Page 63 of Forever We Fall

Together, we press forward, not touching but close enough to move as one. The back door looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed approximately one hundred and fifty years ago.

Arlo turns the knob. It gives with a low groan that makes my stomach bottom out. He gives a flit of his wrist and a small purse of his lips, telling me it doesn’t matter. I trust him with my life, but my insides aren’t buying it just yet. They rattle and rumble as I follow him inside and close the door behind us, soundlessly. Thank goodness.

As soon as the door meets the frame, the weight of this place presses onto my shoulders. It’s as if my body knows evil resides here. From the darkness clinging to every corner to the mildew polluting the air, this place is inhospitable.

Bottles of cheap beer and liquor litter the counter and table in an old cook’s kitchen that’s seen better days.

My guts twist even tighter.

My friend goes rigid as if the memories of this place are trying to drown him.

I step close to his side and just a little bit in front, careful not to block his view of the room and large archway beyond it. I hold my palm out between us and hold my breath.

His gaze slices to it. His gaze meets mine. He blinks several times. I watch him pull himself back from the monsters inside his head.

Arlo’s gloved fingers flex, then form fists. He rolls his shoulders, nods in acknowledgment of my gesture, then hurries into the hallway.

Rejection stings like a backhand.

I let it fuel my determination to end the motherfucker who lives here. The motherfucker who will die here. Tonight.

By the time I catch up with Arlo, he’s at the base of the wide stairs. He points toward the side near the wall and ascends them on silent, fast feet. I follow close, up them and to another level.

It’s dank and somehow darker here. It’s because I know what happened on this floor in this house. It’s where my love was ripped apart. Emotionally and physically.

To my surprise, he hurries through the door of his haunted room. He rushes to the chains that held him prisoner and crouches low. I unzip the bag across my body and hand him the bolt cutters. The fucking metal is looped through a radiator that was built into the goddamned wall ages ago.

Arlo maneuvers the claws around the first lock. I grab either side of the chain. He wrenches the long handles together and snaps the metal apart.

Air whooshes in and out of his lungs for a few seconds while I carefully extricate the first chain from its anchor. What sounds like a soft sob is caught in his glove.

My heart aches. I give him a second to collect himself and pull two fresh locks from the bag. I place one in each pocket of my pants. Still, my friend shakes.

I lean close and put my lips near his covered ear. “You are the strongest person I know. You are setting yourself free.”

He nods frantically and grabs the cutters once more.

Quietly, we remove the second chain. We coil them in dangling loops around our arms, taking great care that the sides don’t touch. Arlo flips off the room and heads for the stairs.

One level down and past several nearly empty rooms, I hear the lull of a fan.

Arlo points at the closed door a little way from the end of the corridor, and I know that’s his uncle’s bedroom. I nod, having never been more ready for something in my life.

I’m ready to free Arlo from his nightmare.

He has to be the one to do it, though, and I hate it.

My friend twists the knob and soundlessly opens the door into a massive bedroom with one dresser vomiting its contents, peeling wallpaper, crooked paintings, and a bed that looks far too small for the space. It’s made of wrought iron that’s twisted into ornate loops. At the center of it lies a man. An evil man, but simply a man.

Demons don’t snore.

An old-timey box fan is propped on a chair a few feet from the head of the bed. It blows a steady stream of filthy air onto the man’s face, creating quite the racket.

The grin suddenly tugging at my lips is a shock.

Eight months ago, this man terrified me. Now, he is the rodent that needs extermination.

I move on sure feet toward him and meticulously lay the chain perpendicular to the bed. Arlo moves a little more slowly, his gaze on the bed for a long time, but he does the same.

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