Page 27 of Deceit

“Hello?” I call out again, my voice quaking this time as I begin to spiral into a full-blown panic.

Ghosts aren’t real, right? Just because this cemetery is over three-hundred-years-old doesn’t mean that it’s haunted. Even if there were ghosts out here, it’s not like they can materialize enough to snap twigs and actually make noise….right?

One more sound comes from just a few feet to the left of me. I practically jump out of my skin as my heart sinks and my voice shouts. In the next moment, a pair of black boots comes into view before two legs crouch down to look at me.

My eyes trace over the black clothed man, surprised when I see that it’s Vincent Griggs, staring down at me like I’m an insect he found underneath his boot.

“Vincent?” I question, half disbelieving but also half in relief. “Can you help me out? Please?”

He doesn’t respond, instead, just choosing to stare at me. My relief quickly begins to shrivel inside, replaced with the acceptance that I will probably live out my remaining moments in this grave, before I’m killed by hypothermia, coyotes, three-hundred-year-old ghosts or maybe even Vincent himself.

We end up just staring at each other for what feels like minutes, suspended in time. My mind races with what I can use to defend myself. I think I saw a rock half buried in the wall to my right. Maybe if I can pull it out, it would give me some sort of fighting chance. Go out swinging and all that.

Slowly, Vincent’s tattooed hand reaches down into the grave, extending his fingers to me. I hesitate for only a moment or two, before I greedily accept his help, practically scrambling to latch onto his arm as he begins pulling me up. Pushing my feet into the dirt wall I try my best to ease the burden, but it doesn’t seem to be much of a task for him. He practically yanks me up and out of the grave, without so much as a strained muscle.

I land on the wet grass with a thump and quickly roll onto my back before standing up.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I thought I was going to freaking die out here,” I say, the building tears beginning to let loose as I throw my arms around him.

He immediately tenses beneath me for a moment or two, before roughly shoving me. I right myself before I fall again, and I look up to see him staring at me, with that same angry look he seems to always have ingrained in his features. I open my mouth, to say what? I’m not sure, but I don’t get the chance before he turns and begins stalking deeper into the cemetery, without a single word.

What the hell?

Part of me wants to ask what his deal is, but another chill runs through the air sending goosebumps down my arms. I decide to hell with it, as I practically sprint out of the graveyard. As soon as I pass through the gates, that foreboding fear deep in the pit of my stomach eases, as if I was officially out of danger or something.

As I limp my way back towards the party, I find it alive and well. My eyes scan over the crowd in search of Maggie, but I come up short. Seriously? Not only did she not realize I was gone, but she left me too? Rationally, I hope she is looking for me or maybe assumed I decided to leave early, but irrationally I’m pissed that I was trapped in that grave for nearly an hour.

Screw this, I’m out of here. I begin making my way towards my dorm, craving nothing more than a warm shower and my bed. On the negative side, I’m cold, beer soaked and caked with dirt and mud. On the positive side…nope, all negatives. This night sucks.

Chapter Eleven

Skyla

My teeth are practically chattering together as I wrap my arms around myself, walking as quickly as I can just for the sake of trying to warm-up. It only took me another twenty-feet of walking to realize that I’m still locked out of my dorm.

When I pass by the pool, I pause. I doubt it’s unlocked, but it’s worth a shot. At least they have showers.

Please, please, please.

I repeat the word over and over again, hoping and praying the door will give, but all my hopes are dashed in an instant when I pull, only to be met with locked resistance. Damn.

I turn on my heel, heading to I don’t even know where, when I hear the door open behind me and a deep voice rasping my name.

“Skyla?”

My head whips around, locking eyes with a dripping wet Ronan. He’s wearing a t-shirt that is soaking by the second and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he leans against the door, keeping it propped open as he does.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He frowns at me. “You’re wet, dirty, and bleeding.”

I look down to see my palms are cut open, a small drip of blood coming from my right hand before splashing onto the light grey pavement. When did that happen?

“C’mon,” he says, with a nod inside the building.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush inside, slipping past him and into the warm hallway. A shiver runs through me as the heat pricks my skin. I feel a large hand rest against my lower back and turn to see Ronan nodding to me.

---