“I’m not bullshitting you.” Justin’s voice weaker from the blow to his head. “What … what are you going to do to her?”
Noah presses the gun into the soft space beneath Justin’s skull. “You should be worried about what I’m going to do to you.”
“Don’t hurt her,” Justin says. “Please, Noah, just … don’t hurt her.”
Noah leans down, close to Justin’s face. “Justin, I can’t tell if you’re a liar or a fool.”
He cracks Justin’s head against the floor again. Justin goes limp with an abrupt groan.
Noah stands and shines his flashlight along the walls, over the carpenter’s desk. Some things hanging on the walls that could be helpful.
Then he shines the light back down on Justin, unconscious but still breathing.
He pats Justin down and feels something in the front pocket of his trousers. He removes a tiny gun, one of those old Saturday-night specials, a beat-up vintage .38 with a pearl handle.
“I think I’ll take this, Justin,” he says. He stuffs the little gun into his pants pocket, a nice complement to his own gun.
“I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do to you yet,” he says. “Let’s see how I feel after my nice, friendly chat with Jenna Murphy.”
116
I STUMBLE THROUGH the door, the door through which Aiden Willis just escaped, away from the smooth marble onto something different, the floor broken and dirty. Once I’m clear of the doorway, I slam the door behind me.
And take a deep, delicious breath of oxygen.
The air is dry and stale, but I don’t care. I’m breathing again, on two feet again. I’m out of that awful room.
Come with me
I put one foot in front of the other, my legs unsteady but better, feeling better now.
“Aiden,” I try to call out, my throat and mouth so dry I can hardly speak.
A small room, it feels like, not open air. I’m reaching out for the walls when something slithers across my face— I jump back and wave my hand around, connect with it again.
A string, dangling in the air.
I reach out, making my hand still, and the string falls back against my hand. I grip it and pull down.
A light, a single naked overhead light, comes on.
Hanging from the walls, medieval weapons. Lances, stars, battle-axes, cat-o’-nine-tails, maces. A full menu of torture devices.
I shudder but shake it off. I need to figure out a way out of here.
Three of the four walls are covered with this weaponry, but one wall is naked. Nothing hanging on it. Nothing but smooth wood.
Immediately next to it on the adjoining wall, a small button.
A buzzer?
With a trembling hand, I press the button.
I know, somehow, what will happen next: The wall slides open. I drop to a knee, my weapon useless now without any bullets, and click on the flashlight.
A corridor. Naked walls, concrete floor.
The basement of 7 Ocean Drive.
Follow me
C’mon
“Aiden!” I call out, but I get no response. The hallway turns a sharp left into a giant room, just as dark as everywhere else in the basement. I shine my flashlight over the room, though the beam is weakening and I need to preserve the battery.
“Aiden!”
Boxes, old furniture, photographs and artwork—the kind of stuff in any basement.
And a staircase, leading up.
C’mon
Follow me
Be quiet
I approach the staircase slowly, not trusting my rubbery legs, my head throbbing like I have a hangover from being inside that room.
I take the stairs just as carefully, lightly touching each step before transferring my weight, unsure of the stability of this staircase.
When I reach the top of the stairs, the door is ajar.
Aiden must have blown through here a few minutes ago.
I take a breath and push the door open.
I turn the corner and shine the flashlight, the dwindling beam, over the open foyer of the house. The front door is straight ahead of me, across the foyer and the two ornate anterooms.
The words coming at me so fleetingly, like smoke, whispers— Run go get out of here
Run!
“Aiden!” I call out again, my voice shakier this time, echoing upward, nothing in response but a groan from this haunted mansion.
I hear something upstairs, an elongated sigh. A house sound or a human sound?
I take a step up the stairs.
You don’t wanna go up there
Squeezing my eyes shut, as if it will lock out the whispers between my ears.
Don’t come up here
Go, leave, don’t come up here
“Aiden, please talk to me!” I cry.
The pressure mounting inside my chest again, the momentary reprieve I felt after leaving that room vanishing in the snap of a finger, everything returning like an avalanche, my heart pounding again, sweat on my face once more.
Every step an effort, every instinct telling me to turn back, run out the front door, there’s danger upstairs, but I move forward regardless, because I have to know, I have to finally know.