Page 98 of Behind the Shadows
I stood at the side of her bed, staring at her frail, stiff body. Everything inside me said she was dead, but I had to make sure. My brow arched as I searched the room and spotted a handheld mirror on her dresser. I retrieved it before I held it under her nose for a long minute. Nothing. I raised my hand and placed it on her neck, feeling for a pulse for another minute. Nothing. Her skin was cold to the touch. Finally, I was convinced she was gone. For good. No false alarms like what I’d heard of before.
My heart rate calmed as I allowed reality to sink in. For the first time in my life, the house was silent. No prayers. No screams. No chains.
Leaving the room, I wandered through the rooms and finally opened the door to the basement. Years ago, I’d sworn I would never revisit hell, but here I was for no other reason than to claim the room that had stolen my soul and shaped me into a cold-blooded killer. But I’d won. I was still alive and rebuilding the shattered pieces of myself.
I flipped the light switch at the top of the stairs, then descended them one by one. The musty air curled in my nostrils, a scent so thick I could taste it. Iron, mildew, and the faintest note of the bleach she'd used to scrub out the blood. It must have been years since anyone had swept the steps; every tread was cushioned in a blanket of dust that muffled my footsteps. When I reached the bottom, I stood before the same door she used to lock me behind. The gouges from my fingernails, desperate and childish, still flared in the trim like tree rings counting out the years of my captivity.
I stepped inside and pulled the chain dangling from the bulb, flooding the concrete tomb in yellow light. The cot had collapsed, its mattress slumped and caved where my body hadonce lain. In the far corner, a plastic bucket—the first and only friend I was permitted—still waited, cracked and discolored. I ran my fingers along the initials I’d carved into the cinderblock wall with the end of a spoon. KIP.
I let out a laugh that sounded nothing like my voice. The air was so still it felt preserved, like a crime scene, which in a way, it was. I could feel her here, not as a ghost, but as a residue. The aftertaste of her cruelty. I wondered if she would haunt me, and I realized I didn’t care. She could never be as real in death as she had been in life, and in life, I had already beaten her.
I walked the perimeter, pausing at the spot where she had once chained my ankle to a pipe for three days. I bent down, examining the rusted loop like a museum piece. My arms and legs remembered the exact diameter of the chain, the rhythmic ache when I’d shifted each night to keep from freezing. I imagined cutting the pipe loose, taking it with me, but I left it there. Someone else could marvel at her methods.
The darkness closed in on me, stealing my breath as I spotted the collar next to the cot. The cross. The blood stains on the concrete floor. The hymns she used to sing while carving up my skin.
“You can leave now. You can walk out a free man. Don’t let her chain you anymore.” My words rumbled through the space. I should’ve felt free. But freedom, when you’ve never tasted it, feels a lot like grief.
The basement was smaller than I remembered. My body was bigger, a different geometry, and the ceiling seemed lower. I stood up straight and stretched, filling the space she’d tried for so long to smother out of me. The only thing left to do was to say goodbye, but goodbye was not a word she’d programmed into me.
Instead, I climbed back upstairs, leaving the light on as an act of defiance. In the kitchen, I opened every cabinet and letthe silence fill the rooms she had once dominated. I found her address book next to the sink, its leather cracked and swollen. I thumbed through entries for friends who’d long ago stopped answering her calls. I thought of burning it, but even that felt too sentimental.
Over the next hour, I returned all the medical machines back to her room. For the last time, I slipped the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, turning the machine on. With everything back in its rightful place, I flipped the switch on the two window units to cool the place off before I called 9-1-1 and reported Mother’s corpse.
At the front door, I looked back into the living room, half expecting her to sit up on the sofa, laugh her staccato laugh, and order me to bring her a sandwich. But she was as silent as the house now, and both belonged to the past. I stepped over the threshold, shut the door, and walked down the path, the sunlight blurring my vision. I sucked in the fresh air, clinging to the life surrounding me. Clinging to thoughts of Holland’s kiss, her love. It was time to return to her. Our work together had accomplished what we needed it to. Vengeance. Power.
No longer able to stay in the house with the memories and her corpse, I walked outside. I knew that Mother was gone. But the rot she’d planted? That would live on forever.
Once back in my car, I tapped out a message to Holland that Mother was dead. Then, I made the other calls to report her death and to tell Cynthia that Mother was gone and to let me know if she needed a recommendation. I also told her that Holland and I had Dog.
After the cops arrived, and I was free to go, I started the engine and drove down the driveway. Maybe I should have felt something like remorse, but I was past that. Regardless of if I had to look at her in person or not, she would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. My only regret? I hadn’t thought ofHolland’s plan years ago. But Holland also needed revenge. To stand up to the woman who’d destroyed her and killed her sister. She’d reclaimed her power the moment she rolled the oxygen machine down the hall and away from Mother. I was proud of her.
Forcing my muscles to relax, my thoughts returned to Holland. She didn’t know it yet, but she was about to move in with me. I refused to take no for an answer. If she wanted, we would get our own house together instead of moving into each other’s space. The more I thought about it, a new place together sounded better. It fit. We were closing the door on the past and moving forward. Together. I loved her. I owned her, but she owned me too. Every goddamn part of me. Monster and all.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, spotting a black SUV behind me. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the back road I was on, but something felt off. It had appeared out of nowhere, not helping with my suspicions.
The vehicle surged forward, then slammed into the back of my car.
Metal screamed. Tires shrieked. The wheel jerked violently in my hands.
My car spun.
Once.
Twice.
The world tilted and blurred as I fought for control, heart hammering, hands slick on the wheel. But it was too late. The trees were coming fast. A wall of trunks, dark and unyielding. I yanked the wheel, hard. The big ones rushed past in a blur of bark and shadow.
Then I dropped.
Down the slope.
No road. No traction. Just speed.
Branches whipped at the windshield as the car plowed into a grove of young pine trees, the front of my car smashing headfirst into the tall trunks, the crunch of metal deafening. The seatbelt jerked me back as the airbag deployed, slamming me backward. Somehow, I managed to remain conscious.
My body felt heavy, every muscle stiff from the impact. My head swam, thoughts sluggish, and when I tried to move, pain ricocheted down my side like broken glass. I was too slow, too dazed to react when the shadow fell over me.
My door opened, and my seatbelt was cut off.
