She hadn’t moved in a half hour, or maybe thirty seconds. Against all odds, she rose to her feet, the bones in her legs still replaced by iron. She wasn’t entirely sure which action was most appropriate in the given situation, but she couldn’t stand being inside anymore, Stefan’s eerie bunker inflicting the beginnings of a panic attack. She made her way across the kitchen to the back entrance about as fast as a turtle. She exhaled quietly as she pressed the handle to open the door. The lights cut out and the door locked automatically. She was trapped.
Erin stood by the door, back upright and stiff as a board. She moved toward the front entrance and found the same result. Locked. She rushed over to the silver-trimmed blinds covering the large living room window and rolled them up slowly, letting the anticipation of fear control her. Fear did not let her down. Standing there in front of the house looking up at her was Teresa, with three others.
She couldn’t feel any of her limbs. She desperately wanted to look away from their haunting stares, but she simply couldn’t. Erin could feel something crawling up her neck as she twisted and tried to swat away an imaginary insect. There was no thing on her; instead, an invitation circulated the lining along her head. Stay a while.
Footsteps. She turned to speak, her voice pitiful. “Hello?” She turned back to the window and they were gone. Another shift in the floorboards came from the kitchen, and finally she was able to convince her body to flee. She took off down the stairs and shuffled down the long basement hallways. She decided Stefan’s room was the correct choice and locked the door behind her.
She stared at the door, waiting for it to come crashing down. But there were no sounds. Erin examined his room. It was so bare, his clothes oddly positioned in the middle of the room in organized piles. There was a large steel door on the far wall. That was peculiar. It was already cracked open. Placing her hand on the cool steel, she pulled it open to find hard case coolers on the floor and shelving filled with bottles of wine. She awaited the big, bad wine goblin that was curled up in the corner, waiting to attack her at the throat. None came. Before stepping inside, she looked over her shoulder to make sure the intruder wasn’t outside her door. She didn’t hear a peep. She stepped inside. It was cool and damp. Erin pulled out a bottle from the back wall and in doing so, something moved. From the corner of the back wall, flecks of dust appeared as if from nowhere. She realized that there was another door at the far end. Placing her hand flat on the door, she pushed, and it swung open, revealing a dungy underground walkway.
Erin stepped out onto a cement step immersing into the cool, damp air of the passage. Her fingertips slid across a light switch and she flicked it on. The hallway was all cement. She soldiered on ahead, sensory overload causing her stoned cognitive function to malfunction. Cobwebs, strange brown stains on the walls, and cracks in the floor—all seemed to strip her away from reality. This can’t be happening. She walked slowly, feeling the cold wall on her trembling hand, each step calculated like she was walking the plank, trying not to tip over. Working her way deep into the monster’s mouth, she neared the end of the hall, where she found four locked rooms, two on each side of the narrow hallway.
Ashton… Skye…
Erin touched the door. She heard footsteps come from straight ahead. At the end of the hall, a few steps away, were three steps leading up to a bright green door. The paint looked fresh.
More patter of movement. Bruce’s cabin! She pulled at the first door, but it was locked. Then the second. Locked. She wasn’t certain, but it sounded like the footsteps had reacted to the noise she had made. Then they stopped. Silence. A hand covered her mouth with powerful force, her hips yanked in tight, pressing against a man’s body. She tried to bite, but he kept adjusting his hand as he brought his head in close.
“We need to go.” It was Stefan. “No noise.”
He let go and she turned to face him. There was a splotch of blood on the bottom corner of his shirt. Is that new blood? “Follow me,” he whispered with a finger to his lips.
He extended his hand and she took it. As they climbed back into the wine room attached to Stefan’s room, she heard a door slam at the end of the hall, echoing all the way down and hitting her like a warm wind trapped in a tunnel. She climbed up after him. They walked through the cold storage and he locked the door connecting his room with a padlock into a latch.
He opened the door of the bedroom to leave, but she stayed put.
“We don’t have time.” His voice was an urgent whisper.
They rushed upstairs. Stefan was delirious at this point, pacing back and forth before deciding to make a pot of coffee this time. She stepped toward the kitchen to stop his hands and ask him what in the hell was going on and why it was a good time for a fucking coffee break, when she spotted a beige folder sitting on the kitchen table. Stefan had his back turned to her as she peeked. The first page was a clue. It was done up in the same way as the one that was slid under their duplex door. Plain white paper, hand-printed with black pen. It read, “All eyes are on you, Erin. Kill Stefan or Skye dies. HINT: Stefan’s gun will do just fine.”
She reread the note and then looked up to see Stefan was still busy making coffee, his gun sitting on the counter next to him.
“I need to tell you something. Something I saw.” He sounded different, his voice croaking. “I just don’t know… how to explain it.”
Erin looked back down at the folder; there was more inside. Underneath the note was a picture of Skye with duct tape around her mouth, horror-filled eyes streaming tears as the knife they had found was held to her throat.
Trevor’s phone vibrated in her pocket. A video had been sent to her. Skye, tied up in a squared-off room, was trying to scream through the tape, but it was too muffled for Erin to make out any pleading words. Suddenly, a hand crashed into Skye’s face, snapping her head to the side. Blood trickled down her cheek as she sobbed. The short video came to an end. Stefan turned halfway to acknowledge her, so she quickly tucked the phone back in her pocket. She was in too much shock to cry, but there was a storm swirling in her chest, crashing back and forth, desperate to get out.
“I saw someone outside. I couldn’t see who.” Stefan lowered his head, watching the drip of the coffee pot. “They were dragging something—someone—into the trees. I don’t think they saw me but… Erin, I know something is going on with the staff here. My staff… I followed… and saw blood. There was too much blood. I think they got Trevor. This is all my fault.” He grabbed his handgun and stared at it for a moment. He set it back down on the counter an arm’s length from the coffee pot.
Erin swiped past the harrowing photograph of Skye, discovering more disturbing pictures. She staggered over to the couch, grabbing hold of the arm rest, breathing deeply, trying to prevent herself from passing out. The rest of the folder was flooded with duplicates of the same three photographs. A crime scene. Within that crime scene lay the policewoman covered in blood. They know what I did. This is all for me.
She tucked the folder underneath the couch. Stefan piped up again. “I ran, Erin. I ran for the fishing boat.” Stefan was now crying, bordering on sobs. His breaths were sharp and broken. “I was going to take the boat and… and leave. Leave all of you.” He cried out like a child. “I’m so sorry…” Stefan turned to face her. He cleared his throat and wiped his tear-stained face. “The boat was gone. I’m glad it was. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”