“Who fucking cares if he can swim like a fish?” she mutters beneath her breath as she lightly brushes the makeup on the woman’s pale cheeks.
I tighten my lips, opting not to answer that question. We both know the entirety of Hollow Canyon cares. They have a legend in their midst, and it makes them feel special.
She glances at me. “Stay with me tonight, or however many nights until you’re safe again.”
I should. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stayed at Sable’s house instead of sleeping alone in my dorm to escape Dread’s plans. Yet, I still returned to some form of torment. Rather than escaping his twisted games, I only delayed them.
Just like cancer, he’s learned to adapt. If I'm not where I'm supposed to be, he finds some fucked-up way to get me there. Like when he hot-wired my car so he could drive it to the top of a slope with a ravine atthe bottom, put it in neutral, and let it slowly roll down toward the edge until I stopped it in time. Or when he unleashed a family of raccoons in my dorm room—Istilldon't know how he managed to catch them. Or one of the hundred other creative ways he's come up with to force my hand to his demands.
Meaning—it's useless.
Dread will get to me one way or another, and I’m better off walking into his trap than hoping he’s somehow forgotten I exist.
If only I could be so fucking lucky.
The dorm halls are completely silent as I cautiously edge through them, my eyes pinballing over the half-white, half-wood paneled walls, as if a viper is lying in wait to bite.
It’s after midnight, and I’ve just finished my shift at the funeral home. After Sable assured me I could escape to her place if Dread pulls something especially heinous tonight, I finished cleaning the viewing room from an earlier service and clocked out.
My heart thuds heavily against my rib cage, and adrenaline courses through my bloodstream.
Normally, I’d adopt a completely casual approach, refusing to let others view me as weak. But I’m alone, and my true feelings are on full display.
Dread scares me, but I’ve slept under the same roof as bigger monsters. However, I have an annoying will to live, self-preservation, yet a stubbornness that insists I step on the bear trap just to say I could. Unfortunately for me, I would rather let him kill me than show him just how deeply he affects me.
I stop at my door, eyeing the handle as if it’s coated in poison.
An oily, sticky feeling coats my insides like tar, and I know with every atom in my being that whatever is on the other side, I’m going to hate it.
Just get it over with, Reverie.
Inhaling deeply, I grip the gold knob, twist, and barge into the room before I can talk myself out of it.
Instantly, a sharp gasp rips from my throat. My eyes widen into saucers, and my jaw drops, my heart following suit and sinking intothe acidic well in my stomach. Vomit rises in my throat, and I cover my mouth as I take in the scene, shaking my head in denial.
There’s no way this is real. Yet, the longer I stare, the more real it becomes.
A bloody woman lies on the floor in the middle of my room, a heap of severed arms, legs, and her head. Even from here, I can see the chunk of blonde hair missing from her scalp. Deep crimson darkens the grotesque ends of her limbs down to the cherrywood beneath her, the pool creeping along the floor until just before the area rug.
This… I don’t think this was Dread’s doing, and that’s a far more terrifying thought.
No, this looks like my father.
I quickly scramble inside and shut the door behind me. For several beats, all I can do is stare at the sight with wide eyes, my chest heaving.
Was Lionel released already? Buthow, when he isn’t supposed to get out for another three weeks?
Or, fuck, maybe he wasn’t, but Dread got the letter and found out Lionel will be soon, and this is him fucking with me?
I glance at the body piled a few feet from me, and immediately gag.
Yeah, that looks fuckingreal.
“Oh my God,” I whimper, leaning heavily against the door. “Shit, shit, fucking shit.”
My hand moves to my forehead as I stare at my feet with rounded eyes, attempting to get my racing thoughts in order, but I’m struggling to untangle them in my head when there's a torrential downpour of panic circulating my system. It’s dizzying, and even with the door holding all my weight, my knees threaten to collapse. My stomach churns, but if this is Lionel’s doing, the last thing I need is more of my DNA all over the crime scene. At least, not more than it already is, considering the woman is dead in my fuckingroom. My DNA iseverywhere.
Jesus Christ, am I going to go to prison over this? One D’Amour gets out, just for the other to go in.
