by Tijan
We both paused, then said together, “Shit!”
Okay. Fine. We could improvise. I began feeling the wall. “We need to go back up. Just follow this back to the stairs and we’ll go u—”
Something clicked.
It wasn’t the lock.
But it sounded like it was.
And it sounded like it came from the top of the stairs.
I wasn’t going to let myself think that way. No one would lock us in.
Heather’s voice hitched up. “What was that?”
“Um.” My mind was scrambling in the same rhythm as my heartbeat. It wanted to pound its way out of my chest. “I . . .” had no idea.
It most definitely was the door upstairs. The chainsaw asshole had done this. He was probably following orders, just like he said. Logan might’ve said, “Hey, if two chicks try to cut the line, send them to the other basement.” Then that guy might have been like, “Sure, no problem.” And he had. He’d lied to us, instead of helping us.
I’d make Mason hold him down so I could stick our glitter up his real asshole.
And none of these thoughts were making me feel better. I felt ready to puke, if anything.
Heather was shaking behind me. I grunted. “Aren’t you always the tough one in our duo? You’re the unicorn’s brains.”
“Give me a bar brawl, and I’m there. Give me ‘locked up in a dingy serial-killer basement’? Fuck no. It’s all you. This is your expertise. You grew up with the psychopath.” She patted my arm. “Get to it, prodigal psychopath. Lead us out of here.” Fear put edges in her tone. She whimpered. “Please.”
I groaned. She wasn’t helping me. “I’m not a prodigal psychopath. My mom was a psychopath, I’ll give you that.” I started edging forward. The steps would appear again. “But I’m not a prodigal anything. If anything, I’m a running prodigy.”
She snorted. “Or a prodigy at screwing Mason Kade.” Her voice went up a notch. She mimicked me, “‘I fuck Mason Kade.’”
I laughed with her, some of the tension easing now. “Shut up.” I edged further ahead, using my hand to feel the wall. We came to the end and I felt the bottom of it with my foot. When I felt the stairs, I sighed in relief. “It was supposed to strike terror in that guy.”
“Yeah. Didn’t happen.”
“Here.” I took her hand and guided her around me, showing her where the handrail for the stairs was. “Feel that? Just hold it tight, and we can go back up the stairs.”
“What if that sound was him locking us in?”
“Then . . .” I was hoping that wasn’t the case. “We’ll break that bitch down.”
She groaned, falling in line behind me as we started up the stairs. “Why don’t I have a good feeling about this?”
My hand held on tighter to the railing and I muttered under my breath, “Welcome to my life.” But we were going up and we were getting out of here, whether or not that door opened.
I was ready to raise holy hell.
Chapter 10
The door was locked.
That pissed me off. Even as I reached for it, tried to turn it, and it didn’t budge—I wasn’t scared. I was livid.
“Is that—it that locked?”
I ignored Heather and pounded on the door. “LET US THE FUCK OUT!” One second. “NOW!” When the door didn’t immediately open, I didn’t wait.
Holy hell, here I come. I was about to raise some.
I started banging on the door nonstop. There were no pauses between my fists and my yells. There were no windows down there, or doors, or secret walls. We were locked in a coffin. Okay, it might’ve been a pantry, but it was a coffin to me.
“LET US THE FUCK OUT! RIGHT NOW! I’M NOT GOING TO STOP!”
I banged the hell out of that door. I didn’t stop until I heard a sob from behind me. “Heather?”
“I am scared shitless right now.”
That was enough. My rage and terror switched to resourcefulness. This was a door. Doors weren’t cemented in, unlike the walls below. They had to be added, and . . . I felt along the end of it, finding the frame. That meant they had to be screwed in. No. I had to pull the pins out of the hinges.
“Okay. Heather.” I was going to get this door off, even if my fingers got all cut up and busted. I needed my feet to run, not my hands. “Do me a favor, okay?”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I know. I know, but I’m going to undo these screws, so I might need your help.” I waited. Another pause.
Then, “What do you need me to do?”
“Hold me up, so that I don’t fall. Just brace yourself on a step and dig in. If I start falling, hold on to the rail with everything you’ve got.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”
“I know, but I’m improvising here.”
“I’m going to murder Logan when we get out of here.”
“That’s good. Murder. Keep envisioning that.”
“I’m going to take that carving knife we used on those pumpkins and I’m going—”
She kept going, but I tuned her out. I had to focus on the hinge pins, and they were in there tight. I cringed, already feeling my skin tear, but I didn’t cry out. That’d alarm Heather. I couldn’t have her scared any more than she was. That wasn’t going to help, so I kept going. The pain was ignored. I felt warm wetness dripping down my hands and knew it was blood. I could smell it, but I hoped Heather didn’t.
When I got one undone, the door sagged, just a tiny bit.
It gave me more momentum and I had to stretch for the second hinge pin. The last was in the middle. I wanted to keep it for last, to help steady the door. Once that was done, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I had a few theories, though. My stomach was twisting up at all of them.
Success. I felt the last hinge pin fall free.
The blood was dripping down my arm. I ignored it.
“Okay.” I took a breath.
