Page 24 of Haunted Heart
I look from him, back into the maze.
Somethingverywrong is going on in the living world. I hope she can handle it on her own… I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back out if she needs help.
TEN
Standingat the edge of the maze, I look up at the hellish version of my grandmothers’ house. The paint bleeds and more than a few of the windows are shattered. The fence around it is sharp as knives, several pickets bloodied.
But there are no lights on, no movement behind those windows—shattered or not—and I’m not ready to walk those halls yet.
The barn doors are off their hinges and the silo…
The silo is onfire.
The cement column of a building glows hot, flames flickering from the broken half-dome roof.
It creates a perfect backdrop to silhouette the man moving toward it.
“There,” I point toward the shadowy figure and shout, “Dylan!” even though I know it’s futile in this stagnant air.
“Is that Dylan?” Jonas asks, but he follows me as I start toward the silo.
He’s the right height—maybe… his head is bent at an odd angle—and his shirt is dark, his hair is the right length…
I shout for him again, and even though I know he can’t hear me, hedoeshesitate, but doesn’t turn around. He keeps shambling toward the glowing tower.
Damnit.
I already know I’m going to be too late, but I run anyway. Jonas tries to keep up, and I don’t let go of the chain, even though he’s turned into a human ballast.
The man I’m chasing reaches the narrow door in the sidewall. His hand starts to smoke as he takes hold of the handle.
This time, I scream Dylan’s name.
This time, Jonas shouts it too.
I don’t know which of us he heard, but he turns as he hauls the silo door wide.
I skid to a stop and Jonas runs into the back of me, catching hold of my shoulders so we don’t go tumbling forward.
He doesn’t let go of me, and I don’t try to shake him off as I blink at the guy lit by the inferno.
He’s not Dylan, but he is familiar. A long slit runs across his throat, black blood cascading in sheets down his chest.
His head tips to the side. The slit tears a little wider.
“Who is that?”
“Steven Cramer.” Jonas sounds bewildered as he says it.
“Also in poli-sci?”
He shakes his head. “Math 431.”
We watch as burning hands reach out of the silage and pull Steven in. He goes, screaming.
The door slams shut as his Hell takes him.
We should have done something. “We should have…”
