Page 17
C hapter 17
Naya
Woods creak in the distance—a gnawing sound that grates on my nerves, taking hold of every fiber of my being with unease. Floorboards shift, adding a new layer of noise that sends my heart thundering underneath my ribcage—even though I know there’s no real danger. Even though I’m aware nothing can hurt me in his presence.
Still, my pulse races, sweat beading on my forehead as my cold skin turns heated. I huddle in a corner, afraid that if I move, I’ll alert the person nearby.
Even though I know who he is, and that he poses no danger.
I hug my knees, straining to listen to every noise around me, the worst being the creaking of the old house as it settles in place after being here for decades—perhaps even centuries.
My fingers absentmindedly drift to my foot, where I slowly, quietly, remove my socks, laying them beside me on the cold floorboards. I can’t help but pick at the skin on my feet, poking and dragging on the skin pieces that are uneven—removing them as if peeling a banana. I do so in silence, my eyes scanning the surroundings, nervous at the thought of him discovering me.
Even though I know he can’t see me in the darkness.
“We should be safe for tonight,” Grey says, approaching the window where I’m hiding on the floor, having already ensured all doors and windows are barged inside the motel room.
It won’t prevent anyone from breaking in, but it will alert us if someone tries, giving us a better chance at protecting ourselves.
I nod, even though I wish I could hide from him too. I can’t stand being close to anyone right now, fearing that he might turn into Emilio Ricci and drag me back to the pits of hell where I belong. I continue peeling away the skin from my feet beneath the blanket covering my legs—I don’t want him to notice what I’m doing.
Frankly, I don’t want him to stop me from hurting myself. I need this to feel in control, to regain some semblance of reality.
Is this all a dream? It feels like one that I’ll wake up from, back at the one place I never want to revisit.
A sharp hiss escapes through my teeth when my heel starts burning from how far I’ve peeled the skin, causing Grey to eye me suspiciously. I pretend nothing is wrong.
“Hopefully,” I mutter in response to his previous comment, observing as he sits down on the windowsill, keeping an eye on the large yard surrounding the isolated motel.
Leaning his head against the wall, he refuses to look at me—he’s as nervous as I am, though he hides it better. He rarely ever allows himself to show emotions that aren’t that of rage and obsession, but I know they’re there, simmering beneath the surface and waiting to erupt like a volcano.
I watch him gaze out at the dark sky, slowly but surely transforming into dawn with the sun on the horizon barely peeking through its first rays of sunlight. It must be at least four or five in the morning.
We barely escaped last night, choosing the first isolated motel we could find, and now the lingering fear of Emilio finding us persists like a swallowing hole. Grey approaches the TV and turns it on, the low volume filling the room with noise, a small comfort that makes us feel less alone.
“Tell me I imagined it all yesterday,” I murmur loud enough for Grey to hear, still hugging my knees close to my chest and rocking back and forth.
Silence ensues for a short second, then a sigh. “You didn’t.” His voice is low, hesitant, yet telling the utter truth.
“ Why would Emilio Ricci want to find us? Why are we that special?”
I don’t mention how Grey didn’t believe me at first, because I don’t blame him.
“I don’t know,” Grey says, continuing to look out the window with apprehension that’s palpable, waiting for something to occur.
“If he sold us to Arthur Grimhill and his Dollhouse, why is he after us? It makes no sense.”
Something catches the corner of my eye, piquing my interest. “Hold up. Can you turn up the volume?”
Grey looks at me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as if trying to figure me out, but he does as I ask. I stare at the screen, dumbfounded as the thoughts churn my mind. The reporter, clad in a sharp suit with a tight bun on top of her head, smiles at the camera. Beside her, an image appears—a poster, the same one we saw discarded in a puddle, and then another one pinned outside the convenience store. The illustration is of a manor that bears an uncanny resemblance to the house of my nightmares. The reporter’s blonde curls escaping her bun falls over her face as she subtly adjusts her glasses, and my heart hammers harder than ever when the poster shifts into a portrait of another woman.
If shock were a tangible force, it would crush me from the inside, leaving me dizzy and faint as I stare at the woman on the screen. Her golden brown hair is styled back in soft waves, and her kind hazel eyes shine brightly at the camera, squeezing my heart with a painful intensity. She radiates warmth, a maturity and kindness that wrap around you and leaves a lasting impact on the soul.
“...have sold over ten million copies world-wide with her book Redeemed , telling the world her story of the awful Grimhill Manor that burned down two years ago.”
