Page 165 of Unwrapping Deviance

“Boyd!” Dirk howls, the sound a high pitch shriek of raw agony as he lunges for his brother.

The two fall into each other and collapse across the floor in a bloody heap. Dirk is still wailing and screaming. The sound bouncing off the walls.

I don’t wait. I don’t even glance back when rolling off the ruined mattress and pounding to the door. I only stop to grab both phones and the keys on my way. Clutching them to my thundering heart like my only lifeline.

The cold, brass handle wrenches too easily under my slick grip. It swings too easily with my yank. I’m on the front steps and no one stops me as I leap off and tear around the side of the house in no real direction, except freedom.

The items in my hand are slippery with blood, but I clasp them to my chest and round in the direction of where I remember them parking the car.

But I don’t make it.

I hear Dirk’s roar just behind me and I know he’s about to catch me. There is no way I can outrun him, not barefoot and half naked when it’s almost dark and I’m covered in blood.

Somewhere, briefly, a tiny flicker, I am aware that I am unnaturally rational in a time of absolute chaos. Another part of me wants to fall apart, to collapse in a ball and cry.

It’s Daniel and Christian’s faces that reminds me I need to get through this. I need to get back to them. I need to save them from that conniving, crazy fucking bitch. More than that, I need to get my hands on Lucy. I need to punch her face in and that thirst for vengeance keeps me going.

Panting, I dive around the corner of the house and nearly trip over a cellar door built into the side of the lodge. There’s no chain or lock and opens quietly when I yank the latch.

I can hear Dirk thundering after me, getting close. I just get the latch closed behind me when I spot his shape bolt around the corner.

The cellar is pitch black and I nearly break an ankle getting down the rotting stairs. Several of the boards groan and dip as if unsure of my weight, but I hit the cold, stone floor and pause as the putrid stench of raw, festering meat hits my nostrils. It rolls down my throat to fill my lungs, burn my eyes. I’m gagging and trying not to make a sound as I use my good hand to cover my mouth and try not to throw up.

What the fuck?

Fighting to breathe through my mouth, I reach down and poke one of the phone screens and find the flashlight option with a bloody finger. Sickly, yellow light explodes from the device and spills across a grimy floor littered with mouse shit, filth, debris, and thick, dark puddles.

Dragging my top collar up over my nose, I lift the light.

I barely stifle my scream.

Barely.

It lodges on my tongue, a bomb waiting to detonate, and I regret ever climbing down here.

Rows upon rows. Dozens.

Girls.

Girls hanging off meat hooks dangling from sagging rafters.

So many. In all races and ages and varying degrees of decomposition. All naked, filthy, covered in blood and bruises. Milky eyes open and staring. Jaws unhinged.

Someone moans, a horrific sound that nearly has my bladder emptying before I realize it’s coming from me, and I have to clap my trembling hand over my mouth.

I hadn’t asked when they mentioned other girls. I hadn’t wanted to know where they came from or what happened to them. Not because I don’t care, but because I wouldn’t know what to do with that information and I’m right. Staring into their vacant eyes, their pasty complexions, I don’t know what to do.

Shuffling outside has me forgetting my fears. I switch off the light and plunge headlong through the rotting corpses. Their clammy flesh brushes my face, my arms. I want to gag, but I bottle it all up until I hit the very back corner of the room. Trapping myself, but also making myself as tiny as possible against the slimy wall.

I’m watching the hatch, the faint slivers of barely noticeable light dwindling, an ominous reminder that I’m about to be trapped in a freezing cellar with a dozen corpses of the girls killed before me in the dark. I’m trying really hard not to break down, but the longer I sit there, staring at their dangling feet, the more hysterical I can feel myself becoming.

Which is why, when one of the phones in my hand springs to life and lights up, I do soil myself. The sour stench mixes with all the other smells, but I barely notice when turning the device over in my hand to peer at the caller.

Jay.

I don’t know who that is, but I swipe answer.

“Where are you?”a male voice demands almost immediately.

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