Page 86 of Beautiful Prey

The place I never returned to ever since Emery had torn away everything I loved.

It sat there like an omen in the night. No lights, windows boarded.

This is where Emery had chosen to bring me. To make me pay.

PART 3

HOME SWEET HOME

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He disappeared for some time. I assumed he was trying to find a way in.

Eventually he did. The garage door opened, and he brought the car in, shutting us both inside.

I struggled in my binds as he opened the back door. He took a hold of me, lifting me out with ease. I started yelling through the cloth at him, cursing him. He was a cruel asshole for bringing me here, for sending us back into the past, to the place I never wanted to return. A place that was haunted, a place that filled my nightmares. Because of him. I hated him for this, Ihatedhim.

I fought in his grip, trying desperately not to be taken back inside.

You son of a bitch, you monster, I hate you, I hate you!

He carried me over to the side door, kicked it open, and all I saw was pitch black ahead, a place filled with ghosts and demons and smiling monsters.

We moved through the kitchen, then past the dining room and into the living room. He paused by the first-floor bathroom and then went inside. There, he set me down in the tub, then left me, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he left, I started to rock back and forth, trying to get myself out. But I couldn’t even sit properly. I cried out in frustration, then started to feel lightheaded.

I forced myself to take slow breaths. The bathtub was freezing. I could feel the cold seeping past my clothes. I trembled, unable to help it.

I could hear his heavy footfalls throughout the house, doors opening and shutting, him going up the stairs then back down. After another door opened and shut, I didn’t hear him for a long time. I waited, not able to do much else. The place was so dark, there was no light to adjust with. It was so quiet too. I thought I might go crazy. I focused on trying to wrench my hands and feet out of their binds and moving around again, even if only to warm myself up. I tried to use my hands and feet to grip the side of the tub and lift myself out, trying and failing and trying again.

When I had my fingers curled over the tub, I heard a door open and slam shut, then his heavy footfalls coming toward me. I tensed, taking my hand from the tub. I yelped when the door swung open and he moved inside.

He picked me up by the ropes, hauling me up into his arms, crushing me against him. This time, I could tell he had a destination in mind. His steps were quick and determined. He moved past the living room again and opened the door to the basement.

It used to be my Uncle Pete’s apartment. When my mother had died and my aunt had left, my father and uncle decided it was easier and more cost effective to live together. They worked long hours after all, and Uncle Pete hardly needed a place of his own since he spent most of his time in the office. My cousin had lived with us for a time too until he had moved out along with my brother. But Uncle Pete had rebuilt the basement to be his own. And with the house situated on a hill, it wasn’t fully underground. There was a door to the outside and another doorto an unfinished part that led to the old cellar. It had been years since I’d been down here, not since it was rebuilt for Uncle Pete’s use.

Emery brought me down the stairs and into what I remember to be a small kitchen and dining area. There were two bedrooms—Uncle’s and my cousin’s. I didn’t know whose bedroom Emery brought me into and dropped me on the bed.

He left and I heard things moving, then I saw a light, a soft orange light growing brighter as it moved closer.

Emery returned with a lantern, and a bag over his arm. In his other hand was a knife.

My heart galloped as he set the items on the bare dresser and moved toward me.

I whimpered, eyeing the knife as it was brought closer. I thought of the set of eyes in the box, how he had plucked them out. I thought of my brother's fingers that had been cut. I thought of my father ripped wide open.

Emery gripped my hands and feet, and I whimpered. Oh god, he was going to cut my hands off, my feet, or both.

Surprisingly, he was cutting the ropes instead.

He broke the rope that kept my feet and hands attached. I felt relief being able to unbend my legs and straighten my back as I let my feet fall off the bed. He didn’t untie my hands or feet. Instead, he stood towering over me, watching me. Assessing me.

A moment later, he moved away as if he’d reached some sort of conclusion. Setting the knife on the dresser, he took the bag instead. He came for me again, picking me up in one swoop and taking me into the bathroom.

The bathroom was small; it had to be my cousin’s old room turned into a guest room.

Emery sat me down on the counter beside the sink, setting the bag in the bowl next to me. He brought the lantern inside and set it on the floor next to the door, filling the bathroomwith low orange light. I eyed the bag nervously, then realized it was one of my uncle’s old emergency medical kits, something else Emery must have found. He opened it up and rummaged through it, taking out gauze, cloth, antiseptic, and a pair of tweezers before dropping the bag on the floor.

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