Page 31 of A Christmas to Die For
"Whatever you want," Phoebe agrees.
My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob and twist. There's resistance, but it doesn't feel locked.
"Put your shoulder into it?" Phoebe suggests, still recording.
I brace myself and lean into the solid wood. The peephole is still missing, and the whole frame shudders under the pressure. It must be swollen shut, but nothing a few hard shoves can't fix.
Then, behind Phoebe, there's a sharp crack, like glass exploding.
We both freeze, instinctively flinching, bracing for someone to come crashing through the window.
"What the hell?" Phoebe turns. One of the icicles that had been dangling from the roof's overhang now lies shattered on the landing—splintered into jagged shards, glinting like broken glass at her feet.
"Whoa,"I breathe, adrenaline spiking. There's something strangely rousing when danger hits out of nowhere.
"I wasn't expecting that," Phoebe says, her breath visible now, each exhale curling into the cold air like smoke.
I'm breathing too fast. The cold cuts through my nose like tiny blades, sharp and burning with every inhale.
"God, I hate the snow," I grumble, already fantasizing about warm, smoggy L.A. "You ready?"
The door swings open and the house softly groans—as if waking up.
Isee the two blue dots in the same location—Phoebe and Sabrina made it.
The curtains are still drawn tight, and I'm sitting on one of the two beds, staring at nothing. The cops already came and went, took my statement, snapped a few photos, and left with questions I couldn't answer. They were here for maybe ten minutes. We obviously aren't a top priority.
They found it a bit suspicious that nothing of mine was stolen. Like I would toss around our room like that. Whoever broke in is probably long gone by now, likely just someone looking for something to pawn, and we were the perfect target—outsiders, passing through, loaded up with just enough valuables to tempt someone desperate.
But seriously, Sabrina, who brings bougie jewelry on a trip like this?
And with Chet's surveillance system mysteriously cutting out right before it happened, there's no footage, no leads. Justransacked luggage, stolen jewelry and laptop, and that sinking feeling that we were never really safe out here to begin with.
"To hell with this place," I mutter, pacing as I wait for the girls to return. How long have they been gone? What have they found out?
We haven't packed yet, but I make the decision—I'm checking out. It's not like anyone else is going to show up after us.
I barely register the shift as I walk from our room to the office—a subtle change in the air, like the pressure's dropped... or like I've just stepped into a trap.
The bell above the door jingles softly as I push into the small room. The lights are off, the usual hum of cheap fluorescents gone. The space feels dimmer than it should, like maybe Chet turned the lights off to save electricity. The only source is coming from the glow of the fireplace.
"Hello?" I call out. I half expect Chet to shuffle out from that hidden back room like he did when we checked in.
But then,click.
The unmistakable sound of a lock turning. Behind me.
My stomach drops.
The same door I just walked through.Locked.
I spin around, heart pounding, and that's when I see the person locking us in.
And I curse myself, too late, for walking in alone.
Because I'm not alone anymore.
"Albert." I shudder when I see the keychain dangling from his dirty, bloody fingers. This room is far too small for the two of us and my growing panic.