I scramble to my feet, rushing to the television with adrenaline pumping through every vein in me, urging me on as if there’s nothing left to lose. A sob tears from my throat, raw and heart wrenching. I barely even notice Grey beside me, his expression a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
My hand trembles as I reach out, my fingers brushing against the screen, stroking the photograph of the woman who was once the only ray of sunshine in a house determined to crush everything in its darkness. I caress her image as if she’s physically here, giving me that beautiful smile that melts away the sadness clinging to me. A wave of relief fills me—a violent shiver at the thought that she’s okay.
She’s alive, and she’s okay. She survived.
Footsteps behind me make my shoulders stiffen, but then I feel the warmth of Grey’s touch and catch the faint scent of his cologne we stole from a store. He pulls me into his arm, not saying anything as he lets me sob against his chest. It feels like my heart is being ripped apart, an unbearable ache inside me. Through tear-blurred vision, I look up at him. His eyes search mine before he gently wipes away my tears.
“Do you know her?” he asks, his voice laced with a familiarity that tells me he recognizes the poster.
“She was my roommate at Grimhill Manor. Everlee.” My voice cracks as the name dredges up memories I’ve tried to bury. “She was one of the many people I’ve lost over the years. That’s why I’ve always been so terrified of this thing between us. I always lose the people I love.”
More tears fall down my cheeks, but Grey lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“You may be terrified, fuck, so am I. But know this; I’m never letting you go. Even if all odds are against us, even if the world falls apart. You. Are. Mine, little doll.”
The intensity of his words hits me like a tidal wave, and my heart races, thudding loudly in my ears.
“We will find her,” he vows, determination etched across his face.
“Are you sure?”
“I fucking promise you, little doll.”
“I never knew what happened to her after I got sent to Dankworth Institute…it’s been so goddamn long.”
Grey’s face turns tense, biting his lips until I notice the blood trickling down, quickly disappearing underneath his tongue as he licks it away. Finally, he glances at me, but says nothing, even though I can see the gears turning in his mind.
“What is it?” I ask, but he shakes his head. “Tell me. No secrets, remember?”
“Do you remember the note I got from Daxton?” he asks, snapping back to reality from wherever his mind had ventured—he’s been silent most of the night since we escaped.
He’s as paranoid as I am about being found again; our hardened exteriors have been shattered like a bulletproof vest eventually giving up its functionality.
“What about it?”
“There’s something I never told you, but it all makes sense now,” he admits.
My eyebrow furrows, and a pang of distress and anger strikes me as I realize that he deliberately kept this from me.
“He wrote that we should uncover the dealings between Frederick Grimhill and Emilio Ricci. Only then might we find closure…”
Again, my heart pounds, nearly missing a beat at his words. I can’t help but pick at the skin on my heel again, seeking the solace it offers.
“Daxton’s note mentioned some business. Which must be why Emilio is after us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask, voice tinged with accusation.
He abruptly stands, footsteps heavy as he paces back and forth. His fingers rake through his hair repeatedly in frustration, fisting it as if trying to yank the thoughts from his mind.
“I didn’t think it would matter.”
“Of course it would matter!” I exclaim, just as frustrated. “I thought we agreed on no secrets.”
“It wasn’t my intention, little doll.”
I sigh at hearing the stress in his tone, leaning against the wall and letting my hand rest in my lap. There’s no point in arguing, even if it stings that he kept the truth from me.
“There’s a place where all of this started. This entire fucking nightmare. Don’t you see that it’s all connected? In one way or another, it’s all tied together like a spider’s web, a thread impossible to untangle.”
I don’t like where his thoughts are headed, meeting his narrowing eyes staring at me. He studies me intently with lips pressed into a hard line, eyes sparkling with a sense of curiosity and hesitation that amplifies the tension in the room.
“You told me. It’s the place where Emilio Ricci got you from.”
I wish I could forget it altogether, but I know I can’t. The memories are etched into my mind, much like a tattoo is on the skin.
The footsteps creak against the floorboards as he comes to sit beside me by the window, and I can hear his exasperated breathing. He appears agitated, almost wild, with how erratic each step seems. His eyes dart around the room in a frantic speed as he eventually looks at me, grabbing my hand in his as if it could stem the chaos swirling within the depths of his mind.
“There’s no choice, little doll. We don’t have much choice than to investigate the dealings, and perhaps set us free once and for all. Then we can find your friend. It can’t be that hard if she’s now a well-known author.”
