Page 9

Chapter

Nine

M y eyes shoot open at exactly 4:13 P.M. I don’t know what woke me, but I’m groggy, my limbs stiff and heavy, and my mouth dry as if it’s stuffed with dead leaves. I can taste my own foul breath, and it’s disgusting.

I’m still in my room, it was all a bad dream. Probably from the gummies.

I walk barefoot to the bathroom, not remembering ever taking my boots off. I hover in the doorway, noticing that someone has taken my toiletries and spread them out along the edge of the tub, each item spaced about two inches from each other. Meticulously.

There’s something deeply unsettling about waking up to find someone was in your room while you slept—someone whose sole purpose was to frighten you. And I’m paying for this? I’m not sure I want to stay another night.

I quickly brush my teeth then walk around the room looking for my phone. The last thing I remember was freaking out that Siri was talking to no one when I was overcome with drowsiness. I tried to throw it on the couch when I had that awful dream—that’s the last time I remember seeing it. As I walk around the room searching, I look out of the window and see the great expanse of the garden, the day still dreary and mute of color. Moving along the stone edging are three black cats, walking slowly across the ledge. One following another, following another. As I move closer to the window, all three of them suddenly look up at me, pitch-black scruffy faces, almost glowing yellow eyes.

I turn away quickly.

That’s not something you can train cats to do. And don’t cats hate the rain?

A wave of panic hits me, the urge to leave nearly overwhelming. My phone vibrates somewhere in the room.

My stomach flips nervously, and I quicken my search, tossing clothes around, checking between the couch cushions and under the bed.

The phone vibrates again, clearer this time—it’s coming from the bathroom.

I rush inside, my socks slipping on the tiles. The phone sits on the edge of the sink—did I bring it in here without realizing? But something about that feels wrong. None of this feels right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice all the items that were lined up along the tub have been put away neatly back into my small clear toiletry bag.

I grab my phone and unlock the screen to see several missed calls—all from Hayes. I back out of the bathroom, my heart racing.Whoever was in my room while I slept is still here now?

“Hello?” I call out, voice trembling.

Slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, one by one.

The temperature in the room shifts abruptly, as if someone flipped a switch from fall to the dead of winter. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and I automatically rub my arms to ward off the sudden chill, but it doesn’t help.

I keep backing away until a faint scratching sound comes from the closet. I freeze. My eyes dart to the slightly ajar closet door. It's the same sound I've heard before—nails on wood. The exact sound I heard last night. My heart races as I consider my options. Maybe if I catch whoever is inside—if I see a real person or even a sound machine—I’ll feel better. Safer.

I inch toward the closet, my heart pounding in my throat. Each step feels like an eternity, the scratching growing louder in my ears. My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, fingers brushing the cold metal.

Before I can fully grasp it, the door slams shut with such force that it sends me stumbling back in shock. The sound reverberates through the room, shaking me to my core. Panic surges through me, adrenaline flooding my veins. I scramble to put on my boots, hopping frantically as I try to pull them on, my mind spinning.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to the closet door as I bolt out of the room. My footsteps echo down the long, empty hallway, my breath coming in ragged gasps. A dozen different excuses run through my mind—reasons I can give my friends for why I need to leave. An emergency at my apartment, a fire, or maybe a sudden burst appendix. But everything I think of would only make them worry, make them leave with me. Well, not Jonathan and Marissa. Those two fuckers would stay.

I round a corner and there’s a whoosh of heat and Axe body spray as I slam head first into Lyle, who grunts as he steadies himself. He’s carrying a massive bag, big enough to stuff a body in. I freeze, staring at him wide-eyed, my heart thundering in my ears.

“Whoa, hey, uh Grace…oh, no, sorry, it’s Tori, right?” He’s wearing a T-shirt that says, “Spread cheeks, not hate.”

“Grace is my middle name,” I blurt. It's a lie, and I don’t even know why I say it.

Lyle frowns, his eyes darting between my face and the bag he's holding. "Oh, well, that's cool. Grace is a pretty name." He shifts the bag on his shoulder, and I can't help but imagine what could be inside. My mind races with possibilities, each more gruesome than the last.

"Thanks," I mutter, edging around him. "I was just heading out to...to find my friends." I strain for a smile, hoping it doesn't look as fake as it feels.

“Oh, yeah? They all left. Took off early this morning, right after breakfast. Something about spas and vampires.” He grins, but there’s something off about it, something that makes my skin crawl.

