My legs carry me into the hallway. The wood floor is so cold it burns against my bare feet. I try to dig my heels in, try to turn back, but my body just keeps moving, following that tug all the way down the hall, past the kitchen, around the bend until I come face-to-face with that dented metal door…
Open.
Barely, but enough for a thin strip of light to slice across the shadows.
My heart has lodged itself deep in my throat, and my hands are shaking, but they won’t reach for the wall to steady myself. Won’t do anything except hang limp at my sides.
“Don’t be rude.”The voice swells, impatient.“Be a good girl. Say hello.”
It’s like I’m watching myself from somewhere far away, screaming at my body to stop, turn around, and run back upstairs, but the cold presence in my mind smooths over my panic like a hand stroking my hair until it feels easier to just go along with it.
My palm presses against the cold metal. The door swings open wider, revealing a steep metal staircase descending into a lit room below.
My feet find the first step. Then the second. Each one sends a jolt of pain through my sore legs, but I can’t stop. The tugging pulls tighter.
I reach the bottom step, and the air catches in the back of my throat.
The room is huge. The walls are made of corrugated iron, each sheet a dark gunmetal gray with thick bolts holding them together. The air is dense and electrically charged. On the far wall is a collection of morgue drawers, each with an engraved metal plate on the front. But all I can stare at is the man in the room.
He’s hovering perfectly still, a foot off the ground with one arm wrapped around his stomach, and the other cupping his face. He looks like he’s in his late twenties or early thirties, and has a straight nose, strong brows, and wavy hair swept to one side. His body is drained of all color, made entirely of smoke, although his hair and eyebrows are a shade of gray darker than the rest of him. He’s inside a glass dome large enough for a tall person to stand in, secured to the floor with iron brackets that look sturdy enough to withstand an explosion.
His mouth stretches into a toothy smile.
“Hello, Eden.”His lips don’t move, but the words burning into my mind are unmistakably coming from him.“Come closer. Let me get a good look at you.”
Absolutely not.
I snap my eyes to the floor, staring at the metal under my feet. I try to step backward, and my foot actually moves, but it’s like I’m trying to wade through molasses. I want to stay right here.
Wait.
That’s not my thought. I don’t want to stay here.
He’s in myhead?
“Get out of my head,” I manage to croak out, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
“Such an obedient little thing, aren’t you? Walking right down here when I called.”His eyes gleam.“I see what has him sotakenwith you.”
My mind races, trying to place this man. I’ve seen him before. It’s on the edge of my memory. The handsome face, the dark hair…
Shit.
“You’re Billy Lundby, aren’t you?”
“Clever girl.”
In my last foster home, I shared a room with a girl who was obsessed with true crime. Maya figured out who I was the second she met me and peppered me with questions I didn’t want to answer.Did you see Stanley Daniels watching you when you let your dog out? Did you think he looked suspicious? Do you think you could have gotten away if you had run when he pointed the gun at you, or do you think he would’ve shot you?She plastered photos all over our shared wall: Richard Ramirez, Ted Bundy, and her personal favorite, Billy Lundby, right above her bed. She’d watched the Netflix mini-series on him three times. Talked about him like he was some misunderstood artist instead of what he actually was.
Billy was too handsome to be suspected of something like rape, let alone murder. That’s what made him so dangerous. By the time anyone realized what was happening, twenty-seven girls were already dead.
“Tell me. Eden.”His voice slides through my head with ease.“Whatdoyou know about me?”
I say nothing. He chuckles.
“Shy? That’s all right. I’ll tell you. I killed girls who looked just like you. Pretty girls. With dark hair and big, frightened eyes. They get even prettier when they die. My girls all died the same way.”He takes a pause, and then the next word explodes through my head:“SCREAMING.”
It feels like the word is being drilled through my skull. I need to move. I need to get out of here right now.