I gulp, feeling the truth settle into me. The panic tightens its hold around my heart much like a vice, and soon, it’ll rise to my throat only to choke me to death. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I’m afraid you are,” I murmur.
His hand is much bigger than mine, even colder, as if he’s turned into a wraith. He looks at me with a seriousness that would have made me recoil had he been someone else.
“We need to go back to the beginning,” he says. “We need to confront your past.”
His eyes turn dark, an unreadable expression crossing his expression.
“You want to return to Grimhill Manor.”
––––––––
WHERE IS GRIMHILL MANOR?
I have no memories of its location or where it lay hidden from society’s gaze, deceiving everyone—including the authorities—into believing it was merely an ordinary orphanage.
It’s been too long since Frederick took me after my fruitless attempts at escaping his control—after I killed my mother. How foolish I was to think I could ever break free. There’s no escaping the evil when it comes knocking at your door; you either learn to survive it, or you’re as good as dead.
Nerves settle in my stomach, hammered into place as if by force, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my mouth I can’t get rid of. Every breath feels like a blood-curdling scream trapped in my mind, because, now, I know the truth.
I know where it lies in the woods. And Grey knows how to find the house of my nightmares with the help of an old map.
Tracing down the manor’s location was difficult, nearly impossible, but with enough resources, we did it. It took two full weeks of research, hiding from the ghost of Emilio inside the isolated motel. The real challenge, however, was venturing into public without being spotted by anyone. Millvale’s library and bookshop sit right in the town square, a cozy little place I wish I could explore further.
Maybe in another life, I’d settle down here, free from horrors and the masters who want to drag me back to death. But I know Grey despises this place—this is the town where his childhood and innocence were destroyed, much like a fragile vase hurdled against concrete.
Deep inside Millvale’s library, we borrowed computers that proved to be useful for our research. Grey uncovered news from two years ago, eerily aligning with what Daxton had told us at the Dollhouse—Grimhill Manor had burned down.
With more digging, we managed to piece together the story; news articles about an orphanage, the death of the owner Frederick Grimhill, the children who never made it out alive, and then the tragic reports of its destruction by fire. But it was the final article we found that sent my heart spiraling until I couldn’t draw in a proper breath, the world fading around me.
“The fire brigade has been working all night to extinguish the fire, the cause of which remains unclear. They are still working feverishly to extinguish the intense blaze. The house was previously owned by Frederick Grimhill, who earlier this year was murdered, though the killer remains unidentified, and all remaining proof destroyed with the fire. Once used as an orphanage, the property was later revealed to be a front for human trafficking, which the police had been trying to locate for several years. With Frederick Grimhill’s death, the trafficking ring has been dismantled, as he was the leader. Surviving victims have come forward, receiving the help they need.”
The truth had finally surfaced, and survivors had gotten the justice they deserved. Nausea clung to my throat as reality unfolded before me like a film—a truth too overwhelming to grasp. I was a survivor, but I had missed all this, locked away in Dankworth Institute. This only fueled my determination to uncover the connection between Frederick Grimhill and Emilio Ricci.
“I won’t let any harm come to you,” Grey whispers, nibbling my earlobe, which sends a shiver down my spine, waking me from my lingering thoughts.
The wind grazes across my cheek, mirroring the soft stroke of his hand. He stares into my eyes, ensuring I meet the depths of his gaze where every devastating emotion lingers.
“Do you hear me, little doll?” he asks in that gravelly voice, sending delicious tremors through my body like a surge of pleasure, quickly intermingling with the nerves making me tremble.
I nod as words fail me. I don’t know how to act, breathe properly, or walk straight. I’m not sure I know how to function anymore. Every bone in my body protests as we approach the bus station that’ll take us an hour’s walk from the haunted manor—a place I’ve feared with a gut-wrenching sensation for years.
Why am I doing this when I promised never to revisit the past? Forgetting and suppressing would be so much easier. But if we’re to secure any kind of future, we need to confront the past. We didn’t come this far for nothing.
Obliterating everything we thought we knew and figuring out how to stop Emilio is our only shot at starting to live again. Though deep down, I doubt we will ever truly be free. People like us don’t deserve their freedom or happy endings—but I’ll damn sure claw my way forth to get what I want.
We pull our caps low, faces obscured as best as we can, as Grey pays for the tickets. The bus hums with quiet tension as he leads me down the aisle, choosing seats near the back door, giving us an easy escape route if needed.
