Erin knocked on their door but nobody came. They let themselves in and she heard crying. “Skye, put the knife down!” Ashton pleaded. They rushed down the hall to the bedroom; the door was open. Skye was standing on the opposite side of the bed waving a kitchen knife around in the air. “Get back, Ashton. Don’t smother me!”
He had his hands up. “Not smothering you, I just want to talk. That’s all. Tell me what’s going on. It’s okay, just tell me.”
Skye slammed her back into the wall when she saw Erin and Trevor standing outside the doorway. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t! It’s not okay! Stop saying that!”
Erin’s voice was calm, reasonable, clear. “Skye, I know exactly what you’re upset about. It’s happening to all of us. You’re not going crazy, I’m not going crazy, none of us are. I know how upsetting this is.”
“They’re poisoning us! Torturing our minds! They’ll keep doing it. I know they will. They know what we want. Don’t you understand?” She tilted her head back and huffed out a deranged sigh. “They know what we want.”
Skye brought the knife to her wrist and held it there, contemplating the vertical slice. “I just can’t. I won’t let them.”
“We had the dreams too, Skye. We had them too!”
Her eyes softened as they looked into Erin’s. Erin smiled back as she expected a “hey girl” to leave her lips, but her eyes went dark again. “I know you did. And they won’t stop.” The blade slid down, cutting into veins and arteries. Erin just stood there and watched it happen. Ashton jumped over the bed and ripped the knife from her hands. Blood was everywhere and Erin’s knees went weak.
Chapter Thirty-four - Stefan
Stefan considered it a good sign that they wanted to leave. His shin bone hurt from the false trap—he didn’t remember setting them up. He thought he had decided against that. He must have instructed Bruce to do it. Bruce had played his role flawlessly. He’d be paid a fair sum, though Stefan didn’t believe money was that important to Bruce. Perhaps it would only be a modest sum. They had only discussed rough numbers.
It was all a success, and it was clear that the potential was now a reality within his grasp, but there was just one problem. He was in love with Erin.
Lying in bed, he let a fantasy run its course. They were showering together, the glass steamed, his hands on her hips behind her. He ran his fingers up her flat stomach, she arched her lower back. His left hand ran to the base of her collarbone and he kissed her neck. He tasted her skin as steam filled the room. Every sound she made was perfect.
Stefan opened his eyes and there was someone standing at the foot of his bed. He scrambled back in his sheets. The shadowy man was… Arnie? He just stood there, not moving an inch as Stefan gathered his breath back. “Arnie? What the hell are you doing, man?”
Stefan expected a goofy, toothy smile. Not so.
“Arnie?”
“Hey.” His voice was quiet. “I needed to talk to you.” He was monotone, robotic.
“Well, I’m free now. Let’s talk.”
“This is not the place.”
“What?”
“I guess I just came to give you a heads-up.”
“A heads-up about what? I thought you took my boat back.”
“No. The paramedic crew took it back. The ceremony. It’s time.”
“Are you serious? I hardly know those people. Shit, Arnie. I trusted you with my boat. Who’s bringing it back tomorrow then?”
“It will all be fine. They’ll return tomorrow. Just fine…”
“Whatever. Take a bottle from the cellar and get out. I need to get some sleep, man; I’m exhausted.” Stefan sunk back into his pillow. “Arnie?” No answer.
He was clearly messing with him. “Arnie, get out of here.” Stefan lifted his head off the pillow and he was gone. Stefan’s throat was dry, and he was now bracing himself for something to pop out of the dark corners in his room. Nothing came.
The minutes ticked on and with time, he was able to relax, convincing himself that it was very probable that Arnie was wasted.
The sheets lifted and slid down his legs. Something was forcing him to sit up in bed. Something had full control of his body, and it wasn’t him. His head was strategically turned with slow, agonizing suspense toward the clock down on the floor next to the bed. It was 2:59 a.m.
Like insects hatching inside his brain at an incomprehensible rate, the message played over and over again: Stay a while. It pounded into him over and over again as his fists clenched and punched against the bed. His brain pressed against his skull as he yelled for it to stop, begging, pleading, just wishing it would end.
Everything went still and quiet. He had control of his body again. Thank God, thank God. He climbed cautiously out of bed and made his way out into the hallway, only to be grabbed hold of the thing again. His joints were stiff, immovable. Then, it took charge, and he was walking. Up the stairs, through the living room, around the corner, out his back door. The warm air moisturized his skin. His feet were not in his control. They belonged to something much, much more powerful.
He wanted to turn his head, to look toward the duplexes and call for help, but he had become a doll with strings attached.
He walked through the trees. The night was silent. His feet became wet as his steps continued through the small channel of water. Hiking the ridges was painful. His bare feet were scratched and scraped as his arches curved around sharp corners and jagged rocks. His body stopped at the top, and his head was tilted toward the old cabin surrounded by trees, hardly visible even from that vantage point. He was forced to continue his trek down the backside of the rocks, carving up his feet even worse on the way down. When he reached the bottom, his hamster wheel was churning. What now? His bloodied feet touched wet sand and he was forced to lunge into the water.
The swim was over an hour long. His arms and legs burned so badly that he was sure he’d drown. But the thing wouldn’t let him drown. Small mouthfuls of salt water were forming every time his head dipped in, and he’d try to spit it out and breathe in all in the same motion, starting to choke now. His pace was slowed and he continued on.
Stefan made it to land. He was thrown onto the beach where he was given permission to rest for only a couple minutes to catch his breath.
The floors in the cabin were cold, and he could feel the blood from his feet cake up. He collapsed to the floor. Sebastian, Teresa, Cassidy, and Jhett were all standing with grimacing smiles, bitter and satisfied. There was an old chair in the middle and he was forced to sit. They smiled. Then it let go.
“What is this?” His throat was still burning from the salt.
Each of them was holding one of the four weapons that he had hid for his special game.
“Thank you for conducting the trials. They were flawless. Very high notes of fear,” Sebastian said, grinning.
“What?”
“We realize this is confusing for you. It always is for the owners. You’re all the same, varying levels of enthusiasm. I was pleased to see that profitability was not your true desire. So much more, right, Stefan? So many others, they didn’t stay long enough for us to begin.”
He tried to stand but was thrown back into his chair without a hand being laid on him.
Someone else entered the cabin and moved forward through the shadows. It was Bruce.
“Kid.”
Arnie followed in behind.
“Bruce, what’s going on?”
“You were an integral part in delivering us the girl. You did well.”
“What are you freaks talking about?” He snickered but didn’t believe in his own attempt at laughter. This was no joke. Whatever spell they had him under, it was real.