Page 31 of Corpse Roads

“Nothing new there.”

Hunter absently fiddles with his hearing aid. It seems to be a nervous tick, his impenetrable mask showing a tiny crack of weakness. Enzo disappears upstairs with a tired smile.

“Tomorrow... we need to talk,” Hunter finally says. “You should rest for tonight. It’s been a long day.”

“Talk?”

“We need to discuss what happened to you and where we go from here. I’m offering you our protection, Harlow. It isn’t free.”

Embarrassment stains my cheeks pink. I can feel the shame burning my insides. I would never take what they’ve done for me for granted, but the threat is clear, even unspoken.

Hunter is in charge.

I have to do what he says.

They could easily kick me out onto the street to fend for myself. I don’t even know where we are, let alone how to function in the world alone. I don’t trust them, but I trust the unknown even less.

“I’ll tell you what I can. My memory is patchy. Doctor Richards says more of it will come back over time.”

Hunter’s hand brushes against my arm, startling me back to silence. An unnamed emotion dances in his dark eyes, showing another precious glimpse beneath his armour.

“We’ll get them,” he promises in a gruff whisper. “The people who hurt you. It’s what we do.”

His words strangle me to death.

“You c-can’t. They’re dangerous.”

“So are we, Harlow.”

I’m overcome by the image of their corpses splayed across the basement’s floor, bloated with rot and their skin slowly sloughing off.

Perhaps Pastor Michaels will repeat Abbie’s cruel death. He fancied an experiment one day and peeled the skin from her bones with his knife. She died before he got very far.

“This is what we do, what we’re trained to do,” Hunter reassures calmly. “You don’t need to worry about us. Okay?”

“Who else will worry about you?”

My question takes him aback. Hunter stares at me for a moment longer, his lips parted, before he strides away without answering me. I’m left alone in their sparkling kitchen, feeling filthy and out of place.

Lucky returns, her wet nose nudging my belly for attention. While stroking her, I briefly consider grabbing my shoes and hightailing it out of here.

I don’t belong somewhere like this, bruised and trembling amongst their expensive possessions. Truthfully... I don’t know where I belong. At least in the basement, I knew the status quo.

“Harlow!” Enzo shouts down the stairs.

Shuddering, I fight the instinct to duck and hide. His raised voice tangles with Pastor Michaels’ in my mind, and my skin breaks out in terrified gooseflesh.

“Come on up,” he adds.

Steeling my spine, I make myself walk out of the kitchen. The curved staircase leading upwards is a challenge, and I’m panting by the time I finally reach the top.

On the second floor, carpets are lit by soft lamps, casting shadows against the cream walls. Everything about their space is masculine, but it still manages to be comfortable, albeit sparse.

“Enzo?” I ask uncertainly.

“I’m in here, little one.”

I creep across the hallway towards the last door on the left, passing several others. The room beyond is cloaked in colourful light that beckons me inside with open arms.

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