Page 37
My eyes fluttered shut as the steady stream of water began to lull me to sleep. Just five more minutes. Just five more…
“I’m going, darl!”
I jolted as Wayne’s voice called from down the hall before the front door slammed, water spilling over the bucket's edge. I quickly turned the tap off and poured the excess water out before I grabbed a faded wash cloth and sank it into the bucket, gripping the metal handle and pulling it out of the sink. Droplets splashed on the linoleum behind me as I ventured down the hallway towards the basement, ignoring the tightness in my chest as I reached the door, twisted the handle, and nudged it open with my shoulder.
Warm, fetid air seeped into my lungs as the door clicked shut behind me, a dying candle on Wayne’s workbench partially illuminating the space. As I creeped down the stairs with my chain dragging loudly behind me, I stumbled down a step as I noticed the man hanging by his wrists from the wooden beams in the centre of the room.
His feet were inches from the stained concrete, blood trickling down his toes and seeping into the ground below him. I swallowed and hesitantly approached him, but not before noticing Christopher was asleep. I gripped the handle as I stood in front of the nude man, noting how every inch of his skin was covered in bruises and tattoos. Open wounds leaked crimson down his limp body while his head was slumped down and covering his face.
This part never got easy—no matter how many times I did it. Sometimes they’d wake up thrashing and screaming, demanding I let them go. Other times they’d cry, shaking as they begged me to help them get out of here. Every time though, I just keep my head down, grateful to the darkness for hiding the tears streaming down my face. My hands trembled as I bent down to place the bucket on the ground, but just before the bottom could touch the concrete…I paused, noticing a faded tattoo on his hip bone. Without permission, a memory slammed into me.
My eyes dropped automatically to the small cross-bone skull on his hip bone he’d gotten last year before they trailed up his defined abdomen and paused on his face as a knowing, devious grin spread across it.
The bucket fell from my grasp as a high-pitched ringing blared in my ears. Water splashed against my legs, clinging to my dress as I raised my hand, brushing my thumb over the ink as the crudely drawn cross-bone skull stared back at me.
I slowly lifted my head and glanced at the body of the man. Miscellaneous pieces of people and places marred his tanned skin, nothing I could recognise, nothing that could identify him. But then I saw the ink etched onto the flesh above his heart.
Evelyn.
The name curled across the skin in careful, delicate calligraphy. For a second, my brain refused to understand what I was looking at. Because it was just a word, just a name, just ink, just…
My lungs emptied all at once, like something had punched straight through my chest. My hand flew to my mouth, fingers pressing so hard my teeth cut into the skin. I couldn’t blink. Couldn’t move. I just stared.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t.
This must just be a nightmare. I must have fallen asleep without realising it. There was no way Jackson was really in this basement right now. No way. I squeezed my eyes shut, hard enough to spark light behind them. Wake up. Wake up right now. But the horrific sight didn’t disappear. My hands started shaking, violent, uncontrollable tremors that travelled all the way up my arms.
No, no, no, no, no.
“Evie? What’s going on?” Christopher’s voice sounded so far away. Muffled, like I was underwater. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, because I was already moving. The chain snapped taut as I quickly darted towards the corner of the room, yanking painfully at my ankle. But I didn’t stop. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the desk, splinters biting into my palm as I dragged the chair out. The legs screeched against the concrete, and my stomach dropped so fast it made me dizzy.
“No…no, no, no,” I whispered, the words spilling out unwillingly, no regard to my desire. I shoved the chair into place in front of him and climbed up, my foot slipping once on the worn wood before I steadied myself. The chair creaked under my weight, an awful, fragile sound. Like it might give out. Like I might fall. Shallow, panting breaths frantically raised my chest as I reached for him—but my fingers hovered.
What…what if it was him?
Then what?
Then what was I supposed to do?
Oh God.
Oh God.
I hesitantly grabbed a fistful of his hair. “I’m sorry,” I choked, though I didn’t even know what I was apologising for. I gently pulled his head back, and everything inside me just…stopped.
His eyes.
His hazel eyes—so familiar in a way that hit harder than anything physical ever could. They didn’t see me. They stared through me. But I knew them. I knew the exact shade, the way the light used to catch the gold in them, the warmth that used to live there. The way they used to crease in the corners when he laughed. “Jackson?” His name barely made it out of my mouth. It scraped against my throat, broken and disbelieving.
No.
