Page 80 of All the Things We Buried

“It’s a plan, then,” she said, rising to her feet. “We can start packing.”

I reached for her hand, studying her face.

There was something in her eyes.

Something new.

Something that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Is something wrong?”

She shrugged. “It’s this place,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so scared that something’s going to happen to you.”

I pulled her against my chest, holding her like that might keep her thoughts out. “Nothing’s going to happen. I promise.”

“But the dream,” she murmured. “The nightmare… You die on your bike. You’re not safe. I see you lying in a morgue, in pieces. And I can’t put you back together.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey…” I cupped her face in my hands and met her gaze.

“If you don’t want me riding, I won’t touch a bike again. Ever.” I kissed her softly. “They’re just nightmares. The house, it’s messing with you.”

“But I need you safe,” she whispered. “With me.”

She choked back a sob, her voice breaking. “You can drive. I’d never take that from you. But Ineedyou to come back to me.Safe.”

And I knew. I knew it wasn’t just fear or dreams. I knew the voice whispering to her in the dark. The same one that once clawed through my mind.

Shadowwas hauntinghernow.

I pulled her close, lips brushing hers. “Let me help you forget those thoughts… yeah?” I said, and gently led her toward the chains.

Her brow lifted. “Your idea of curing dark thoughts… is replacing them with darker ones?”

“Something like that,” I murmured.

I stepped over to the table where Nagi was. Inside the drawer was a white ski mask. I took it in my hands, and for a moment, I remembered I had imagined I could become someone else. Someone without a past. Someone untouched by ghosts. That was me when I put that mask on; maybe she can be the same.

I grabbed the rope and turned to her. When I held the mask out, she didn’t flinch. She leaned into it. I pulled it over her head, and she adjusted it. She held out her wrists to me, already knowing what the rope was for.

“Good girl,” I growled, peeling her shirt off.

I tied her wrists tightly, then hooked her right arm to the first hanging chain.

Then the left. The metal creaked as I locked her in place.

Her arms were stretched, suspended, her breath soft behind the mask.

The ski mask left only her eyes exposed, and I could drown in that ocean-blue stare every time she looked at me.

She stood there vulnerable, waiting. Waiting for me.

I circled her slowly, studying every curve of her body. She was flawless. Too flawless. Like the house had carved her out just to haunt me.

I stopped behind her.

Stepped closer.