Page 42 of Dead By Dusk

“Let me prove it to you then.” My voice is taunting and bitter, deeper than I would normally speak as I grab my discarded weapon. The sound of the metal blade roughly dragging across the floor is nothing but a dull roar in my ears as the idea of lodging it deep into his heart plays in my mind on repeat. His smile is something wicked and taunting as he spreads both arms out in mock surrender before me, all hope vanished, leaving nothing but defeat plastered in its place.

“Be my guest.”

“Why are you so willing to die to prove a point?” There’s no answer to my question as he drags his hand—the one permanently marked with a sign of his unwavering devotion to me—through his messy hair. He brings himself to his feet and extends a hand to me.

I don’t take it though. Instead, I wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. He bides his time, taking in every inch of my body, reading my every movement, noting the way my fingers tighten around the hilt of my axe, just to loosen them, hesitating to know what exactly my right choice is. He must clearly see my indecision.

“Come with me,” he says, his arm still outstretched toward me in a silent offering but I refuse to take it. Refuse to allow any more contact between the two of us today, and instead push myself up on my own. I watch as he drops his hand, takes a deep breath, and walks away.

There’s nothing but silence spread throughout the house as I follow his quiet steps. My own footfalls mirror each of his.

I don’t voice my question, but he senses it nonetheless as he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.“The others decided to get some sleep before I came up. I told them I’d take the first watch,” his voice trails off as we approach the shattered door. Just before he steps through, he pauses. Taking a deep, harrowing breath he steps back. He steps in front of me, crowding my space and pushing me against a wall. One of his hands grips my waist, the other presses against the wall as he leans down to look at me.

“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me right now, but I want you to know I don’t trust them either.” Just like that, he puts distance between us again, stepping through the door and leaving me to decide my next move on my own and consider his words. His last words replay in my mind over and over, slowly guiding my body through the gaping hole. None of my movements feel as if they came from me by choice. Rather, a gentle push from someone else, a ghost of the past or future, something all knowing and omnipotent that is leading me toward the answers I need more than my own breath.

“You left before looking at everything earlier. I stuck around and kept digging for a while. I think I found something that you’re going to want to see,” he rushes out in one breath. The room is just as I remember it: coated in death and hidden truths. The stench is one that lingers throughout the room, heavy and honest with the reality we’re forced to face. Fight or die. Believe everything or question everyone. I look toward him and see an unmistakable tremble in his hands as he pulls a crumpled piece of paper from a cluttered drawer.

“Do the others know?” I’m breathless as I look over the paper. A layout of not just the house, but lines stretching for miles beyond the forest. As I back up, my thighs hit the edge ofthe bed, still perfectly made, a soft comforter draped over it. I swiftly turn around and smooth the paper out over the mattress and trace every line, trying to understand what exactly I’m looking at.

“No…I kept it hidden and didn’t look any further. I wanted to show you first. I thought maybe…” he trails off. “It doesn’t matter. I just trust you more than I trust anyone else and would rather follow your lead on this.” His words are a distant hum in the background of my mind. I hear them and understand what he’s saying, but have set my sights entirely on what’s in front of me.

Lines. But not lines at all, I realize.

Tunnels.

Stretching all throughout the surrounding area.

A new way out.

A better way out.

Theonlyway out.

Abruptly standing, I rush to the side of the bed closest to the outside wall. The only wall that seems to be made of wood. It’s completely bare and doesn’t have recent photos of everyone here scattered all over either, a fact that I try not to think of too often right now.

“What are you doing?” His gaze is inquisitive, curiously taking in my rapid movements, but I don’t answer as I begin pushing into different areas of the wood, ear pressed against the wall until I hear a distinctiveclick. I stand unmoving, as a section of the wall I was leaning against dips inwards.

I step away.

The wall seems to follow me, opening into a dimly lit stairwell. I can see it leads further down than the first floor of the house. It steals my breath away. The light flickers, and I don’t recognize how cold the air within the desolate space was until warmth envelopes me.

Ronan’s hand, splayed against the dip of my waist, moves inwards and stills on my stomach as he presses his body against mine. I don’t breathe for even a second as the contrast in temperature makes me shiver harsher than I already was. The hair on my arms stands straight up, as if it too is overly aware of the source of heat.

“You have some clothes here. Just sweatpants and one of my cut up shirts, but it will keep you warmer than those shorts will. Put them on,” he rasps from behind me, his mouth too close to my ear. It couldn’t have been more than a mumble, but it sends chills erupting through every limb, and I quickly nod, remove his hand from my body, walking across the room. I look at him expectantly.

As if he knows the effect he has on me, a smirk finds his lips. He wordlessly nods toward the bed, and as I peer down to the space under, I see the dark makings of a drawer hiding beneath the length of the comforter. Quickly scrummaging inside, I grab what I can before throwing the fabric over my mostly bare skin.

He was right, the shirt isn’t much, but it’s more than what I was wearing, and the sweatpants are so large and soft, it almost feels as if a blanket was wrapped around the lower half of my body.

“Where does it lead?” I fix my gaze back to where I’d left him. He is back to examining the hole in the wall, or maybe he’s looking at the light that flickers so harshly that I can hear it sputtering in and out of life. Maybe, he’s looking at the stairs leading to an unknown destination. Just another question that begs to be answered.

“Wherever you would like it to, I suppose. If you know where you’re going.”

21

Tunnel Vision: Ronan

It happens in slow motion. Life ticks by so loudly, and I fear that I may be nothing but a pawn in its game as I watch her walk away from me with storm clouds dulling the vibrant green of her eyes. With each step she seems to increase her pace, following something I can only assume is similar to the apprehension that angrily twists my gut.

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