It was dark. I knew Heather was there, but it was easy to let my imagination run free. It was just as easy to imagine someone behind us, someone sneaking up the stairs, someone that wasn’t supposed to be there, someone who hadn’t been there before.
I shut that down, real fucking quick.
We were almost free. I wasn’t going to let fear stall us now.
“Heather,” I said, reaching for the last and final screw. My fingers were almost numb. They were twisted in there so tight.
“Yes?”
She had been sitting on the stairs, but stood now.
I began to twist and I felt the door becoming more and more loose. “This door is heavy. We’re at an angle. We’re beneath it—”
“When you’re done, it’s going to fall.”
She was steady. Her voice sounded calm.
I stopped unscrewing, just for a moment. “You’re not scared?”
Another snort in disgust. “Fuck yes I am, but you’re not giving up. I won’t either. You’re doing all the work. It’s the least I can do to help you how I can.”
Here was the old Heather, so sure of herself, so strong and confident. Relief surged through me, letting me breathe a bit more oxygen. I felt my lungs fill up. “Okay. Yeah. That’s what is going to happen. When I’m done, this door is going to go. It might even go before that.” And it would plunge down on anyone that was sneaking up to scare the shit out of us, or kill us. Whichever came first. I knew it was a figment of my imagination. No one was there, but still . . . I could’ve sworn I heard a third set of breathing.
My ears were playing tricks on me, just like they had with Taylor’s phone.
I stopped; the screw was almost out. I could pull it out in a few heartbeats. “You ready?”
She grabbed on to my arm, and I heard her tighten her hold on the handrail. “Ready.”
I didn’t get the chance to pull the screw out, or have it fall. The door gave way first. It fell, knocking against my shoulder, but it swung to the other wall. The screw held fast, for just a moment, which stopped t
he door from taking us out; then suddenly, there was a harsh sound of metal being torn and a loud thud, and BOOM!
The door hinge had torn off, and the door dropped. It hit the stairs once, then flipped and landed on the floor.
I had a stinging shoulder and numb fingers as my reward. Stepping out, I ran smack dab into a chest.
Hands grabbed my arms. “What the fuck?!”
I almost cried out. It was Mason. He’d found us.
* * *
I was sitting on a bathroom counter with Mason standing between my legs. He was bandaging my fingers, while I held an ice pack to my shoulder. Heather sat on the toilet with the seat down. A blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she was resting her elbows on her knees. When Mason found us, or when I ran into him, he took a page from my book. He started raising holy hell too.
The entire haunted house tour was paused. Lights were switched on, and Logan ran to find us.
We were bundled up and swept into a bathroom, and that was where we were now.
“I swear to God, Sam. I didn’t do this.” Logan sent someone to the store to grab a first-aid kit. He’d begun pacing while he waited for them, and once it was brought up, he’d been pacing back and forth in the bathroom ever since.
I glared around him. He went past where Mason’s back obstructed my view and I moved my head. I wanted to maintain constant glaring status. I loved Logan. He was family, but I was beyond livid.
I snapped, “Bullshit.”
“I didn’t.” His hand hadn’t moved from the top of his hair. He was pulling at it. “I mean it. I told the guys to show you to the basement as soon as you got here. I didn’t even know about that room. The door—” He stopped.
When they flicked the lights on, a large hole stood before us, but when we looked down, I felt new chills. The door looked exactly like the rest of the kitchen’s walls. It was a secret door, secret room. The whole thing was camouflaged, and if I’d been in the kitchen during daylight, I would’ve walked right past it like Logan was saying he had.
I had no idea how we’d found it, but we had.
I believed him, of course I did, but I was scared and I was mad, and I wanted someone to blame. Logan was throwing the party, so he got the brunt of it.
I wasn’t alone in the glaring. Mason was doing his share, and Heather hadn’t stopped. She was almost camouflaged under the white blanket someone found for her. Some of her pink mane was sticking out.
“That guy did it, then. He told us to go down there.”
“What guy?”
“The one with the chainsaw.”
Heather added, “Chainsaw asshole. That guy.”
Logan didn’t say anything. He stared at me, then Heather, then Mason.
My stomach dropped again. I was getting tired of this sick feeling.
But. I had to ask.
“What?”
He exchanged another look with Mason before his eyes found mine.
He said, “There is no chainsaw guy.”
Chapter 11
“Logan!” Heather came out of her seat. It was like she had lifted off. She literally came out of the seat at him. Her eyes were irate. “Don’t you dare joke like that! There was a chainsaw guy. Another guy talked to him. We aren’t crazy.”
He started to shake his head, dead serious, then stopped, and a smirk showed. “I’m kidding. Of course there was a chainsaw guy, but he told you the wrong door. We really didn’t know about that room. The real basement door was just past it.” He leaned back against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea how you guys even found that door.”
“The doorknob.”
He swung his gaze my way. “I know, but no one else saw that knob. I swear, Sam. I don’t think it was there before.” He held his hands up, palms toward me. “No one, and I mean not one person, saw a doorknob there before tonight. Swear to God.”
That didn’t make anything better. A wave of helplessness crushed down on me. I rested my forehead against Mason’s chest. He finished bandaging my hands, but once he was done, he smoothed a hand down my back. “You in pain?”
