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Would he force me to kill Jackson too?

I would rather turn the knife on myself than do that.

When I attempted to sleep, disturbing nightmares plagued my mind. Christopher’s pleading eyes stared back at me as I plunged the knife into his stomach, spewing vitriol at me for not doing enough to save him. And by the fifth nightmare, his face transformed into Jackson’s. After that, I refused to sleep. I lay rigid beside Wayne, staring up at the ceiling until it blurred and the first light of morning crept in through the window like nothing had happened at all.

Soon, I would have to go back downstairs.

Soon, I would have to scrub his blood away.

Like I always did.

Like I was expected to.

I didn’t even flinch as the alarm clock cut around the room. Wayne groaned and yawned behind me, turning it off and pulling me into his chest, his legs intertwined with my own, his cold feet brushing against my calves. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Feel better today?”

“Of course,” I whispered.

“I knew you would,” he murmured and peppered kisses along my neck. I closed my eyes as disgust filled my veins like ice. I wish I had the strength to toss my head back and crack his skull, but I didn’t…so I didn’t.

Knock. Knock.

Wayne froze behind me, his hand clamped over my mouth before I could even react, placing a finger against his lips. “Not one fucking word,” he hissed before he moved off me, lifting up from the bed. My eyes flickered towards the door as he dressed himself. “Get downstairs. Right fuckin’ now.” I moved off the bed as Wayne slowly opened the door and looked down the hall towards the foyer. I peeked over his shoulder and glanced at the front door, seeing two shadows moving through the blinds.

“Wayne Gatz, it’s Peter Rosen. Open up!”

I stilled.

Peter?

Hope surged through me so violently, it made me move before I could think. “Peter,” I breathed, his name slipping out of me like instinct as I stepped forward and…

“Stop,” Wayne snapped immediately.

My foot hovered, trembling, my whole body straining toward the hallway. “Peter,” I started, but it broke apart in my throat. My brother was right there. All I had to do was scream, and he’d come running in and save us. Wayne stepped back into the room and shut it halfway without looking away from me.

“Turn around,” he hissed. I quickly faced the wall as he opened a drawer behind me. “Can’t have the fucking chain coming out of a wall now, can we?” He knelt down and unlocked the clasp around my ankle.

I couldn't move.

Peter was here.

Peter was here.

I pressed my head into the wall and clenched my eyes shut as they stung. “Stop fucking crying,” Wayne snapped before roughly grabbing my upper arm and opening the bedroom door. I covered my mouth to contain my sobs as I peeked over my shoulder and saw a shadow moving at the front door again. Wayne shook me roughly and dragged me towards the basement, opened the door, and shoved me inside.

“One fucking sound from down here, and I’ll smash his head in,” he hissed, shoving his finger in my face before slowly closing the door, a resounding click and a heavy dragging sound following. I knew what he was doing. He was pushing a large dresser in front of the door. The light from the bottom disappeared, cloaking the room in darkness, save for the lightbulb buzzing in front of the mattress.

My hands trembled as I pressed my ear up against the door, closing my eyes to the muffled timber of his voice.

Peter. I’m right here. I’m right here.

“Evie? What’s happening?” Jackson’s voice was rough with sleep.

As footsteps drew closer, I slowly pushed away from the door, gripping the banister as I quietly descended down the stairs, walking unsteady without the usual weight of the chain.

“What happened?”

I stood at the bottom and covered my face, weeping into my palms.