I nod, taking a cautious step back. “Right. Halloween-themed spa day. I’ll just… I’ll meet them there.” I turn to leave, but his hand darts out, gripping my arm. I flinch—almost jump out of my skin.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into my arm. "What's the rush? Maybe we could hang out, get to know each other better. After the other night..." He trails off, a smirk playing on his lips.

I swallow hard, trying to pull my arm free. "Lyle, let go. Please. I really need to go."

"Go where? Your friends pretty much ditched you." His eyes glint with something dark, dangerous. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Just you and me."

Bile rises in my throat as flashes of that drunken night flip through my mind. His sloppy kisses, rough hands groping me. Jesus, I think I was using my own hand when I orgasmed against the back of his door. There’s a quick memory of him watching it, his hands nowhere near me, shoved down the front of his own pants.

I yank my arm back, and he throws his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Okay, okay, sorry. I get it.” His bag slips off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a heavy thud. He looks at me like I’ve just kicked his puppy.

Shit, now I feel bad.

I take a deep breath, my heart still hammering wildly in my chest. "No, it's fine. I just... I need to text my friends and figure out where they went." I pull out my phone, hoping that he’ll stop looking at me like that.

Lyle shrugs, picking up his bag. "Sure, whatever you say."

I turn my back to him, typing out a quick message to the group chat:

Tori: Hey, where are you guys? Something weird is happening here. Call me ASAP.

I send it and wait, my stomach churning. When no response comes, I send another message:

Tori: Seriously, I need one of you to call me now.

Minutes tick by with no reply. Lyle watches me with a curious expression. "Your friends not answering?"

I force a smile. "Not yet, but they'll get back to me. They're probably driving back right now."

"Yeah, right. Whatever you say." His lips press into a tight line, and he pulls up his bag. "You know, if you need a place to hang out, the library is pretty nice. We could chill there until you hear from them."

I hesitate, glancing down the hallway. The idea of going back to my room is too terrifying right now. And, honestly, I don’t want to be alone. "Sure, okay. Let's go to the library."

As we walk to the elevator, I send one last desperate message to Tessa.

Tori: Please call me. I'm freaking out

In the library Lyle leads me to a couple of chairs by a large window, and we sit down. I keep my phone in my lap, checking it every few seconds, hoping for any sign of a response.

Not even one.

"So," Lyle says, breaking the silence, "what's got you so freaked out? You were running down the hallway like your panties were on fire."

I pause, not sure if he’ll play the part of haunted house ghoul or not. But something, some nervous wild energy, is pacing and raw inside me, clawing to be let out. "Lyle, be straight with me, okay. It's just... the weird stuff? Is it really happening? Are you doing it? Like, I woke up and all my things were rearranged. And I heard scratching from the closet, but when I tried to open it, the door slammed shut. It's like someone is messing with me. And the rose with the skull on it…you left it for me, right? It’s all part of the Everwood package."

Lyle raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t leave you a rose with a skull on it, Tori. That would be weird.”

“Yes, you did.” I nod vigorously, pointing at him. “Stop the act for a minute and be real. You left that creepy note.”

He chuckles, and the sound grates on my nerves. “It wasn’t me. I think maybe one of your friends is playing a joke on you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, frustrated by his dismissiveness. He’s just got to be playing the part—not able to break character, just like they do in Disney. He just has to be.

Lyle sighs, leaning forward. “Look, I know this place can be really frightening. I’ve seen a lot, and I mean A LOT, of horrifying things here. But that’s the magic of this place. If people come here skeptics, they end up leaving believers.”

“Believers in…?”

“Spirits.”

“So you’re telling me spirits are leaving me black roses with skulls, texting me pretending they’re you, scratching at my closet door, and rearranging my toiletries.”

“Yes,” he says, completely serious.

Oh, damn. This guy can genuinely act. I search his face, looking for any sign of a smile or any other emotion besides this grave seriousness. I come up empty. I wonder where he studied. If he went to Juilliard, he’s absolutely wasting his talent here.

He leans in closer. “Maybe some food might make you feel a little better? I bet you haven’t eaten since breakfast, and your friends haven’t responded yet, maybe I can get Agatha to whip you up a sandwich or something.”

I nod. His tone, along with his bizarre behavior, oddly comforts me. I have to remind myself this is all just smoke and mirrors. He’s getting paid to act.

The guy should get an Oscar. I glance back at my phone, hoping to see a message, a missed call, anything. Nada.

“Here you go,” Lyle says, handing me a small menu. “Pick whatever you want. My treat.”

My shoulders relax a bit. At least now I can avoid the expensive lobster dinner I can’t afford. I can just tell everyone I’ve already eaten.

I choose a grilled cheese sandwich with fries and a seltzer, and Lyle uses a hidden phone in one of the library walls to call in the order.