He said that so softly. It almost broke me.
I swallowed the pain, I swallowed the defeat, and looked up. “I’m fine, but I’m kinda not in the partying mood now.”
He nodded. His hand was still on my back as he twisted around to Logan. “I’m going to take them back to the house.”
Heather let her head fall back. “Thank goodness. I’m so down for that.”
Logan nodded, his hand scratching the back of his neck. He was giving me an odd look.
“What?”
His eyes skimmed over my costume, then Heather’s. “Uh. Do I ask what you guys are?”
I snorted. “Not the time for that.”
“Okay.” He nodded, then his hand dropped from his neck. “Oh. Hey. Where’s Taylor?”
My body’s temperature dropped two degrees. My blood was ice-cold again. “What do you mean?” I felt a lump form in my throat, and keep growing. I knew. I so knew what he was going to say, and I had known it from the beginning.
Something happened to Taylor.
He spoke, and a buzz started in my ears. His words sounded like they were coming from a distance. “She said she was with you guys today. She didn’t come to the party tonight?”
I saw Heather gasp. I didn’t hear it.
Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes shot to mine, and the small amount of color she’d gotten back drained once again from her face.
Something had happened to Taylor.
The alarms were blaring in my head, but I coughed, forced that fucking lump away, and managed, “Uh. I’ll give her a call once we get home.”
We couldn’t panic.
Not yet.
I had to get back to the house. I’d heard that ringtone. I’d rip the fucking house apart if need be. And if she wasn’t there, if she hadn’t just fallen asleep, or decided to use Nate’s room for some reason—or maybe she’d gotten locked in the closet, who the hell knew?—I wanted to get there and look first, and then I’d start raising holy hell all over again.
Mason felt my body tense, and shifted back to get a better view of my face. What he saw made a wall slam down over his features. He glanced from me to his brother, and his jaw clenched. His hand pressed harder on my back, but he controlled his voice. It came out like he was annoyed, but not too worried. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”
Logan paused in the doorway. His eyebrows pulled together.
Mason’s smile was strained. “So we don’t have to go through the whole haunted house part of it.”
“Oh.” Logan’s eyebrows smoothed back out. He gestured to the bedroom that our bathroom was attached to. “I’ll show you guys the back way.”
The short trek took forever. Every second that I had to pretend to be calm stripped a year from my life. I was almost shaking with the effort by the time Logan opened that last door and I saw the night air. I shot past him, but I couldn’t race for the street. I didn’t know where Mason had parked.
It was another few seconds that seemed like lifetimes before Logan waved us off and shut the door behind him again.
Mason didn’t waste time. “What happened?”
I gritted my teeth. “Where’s your Escalade?”
He pointed toward the back of the house. “I got a spot in the alley behind the house.”
That was enough. I tore out of there. I was the one who’d gotten hurt, so everyone else needed to keep up with me. I wasn’t slowing down.
Mason ran ahead of me, and had the vehicle unlocked and the engine started by the time I hopped in. Heather was a few beats behind, and once he took off and our seat belts were on, I said, “She didn’t answer her phone. All. Day. She didn’t answer.” I began searching the console. “Where’s my phone?” He didn’t show me fast enough, and my voice rose. “Where’s my PHONE?”
“Here. Here.” He pulled my and Heather’s phones out of his pocket.
&
nbsp; I checked again. There were my calls for Taylor. I hit dial again. I had to try once more.
Nothing. It went straight to voicemail.
Panic rose up, like vomit.
I pushed it down, but my stomach wouldn’t stop clenching.
I choked out, “I called her when we left, and I heard the phone ring in the house.” Please be okay. “It stopped, and I called her again. It went through on my end, but I didn’t hear it again.”
What if . . . Terror spliced through me. Did I really want to follow through on that thought?
What if . . .
The phone had been ringing. The phone was there. She was there. She had been there. It had been ringing—then stopped. It didn’t ring again.
She would’ve called out.
She would’ve called me back, texted me back. She would’ve said something.
The phone was turned off.
Someone else was there.
Someone else turned it off.
I started shaking. I didn’t even know I was until Heather grabbed my arm, reaching around the seat’s divider from behind. She scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned forward, her cheek resting against where my shoulder was by my seat. Her hand gripped my arm. “We’ll find her.”
She’s gone by now.
I couldn’t say that, though. I couldn’t even shake my head. I knew. I knew!
She was gone.
* * *
Mason pulled into the driveway. He stopped, and I threw my door open. I ran. My feet pounded on the sidewalk, going to the door. My heart was lodged in my throat. It was too scared to keep beating.
The door was locked.
I hit it, then bounced back.
Not even reacting, I dug for my keys.
My pocket—there were still no pockets. Fuck it. Fine. I grabbed under the step for the extra key. I fit the key into the lock.
My hands were shaking now.
The key fell.
I grabbed it again, and shoved it in. The lock moved, and I was inside.
That sound had come from upstairs.
“SAM!”
Mason raced behind me. He probably didn’t want me going without him, or wanted me to stay behind, to let him look. I didn’t care.