Page 70 of Wicked Little Nightmare

Cam's large hand enveloped mine, squeezing gently. "Ready, babe?"

I grinned up at him, pushing away the gnawing unease. "You know it, handsome. Let's go find some answers."

As we ascended the steps, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into my own personal nightmare. That somehow this place was my origin story. Why couldn’t I access the memories? Why was so much of my life just a large black hole?

Sure, the ‘experts’ say childhood trauma causes you to black out memories, but… considering I hardly had a soul, why would mine be empty? It was as if I didn’t exist before I got thrust into foster homes.

We stepped into the orphanage, the floorboards groaning beneath our weight. The air inside was thick and musty making me sneeze. Cam chuckled and said, “bless you” and I rolled my eyes at him. Yeah. Bless me indeed. My eyes darted around, taking in every detail of the dimly lit interior. Fuck, why did this place feel so goddamn familiar?

Cam's voice was low and husky, "Basement?"

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah. That's where the real fun always happens."

As we moved down the hallway, more flashes played across my field of vision. Children's laughter echoing off peeling walls. The acrid smell of bleach. A nun's stern face looming over me. I stumbled, my heart racing. Shaking my head, I forced myself to calm. I’d definitely been here before, but when? How?

Cam steadied me, concern flickering in his dark eyes. "You okay, baby?"

I forced a smile. "Mhmm. Let's keep moving."

We found the spiral staircase leading to the basement. With each step down, my sense of dread grew. There were so many things that could be waiting for us down there. Seeing more torture rooms, or jars with body parts might send me into a tailspin, but this was what I signed up for when I said yes, so I had to grow a pair and deal.

At the bottom, a heavy wooden door stood slightly ajar. I pushed it open, the hinges shrieking in protest. The smell hit me first — blood and fear and pain.

"Holy shit," I whispered, taking in the scene before us.

The room was a nightmare come to life. Rusty chains hung from the ceiling. Stained surgical tools were scattered across a filthy metal table. And there, in the corner, a woman was tied to a chair, her head lolling to one side.

For a moment, I froze. This felt familiar. The white of her gown, to the positioning of the chair in the room, the way she was tied. I knew this. I knew what they were going to do to her.

"Lakey," Cam's voice cut through my panic. "What do you want to do?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "We untie her. Now."

As I moved towards the woman, the thoughts kept bombarding me.She must be important to be here. Especially since it looks like this place was practically abandoned. Why do I feel like I am looking at a twisted reflection of myself?

I watched as Cam cut the ties to her hands, effortlessly lifting the unconscious woman, and cradling her against his broad chest. His face was a mask of calm efficiency, but I knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"I'll get her to safety," he said, his voice low and controlled. "You keep searching. Be careful, baby."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Always am, aren't I?"

He flashed me that crooked grin I loved so much, then disappeared up the stairs with his burden.

Left alone, I felt the weight of the deeds done here pressing down on me. My skin crawled with memories I couldn't quite grasp, like wisps of smoke slipping through my fingers.

"Fucking nightmare of a place. Okay, let’s get this show on the road," I muttered to myself, gripping my knife tighter.

I moved deeper into the basement, my footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. Each door I passed sent a chill down my spine. What horrors lay behind them? What answers? I never opened them to find out, opting to look in through the window in the top half of the door. These were observation windows, and each one held a different type of room set up. One was empty, with a bloodied pillow in the corner. One had blocks, kid’s toys. It was painted warmly, almost welcoming. The next made my stomachturn. Old, dried blood splattered across the walls, a shattered plate, smears that looked like a body had been dragged around.

Fucking hell.

As I turned a corner, something tugged at me. Not physically, but... a feeling. A pull. Like a string tied around my heart, leading me forward.

"What the fuck is going on?" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.

But I kept moving, driven by a need I couldn't explain. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets.

We needed to find out who the fuck was doing this. To put an end to all of it, because as much as my heart sang when I drove my knife through someone, this was too much. Too far. It seemed no one else gave a fuck, so it all rested on us… we needed answers. We needed to know why it felt so goddamn familiar.

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