as I threw away my last chance of happiness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The door to my apartment was open. It shouldn’t have been, I’d locked it that morning before I left for Dawnridge. The keys were in my pocket, and the spare could only be accessed from inside where it sat tucked away in my bedside drawer. Perhaps Auden had ventured outside and forgot to close it in his fevered state. But there was an urgent voice in my head—a voice that wasn’t the Devil’s—that screamedwrong, wrong, wrong!
Greeted by an eerie, disorienting silence, I stepped inside and flicked on the light by the entry, listening for the familiar sound of the television from Auden’s bedroom. There was only an unsettling quiet.
Wanting to check on his fever, I wandered towards his bedroom, the hallway seemingly never-ending. One step forward only seemed to send me seven steps back. I blinked, quickening my pace, hand outstretched to grip the wall as the floor began to rise and fall like waves beneath my feet.
“Auden?!”
His bedroom door hung wide open. I paused amidst the waves, barely able to hold myself upright as the voice repeatedwrong,wrong, wrong!Auden always had his door closed. He preferred the apartment divided into 'separate spaces'.
I peered through the doorway, dread humming through me as the single voice became several, all chantingwrong, wrong, wrong!
The bed was empty.
Bed sheets were sprawled along the floor—twisted, tangled, like tree roots in a dense forest. Abandoned food wrappings lay crumbled beside a pair of glasses and headphones, my gaze whipping around wildly in search of a light switch.
As a pale-yellow glow chased away the darkness, a scream threatened to tear through my chest. Blood spatters—dark, dried blood—painted the floor beside Auden’s bed. It creeped along the bed sheets, a red trail leading toward a silver crucifix by his pillow, the sharp edge dripping with blood. A bolt of recognition shot through me. Flames. My mother in her white gown. A silver crucifix pointed toward me. But how did…?
Not real, not real, not real.
“AUDEN?!”
I reached for the crucifix in a panic. It was the only evidence that proved my mother had come for Auden. Joe must have told her of the visit, helping her track us down.
Joe is dead. You killed him.
That wasn’t real.
Thisisn’t real.
My fingers trembled around the crucifix. It didn't matter what was real. Auden was gone, and I wouldkillto ensure he was returned to me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A pool of white mist circled the House on North Lane, crawling up the front steps and onto the porch where I stood, my mother's crucifix trembling in my hands. The trees loomed closer, watching me, waiting.
Red bed sheets flashed behind my eyelids with every blink, my mind conjuring images of Auden's lifeless, blood-drenched corpse. I no longer cared about finding my mother. All I cared about washim.I had to find him. He had to be okay. I saved him once, and I would do so again.
The Devil wrestled for control as I unlocked the door, a damp rot greeting me with a cold embrace. He screamed, begged, negotiated for release, but I didn't need him. My rage was my own.
I covered a hand over my mouth and nose as I stepped inside, eyes watering from the smell. Dead animals, no doubt. Rotting corpses in the ceiling, under the floorboards, buried in the walls.
What if it's not animals? What if it's Auden?
"It's not Auden," I growled out, though fear had already embedded itself in my lungs, every breath a battle as I ventured deeper into the House.
You don't know that.
A light flickered on, illuminating the ash covered living room, a long wooden beam dangling from the charcoal ceiling. Rats scurried back into their hiding places, maggots crawling over dried blood that stained the floorboards. I released a shuddered breath.
Standing in the chalk pentagram in the centre of the room was my mother. She was dressed in the same white gown she'd worn the night of the exorcism, and every night since in my dreams, her hair a tangled nest of auburn curls and dust. Her skin had paled, as though she had spent all these years hiding from sunlight.
Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!