Then we sit in awkward silence. Him staring at me, me staring at my phone, which is also sitting in awkward silence. I think about asking him to call back the kitchen and switch out the seltzer for something harder, but then decide I should keep my wits about me until I get home, back safe in my apartment, where I know for sure no one is lurking in my closets—I live in a shoebox studio apartment without any.

“So tell me about your friends,” he says, leaning back. “What’s the story with the one that’s trying to be you?”

“What do you mean? Who’s trying to be me?” I ask, then realize Lyle probably knows more about my friends than I do right now, given he’s part of the whole creepy setup, sneaking into rooms and whatnot. “Do you mean Marissa?”

“The one always hanging off the tall blond wannabe Ken doll.”

“That’s Marissa. And the Ken doll is Jonathan,” I reply, my tone thick with resentment. I sound childish, but I can’t help it.

Lyle picks up on it and looks at me curiously. “Sounds like there’s some bad blood there.”

“We’re all friends from college, but Jonathan and I dated and…” I squirm in my chair, unable to meet Lyle’s gaze. “Marissa was supposed to be one of my friends.”

Lyle leans in, his eyes narrowing with a disturbing glint. “So, she fucked your boyfriend behind your back?”

“I’m not sure she realized we were together. We really never told the friend group—” My voice wavers, the words feeling hollow even to me.

“Why do you think that was? Him not wanting anyone to know he was inside you?” There’s a cruel edge to his words.

I feel my cheeks burn with shame and anger as I struggle to find a response.I don’t know what to say to him. It’s a question I should have asked Jonathan when it was happening. A question I should have thought of myself.

“She fucked your boyfriend. And he fucked your friend.” Lyle scoffs, leaning back with a smug expression. “Who needs friends like that?”

Yes, unfortunately that sums it all up. I nod slightly, unable to deny it.

Lyle’s eyes darken, locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity. Dark, unblinking.“And then you fucked me.”

I recoil, his gaze sends my belly into a twist. His eyes remain unblinking, filled with an unsettling hunger. “Well… about that. I didn’t…” I sputter, my face flushing hot, words failing me.

He leans closer, a twisted smile playing at his lips. “You didn’t what? Mean to? Enjoy it?” His voice drops to a whisper, each word dripping with malice.

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, feeling trapped under his intense scrutiny. The room seems to close in on me, his presence suffocating. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my fingers twitching as I struggle to keep them still, the nervous movement only making me feel more exposed.

Lyle’s smile widens, clearly relishing my discomfort.“You did enjoy it, though. I remember. Hey, I’m not judging. We were both a little tipsy, things happened. I can deal with being a rebound. A revenge fuck. I liked fucking you.” He brings his hand down to the crotch of his pants, adjusting himself. “I really liked fucking you.”

I look away. The way he says the words is chilling, devoid of any warmth or humanity. He’s dropped the character of nerdy, creepy scary guy to straight-up serial killer—it’s absolutely terrifying.

He’s waiting for me to say something, respond in some way. I don’t. I’m not sure if this is part of the act or not. If it is, he’s exploiting the little bit of history we have, making it more depraved than it already is. It’s extremely violating. Degrading. Cold and calculated.

The tension in my silence hangs thick in the air. Before either of us can say another word, Agatha enters the room, carrying a tray with my grilled cheese on it. She sets it down on the small side table next to my chair without a smidge of a smile. “Here you go,” she mutters.

“Thank you, Agatha,” I reply, my voice wavering slightly. I try to focus on the food, hoping it will provide some distraction from the disturbing way Lyle is watching me. His eyes flicker over my features, like he’s taking in every detail with an alarming meticulousness.

I take a bite of the sandwich, but the taste is too bland, cardboard-like. I reach for the ketchup and squirt a generous amount onto my plate before dipping the sandwich into it. As I chew, I continue to feel Lyle’s eyes on me. It’s unrelenting.

Agatha slips out through another secret doorway—a hidden exit just behind a bookcase. Before I can ask about it, the library door bursts open and Hayes rushes in. “Hey, where in the world have you been?”

Relief washes over my entire body.

“You left me to fend for myself at a spa. When have I ever enjoyed that kind of Saturday?” He’s right. Hayes isn’t the spa type—he’d rather jump out of planes, climb mountains, camp in the desert, or wrestle an alligator. “Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”

I glance down at my phone, then back at him. “I did. I’ve been trying to text you all, and none of you texted back.”

“The cell service here is horrible,” Lyle murmurs, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Sometimes screaming bloody murder is the only way to get people’s attention around here.”