“You’ve found yourself in a whole lotta trouble, girl,” Elias slurs. He reeks of liquor; I can smell it on his breath even from my spot on the floor. He stumbles toward me, beer bottle in hand. “I never thought I’d have you down here.”
“Please,” I beg him, the word a razor blade slicing through my dry throat. “Just let me go.”
“‘Fraid I can’t do that now.” Elias stops halfway between me and the stairs. From this angle, he looks larger, more menacing, even with the clammy sheen of sweat on his skin and glassy eyes. One hand balls into a fist, and he uses the other to take a swig from the bottle. He belches, rubbing his gut over his stained work shirt, and shuffles another step forward.
My stomach barrels over, my face paling as waves of queasiness roll over me. Tears prick my eyes, but I’m unable to wipe them away. I look up at him, my bottom lip quivering. Is this how Cyrus felt before he died? Sick with fear?
“Yer what it wants, darlin’,” he chuckles ominously. “Thought killin’ my boy would keep us safe. Then that little bitch Mattie went and died—but it keeps coming back.”
“What?” I whimper, forcing myself to focus on what he’s saying, though my mind is reeling. “What does?”
“The fuckin’ monster.” His voice goes flat, like mentioning it takes the air out of him. “The thing in the woods. Ya saw, I know ya did. Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me now, girl.” He spits, the wad splatting on the floor near my foot.
Terror slides up my spine, tendrils of it breaking off and twisting through my body. I’m paralyzed by the memory of the creature, the shadows and the voice it used to try and lure me in. The mockery of my mama’s voice echoes in my mind. I want to deny it, scream at the top of my lungs I don’t know what he’s talking about. Instead, my muscles refuse to move, but my bones are ready to shake themselves out of my skin. The cold truth of what I saw spreads like frost through my nervous system—because Idoknow.
“No matter what I offer it, it keeps comin’ back. When will it be enough?” Elias snarls, looking up and calling out to some invisible force. He doesn’t move closer, only shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His presence hovers over me though he’s still at least three feet away. There’s sadness seeping through the anger in his voice. He chokes up, becoming distant, like the words are no longer directed at me. “Maybe you’ll finally be enough. They weren’t. Cyrus wasn’t. Mattie wasn’t. Ezra promised this would end. Maybe it needs somethin’ from all of us.”
“Why?” My question floats away from me, disappearing from my throat before I realize I’ve said it out loud. His head snaps down, disdain flickering in his eyes.
“To pay it back.” He drags a hand down his face. An animalistic sound rumbles from his chest. “So this can be done!”
I don’t ask anything else, and he doesn’t offer more. Elias’ nails tap against the glass bottle, like he’s making silent decisions about how this will play out. Seconds drag by, and I’m watching my fate slip through his fingers, but I’m too scared to move, too scared to even breathe. Finally, he mumbles something indecipherable. I hear the air whip past his arm as he raises it. I flinch, trying to draw my body inward. The bottle explodes above my head with a bang. Shards of glass rain down on me. I duck my head, but I’m unable to avoid them. My tongue suffocates the roof of my mouth, suppressing a whimper.
“Fuck you,” he grumbles to no one, stumbling up the stairs. He turns the light off before slamming the door, and I’m alone again in the dark.
I sit in unsettling silence for several minutes—maybe hours, I can’t be sure. In the corner of the room, something rustles, shaking me from my dissociative state. I squint, straining to see anything in the dark. My eyes stare into the endless inky abyss, waiting for the source of the sound to take shape. I shiver in the quiet, cold stillness, knees knocking together. I squeeze my legs together, trying to restrain them. My voice trembles, coming out as a whisper of a shout. “Hello?”
Nothing answers, but the noise comes again—louder, closer. The outline of a figure emerges, like it’s stamped upon the musty air of the basement. The opaque appearance looks like millions of dust particles suspended together in the shape of a person. It gradually becomes more distinct, drifts nearer, until intense hazel eyes appear on a face only a foot away. I gasp, softly choking on his name.
“Cyrus?”
24
CYRUS
Her swollen red eyes bore into me as if I were still flesh and blood–seeingmeinstead of through me. Longing swells inside me, realizing how much I’ve missed this look. The same longing that’s hollowed me out my whole life, but my longing for her fills me instead of taking away. Jace is the only person who’severlooked at me with meaning—the only person who doesn’t see my old man instead of me.
“Is it really you?” she gasps, trying to scoot closer. “I thought you were…”
“Dead,” I finish for her, nodding solemnly as I crouch and lean on one knee. I give her a moment of silence to process this confirmation. Her face contorts in confusion.
“But you’re here?” she asks, her voice squeaking. “You’re here.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time.” My voice trembles. I look away, wringing my hands as my stomach ties itself into knots.
Jace’s face scrunches, considering my words. Her eyebrows raise, her lips parting to speak but then closing again. She’s trying to understand, but there’s no explanation. I barely have a grasp on it myself.
“I’ve been down here the whole time,” I admit, coming to sit next to her. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t know what else to do, but I couldn’t leave you alone.”
“You already did,” she says sternly, wincing, as if she didn’t mean for the words to come out. My heart sinks into the depths of my stomach because she’s right–I did. She’s been alone for two years, longer, even, considering I never opened up to her when I was alive.
“I know,” I admit, hanging my head, “and if it’s any solace to you, the thought has plagued me ever since. You were right, Jace. I should have stayed.”
Her wide, glassy eyes take me in, scanning me for any hint of dishonesty. She must find the genuineness in my expression, because her face softens. Jace’s body trembles, her muscles bulging as she struggles against her restraints. “You’re a ghost,” she says softly, a statement rather than a question.
I nod, moving closer, my phantom boot touching hers. Her foot moves, searching for a solid form where there is none. I fall to my knees, crawling to her until we’re side by side. There looks like there’s enough slack in the rope tying her; I could help her wiggle free.
“Can I help?” I ask gently, motioning to her arms with my head. Jace grimaces, chewing on her lip. Her chest expands with a deep inhale. Eventually, she nods in silent agreement. “If this works, you can’t bolt out of here, okay? My old man is still upstairs.”
