Page 27

C hapter 27

Naya

Allowing myself to settle into an unknown man’s car is something I never thought I would do, yet here I am. The seatbelt feels as if it’s going to suffocate me to death, cutting through skin and bone with its material keeping me in place. My hands tremble as I click to undo the belt, eyes hesitantly taking in the looming building before me.

It’s like any other building that exists in the same street, yet I know what this one entails, and it’s only a matter of time before it will come crumbling down, drowning me under its wreckage.

I’m an emotional mess, licking my lips to stem the dryness, wondering why I let Draven take me here, without Everlee or Grey to keep me company. It took us around forty minutes to drive here.

“Just you,” he’d grumpily said as he grabbed the car keys, demanding I follow him into the car.

I regret it now; the feeling settling deep within and climbing like roots on a decayed facade.

Draven steps out of the vehicle, his winter jacket wrapped tight around his body to protect from this dreaded cold. Winter has befallen the country, with snowflakes drifting outside. Fall is already long gone. My eyes are locked on the building with its brown walls, beautifully shaped windows that arch gracefully at the top, their frames a polished mahogany. The architecture is almost elegant, meant to invite you in and create comfort, but it’s the opposite for me—like a prison and an illusion.

Nails pressing hard into my palms, I fight the urge to wince as I feel a trickle of blood. Draven’s foot taps against the ground in quick, uneven beats, sighing as he waits for me. When he’s had enough, he opens the car door, and the cold breeze washes over me, making me shiver.

“Come on,” he says, voice an unpleasant tone that only makes me more reluctant to step out of the safety of the car.

I never thought I would prefer the cramped space of a car over the outside world.

“We don’t have all day. Doc’s waiting.”

He moves aside, allowing me space to get out. I grab onto the warm dress I borrowed from Everlee, fisting it tightly in my hands. It’s a cozy, knitted black dress that reaches mid-thigh, where I have tights to protect against the unbearable weather. The fabric is wrinkled in my grip, as if it could shield me from whatever horror I’m about to face in there.

Draven mutters something inaudible under his breath before locking the car, walking ahead of me to the building’s door.

Nervosity eats me up alive, ripping through my insides one organ at a time in a torturous, slow-motion unraveling. My legs tremble beneath me, no longer able to support my weight, unsteady as I take a step forward. Draven’s demeanor is unbothered as he buzzes the doorbell, while I struggle to hold myself together.

At this point, my mind is almost convinced that a monster will come forth from the building, ready to drag me to the depths of hell—where the demons in my head tell me I belong.

The door opens with an ominous creak, matching the pounding of my heart as it beats inside my ears with an almost painful rhythm. In the doorway stands a man, his lips curved into a kind smile, a white robe draped over his tall frame. His blue eyes shine in the winter light as he greets Draven, then turns to me.

“Hello. You must be Naya. I’m Dr. Miller,” he says, and there’s something gentle in the way he speaks.

But in my ears, it sounds anything but friendly. All I see is the dark, foreboding aura surrounding him—the same one that clings to all doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists, who are all out to harm you. Never to heal.

My palms grow sweaty, and I wipe them off on the knitted dress, but it feels too tight, constricting around me with a threat to never let go, and fear begins to overtake every rational thought.

It’s too much, too soon. I can’t be exposed to this.

“Come on inside,” he gently coos, as though talking to a wild animal that might bolt at any moment.

Draven steps in first, patiently waiting for me to enter, but with the way he casts me an annoyed look, I know he’s anything but patient.

My step forward feels like an earthquake shattering the ground beneath my feet, and then over the threshold, inside the massive building—trapped with two unknown men. My pulse is a frantic beat, ready to flutter away like a panicked bird in a cage.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Right this way,” Dr. Miller says, leading us down a hallway, a narrow corridor branching off to the side.

The walls are an unsettling shade of white, and the sterile scent of disinfectant floods over me in waves as I step into the corridor.

With each passing second, the room seems to shrink, the walls slowly but surely closing in on me. He keeps talking as he walks a few steps ahead, Draven trailing behind and listening intently. Neither of them pays me much attention, expecting me to follow and listen to what they’re saying.

I’m not. The sterile sense of the corridor, along with that god awful smell, reminds me too much of Dankworth Institute. My chest tightens like a vise closing in on its prey as the harsh, clinical scent of disinfectant fills my nostrils. For a second, I’m back there—back at the place with corruption lingering in every wall, mysterious deaths existing as forbidden tales never to be told. I’m back in that building where they kept us all locked like rats in a cage, awaiting our trial—will we die or will we be taken to our new hell in a dollhouse?

Panic roars inside me as the psychiatrist’s voice becomes fainter, my ears having seemingly stopped working.

I feel myself taking a step backward, all too ready to bolt out of here with no regard for Draven’s rules. I can’t make it; can’t breathe, can’t fucking do anything. Another step back, and the step echoes in the empty corridor, both of their heads turning back to me.

Suddenly, it’s Emilio Ricci and Arthur Grimhill staring back at me, their faces morphing into the men before me, until I can’t separate reality and hallucination.

“I-I—” I stutter, unable to take it any longer as I turn and run out of the door, into the freezing cold outside.

“Naya!” I hear both of the men screaming after me, one less agitated than the other, but all I hear is Frederick’s voice as he once shouted for me, about to punish me in the basement of Grimhill Manor.

“You will suffer the consequences for the actions you’ve made,” he hiss, grabbing my wrist harshly in his, and I know it will bruise in the morning.

The dark corridor emerges before me, the steps leading downstairs taunting me and whispering horrible threats in my ears. My legs thud against the harsh stone floor as he pushes me down six flights of stairs, my head thudding against the metal door. I let out a blood-curdling scream, as he shouts for me. “Naya!”

I can almost feel that touch of his grip on me; a phantom lingering in the back of my mind that I will never be rid of. I can’t fucking do this. I want to scream, but it will alert them where I am. I run until my feet can’t take it anymore, until they’re burning from adrenaline and fear pulsating through my entire being.

I don’t know where I’m going; all I know is that I need to get as far away from that hospital as I can, my mind slowly slipping into a headspace I know I won’t get out of.