Page 14

C hapter 14

Naya

The sense of loneliness washes over me as I slowly wake up. The prickling sense that something is off fills me, but I cannot explain what it is.

Coldness seeps through my bones as I blink my eyes open, my breath creating small puffs of fume in the air. It’s freezing in this house, with no electricity to keep the heat. The eerie silence descends, amplified without the presence of someone breathing or snoring beside me.

The room is empty, with Grey nowhere to be seen. The trembling of my body increases at that realization, and I let my gaze roam over the room, hoping that he’s somewhere in here. Maybe he’s smoking by the window, but he’s not, and a heavy weight settles in my chest.

His jacket is gone as well from where he left it hanging on the weathered wardrobe the day before.

My muscles protest in response as my feet meet the floor, chilling my bones more, as if a curse spreads from my battered soles directly to my head.

It feels as if a rug has been swept underneath my feet when I see that the broken chair leg has been removed from its secured spot under the door. I instantly rush toward it. Peeking my head out, I glance left and right, and the sinking dread floods me tenfold.

This house feels ominous in the dead of the night, with its cracked, barren walls and ancient paintings hanging on them, reminding me of Grimhill Manor. I swallow what feels like molten lava scorching my insides, forbidding myself from remembering the slightest inkling of that place and its doll master.

With every step down the stairs, the floorboards creak, and the sense of being watched crawls over me; a prickling sensation starting from the base of my neck and spreading like wildfire through my cells. It’s a feeling that’s been following me ever since we left the Dollhouse, on the run for our lives.

Has the authorities caught up to us? Have they finally found out who the culprits are of the fire? Or have they realized who I am? The woman on the run after killing her mother in cold blood.

Oh God, how could I have been so stupid as not to notice when Grey left the bed?

I glance toward the dark kitchen with minimal furniture, hosting a refrigerator and freezer which don’t work because of the lack of electricity. Past the kitchen is the living room. I see the silhouette of a couch in the middle of the room, with a coffee table before it. A large clock stands closest to the kitchen, but the darkness makes it hard to make out anything else.

I breathe deeply, hoping to find Grey as soon as possible.

Movement catches the corner of my eye, moving silently through the living room with an ominous presence that makes my insides turn to ice from how much colder it’s suddenly become.

Staggering backward, I stare into the darkness, mouth parted in shock and terror. Every nerve in my body is on edge, waiting for something horrible to occur.

“Grey?” I whisper, hoping, praying, wishing it’s him.

My eyes must be playing tricks on me, but the moment the thought hits me, I swear I notice a shadow moving deeper into the space, on the other side of the house from where I stand. Fear wants to paralyze me, making every muscle in my body strain with the fight-or-flight instinct. I force myself to take a calm step backward.

The only audible noise is my own breathing ringing loudly in my ears, silence greeting me otherwise.

No one is there, Naya.

No more movements come, and I hesitantly turn my back to the living room and the kitchen. That’s when I spot the door leading outside standing ajar, all thoughts of hesitation leaving my mind. I drag the hoodie tighter over my frame to stifle the freezing temperature, heading outside while fearing the absolute worst.

What happened to Grey? I never should have fallen asleep.

I can’t shake the feeling that Emilio Ricci might have gotten to him. Grey never believed me when I told him I’d seen Emilio—I get it; I wouldn’t have believed myself either. But what if he was truly there? Guilt churns in my gut as I step out into the quiet night, the crisp air biting at my skin.

A soft, humid warmth melts away the lingering coolness—summer is now in full bloom. The world has long shed its thin layer of frost, replaced by a vibrant greenery, the fragrant scent of grass, and blooming flowers. It’s hard to believe so much time has already passed since we escaped the dollhouse just a few weeks ago, when early summer still clung to the landscape with its fading chill.

The grass feels soft underneath my feet as I step off the porch, the warm soil making my feet sink. The serene silence of summer wraps around me, broken only by the creak of a branch as a bird’s wings flap against it, or the distant howl of an owl far in the distance.