My chest tightens with each passing minute of the ride that feels like it takes days. Every breath is harder than the last. I can’t stop fidgeting, my fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the seat ahead, which has others glancing at me. Grey’s unease is palpable through the steady way his leg bounces up and down, eyes locked tight on the bus in front of, watching the other passengers with an intensity that could scorch them. He’s taking mental notes on every move they make.
The unpleasant sensation of the bus moving beneath me makes me feel trapped, much like in the car with my mom—anxious, sweating, my breathing shallow. When the engine finally cuts off and we arrive at our stop, my body recoils with the urge to stay in the suffocating vehicle and let it take us God knows where. Anywhere but here. As long as I don’t have to be close enough to the nightmares that still haunt my every waking hour.
“Are you ready?” Grey asks quietly, helping me off the bus.
The station sits by an abandoned road, flanked by dense forest on both sides. We’re the only ones who got off here, in the middle of nowhere, and yet I can’t shake the feeling of instantly being watched. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, worry spilling into my soul.
“No. Are you?”
The bus’s engine starts with a loud hum, its sound fading off into the distance as it drives away. No one inside pays us any mind, yet that creeping sensation of being observed persists, making sweat bead on my forehead. I scan the area, seeing that we’re utterly alone, with no one for miles to see or hear us.
Grey shakes his head. “No, but if it’s something we must do, then we should investigate.”
His eyes roam my body, taking in every inch of my frame—the black sweatshirt draped over my shoulders, the matching shorts and my bare thighs. As he lingers on my thighs with an appreciative glance, my cheeks flush a deep red color. For a moment, I let myself bask in his attention, feeling less alone and terrified of the uncertainties that lie ahead.
He strides along the road, map in hand that we managed to get from the convenience store across the library. With the research we made, we could nearly pinpoint the exact whereabouts of where Grimhill Manor is supposed to be. He holds my hand harshly in his, never letting go, as he takes me along the abandoned road. It’s a few more miles until we’ll take off into the woods, finding a path through trees and brushes that will take us to the forgotten manor.
Panic seizes my being, tightening my shoulders with each step. My instincts urge me to run as far from here as possible. Grey notices my hesitation and stops, his worried gaze meeting mine as my feet are halted, rooted to the ground.
“I hate this,” I whisper, my voice clogged with emotions that can’t be missed.
“I know, baby,” he whispers back.
Taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he makes me look at him, into those bottomless sapphire eyes that bring me back to the sense of safety.
“I’ll be here every step of the way. You will not be alone. You never have to be alone again,” he says.
He waits a few more minutes, ensuring my breath steadies, before we continue forward—to the past I wish I could forget—before eventually turning into the woods.
They’re as eerie this time of the day as they are at night, the trees whistling in the wind like an impenetrable wall of tangled undergrowth. Grey reads the map with ease, as if he’s done it many times before—no missteps and no mistakes.
For hours, the forest remains unfamiliar, but the longer we walk, the closer we get, and the more an unsettling feeling seeps into my entire being. I can’t bring myself to utter a word, even though my mind desperately wants to fill the silence. Instead, I trail after Grey, casting nervous glances at the forest around us.
As we venture deeper into the woods, my resolve hardens, taking with it the last remnants of my sanity. The oppressive silence presses on me like a fog trying to stifle a raging fire, and each step makes it harder to continue forward, knowing what horrible memories will await me once I see the manor again.
Trees loom overhead, branches bare and claw-like, reminiscent of spidery fingers reaching out for us. They create a canopy that is so thick it barely allows any light to show the way before us, a mysterious mist clinging to the ground. Every sound nature makes sends my heart into a frenzy, anxiety spiking through me as my grip on Grey’s hand tightens.
His presence is a life vest keeping me afloat from the waves of fear that threaten to sweep me away. And I know I wouldn’t be able to make it without him by my side.
“We should be there soon,” he announces, causing another wave of anxiety to flood through me.
My body screams at me to stop, my mind pleads for me to end this self-inflicted torment. But isn’t that what I need to stay alive? The pain, the horror—the only things reminding me that I made it out alive.
We’ve already been wandering for hours, and doubts linger in my mind that perhaps we got the location all wrong.
“You know, sometimes, I can still hear the screams of the children. As if they have a permanent place carved out in my memory,” I whisper, my voice slightly trembling.
Grey’s just about to reply when the dirt and grass path beneath our feet gives way to a more compact surface. The trees part slightly, allowing a bigger path to take place before us; a gravelly road leading the opposite way from us. As the trees part even more, it gives way to the charred remains of what once was a building and its broken down facade.
It’s then I recognize it for what it is—the looming reality of Grimhill Manor.