I focus my gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the car to my right. It’s the car where Grey’s parents died—I realized that when his eyes locked on it the day we arrived, before he collapsed to his knees in defeat. I can’t think of what Daxton did, or that Grey took accountability for the murders.

I don’t even want to think about what horrors the crumbled walls of this house have witnessed over the years. The place reeks of stories untold, ghosts of the past lingering around every corner like a haunted silhouette.

“Grey?” I ask, hoping he’s out here, but he’s not.

On instinct, my nails find my wrist as I scratch as hard as I can, continuing down the path leading outside the manor’s perimeters.

With each step I take, the more my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach, as hard and steady as the Titanic did.

The gate stands wide open, its rusty hinges creaking as I close it behind me while casting an eye over the yard. The manor stands eerie in the darkness, with clouds covering the moonlight and preventing any source of light. I swear I see a silhouette moving from behind the house walls, but it’s gone the next moment.

Gravel crunches underneath my feet as I scan the area, but Grey is nowhere in sight. Panic tightens its poisonous grip on me. Where the fuck is he?

Self-hatred wells up inside me alongside dread as I fist my hair, at a loss for what to do next. In frustration, I scratch my wrist once again, finding a preserved satisfaction in watching my paler skin turn red from the irritation, small blisters forming as blood seeps from them.

“Grey?” I call out, my voice tinged with desperation, praying he will answer me.

I want to believe this is all a joke, but deep down, I know that isn’t the case. I can feel it down to my marrow. It’s like being back at the dollhouse all over again when Arthur had me running through the woods in the hope of saving Grey in time. Like then, everything falls apart around me.

Another step outside the manor’s perimeters has pathetic tears burning behind my eyelids, loneliness and distress seeping through the cracks of the carefully constructed shield around my soul.

I gaze toward the rusty train tracks and swallow harshly at how dark it is. One might think that you’d be immune to the darkness after being ensnared in it for months, endlessly trapped, but it’s in these shadows that monsters worse than me thrive, and I have no desire to become their prey once more.

Something out of place catches my attention on the tracks—a slumped figure lying motionless. I squint my eyes, trying to discern any details. It doesn’t move an inch, only lies there.

When it finally does move, it lets out a horrible cough penetrating the silence. As the moonlight peeks through dispersing clouds, I glimpse strands of black and red hair, sending a surge of adrenaline through me.

Without hesitation, I break into a run, the few meters between us disappearing in a blur. Each step crunches on the tracks, the icy air burning my lungs.

The figure is battered, blood trickling down his nose, bruises darkening his eyes and lips. His arms are wrapped protectively around his ribs, his face twisted in agony.

“Grey?” I whisper in horror, but he doesn’t move. “Grey!”

My heart beats wildly within me. The other day, I saw the signs—he wasn’t nearly as hurt then, but I knew something was wrong. I should have done something. This is all my fucking fault.

It devastates me to see him so vulnerable, sending a spear through the cracks of that shield protecting my soul. I fall to my knees before him, taking in his usually composed demeanor that’s now shattered by the bruises on his body. The moonlight filtering through the trees casts a glow on his pale skin, revealing even more injuries. Nausea has bile rising in my throat that I’m forced to swallow.

His eyes don’t open, which only has the panic worsening, pounding inside me like the deadliest weapon. I try to wake him, but he’s unconscious, and I can’t help the fear running through me.

“Grey!” I scream, but he doesn’t even stir.

A phone peeks out from his pocket, and my heart skips a beat. When did he get the money to buy this? None of this feels good. My hands tremble as I grab the phone, nearly dropping it onto the ground as I fumble to unlock it.

There’s only one person I can call, and a small spark of hope blooms inside me. He’ll know what to do. I memorized his number the moment he gave it to me in case of emergencies.

As I dial, I stare at Grey’s unmoving form, his face too bruised and face contorted in agony even in unconsciousness. I can’t help the tears spilling down my cheeks, salty on my tongue as the phone rings…and rings…no answer.

“Please, Daxton,” I whisper, my voice a broken plea.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and try once again, fingers shaking as I hit the button.

Grey lets out a wet cough, a gurgling sound that sends sweat beading on my forehead from the fresh wave of panic.

“Pick up, Daxton. I don’t know what to do,” I cry out, heart breaking. I can’t lose Grey—he’s the only person I have.

“Grey, wake up, baby.”

But he doesn’t.

The phone screen blurs as more tears fall when I dial Daxton again. A sting of betrayal at him not answering hits me like a gunshot. I feel utterly at a loss in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, a hand brushes away my tears, startling me. “Are you crying over me?” The voice is teasing, yet breathy and full of twisted agony.

“Grey?” I ask, barely believing it as relief washes over me.

He nods, smiling weakly while gently wiping away the tears from my cheeks. “I’m…s-sorry,” he wheezes.

“What are you doing here, baby?” My voice trembles, breaking at the sight of him beaten within an inch of his life.

“I-I had to do…something,” he stammers, then winces.

“What did you do?” My voice is hesitant, even though I have an inkling of what he did.

The forest around seems to hold its breath along with me as I await his reply. Meeting my eyes, he lifts his hands for me to inspect. He grits his teeth as I inspect his knuckles, swollen and tender, with scraped skin and small abrasions. Specks of dried blood coat the surface, and only have more bile rising in my throat as I attempt to keep my composure.

Despite the pain floating through his body, he opens his palm, showing me the bloodied bunt of money enough to last for a few months. Horror makes its way through me, crawling down my spine as I stare at him, unable to find the words.

“I had to do something,” he replies, broken yet determined.

“You fought?”

“Revisited the past.” The smirk on his face tells me he’s fought before.

I’m unable to form any coherent words as I guide him toward the house.

“Never be so fucking stupid again.” I curse him, emotions clogging my voice.

His steps are interrupted by yet another wheezing cough that has him stumbling forward, and I hold on to him with all the strength I can muster—which is hard since he’s taller than me.

“That’s not the best part, though,” he rasps, taking something out of his other pocket.

It’s two passports and a gun, safe from the same blood that stains the money. I’m speechless as my eyes lock on the passports in disbelief.

“W-what?”

“We can be free, little doll.”

I still can’t find any coherent words as I pause and truly look at him. I don’t dare ask him what the cost was—it’s obvious from his bruised body. Whoever did this must have thought he was dead with no one to care for him, and then abandoned him on those tracks to die alone.

What if I hadn’t woken up? How long had he been out there in the cold?

I continue guiding his body through the yard. Holding and supporting his weight in my smaller form is no easy feat, and he stumbles forward again while nearly losing his balance. He’s worse off than I initially thought.

“I was fine until they came for me as I got home,” he struggles to grit out, and I glare at him, despite worry etching itself across every feature.

We reach the porch, and his confession hangs heavy in the air. The cold bites into our bodies as I open the door to the house, trembling fingers making it harder, and no warmth greets us. I guide him to the couch in the living room, not even daring to venture up the stairs to the room we’ve been staying in for the past few days. He sinks heavily into the plush mattress, each ragged breath only deepening the ache inside me.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I murmur as I remove his jacket, laying it over him as a blanket.

A look of regret crosses his face. “I promised I would never leave you. I made it home, didn’t I?”

I sigh, looking at him before gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You did. Now rest. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow,” I demand.

“Okay, ma’am.” He playfully smirks, despite the exhaustion littering his face. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

This beautifully broken man before me—protecting me in the only way he knows how. At that moment, as I hold him close to me, minutes turning to what must be hours as his labored breathing finally steadies, I silently vow to protect him no matter what.