Page 36 of The House That Held Her

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I blink against the flicker of the dim overhead bulb, my vision struggling to adjust after what feels like an eternity in those pitch-dark tunnels. The faint light sways, casting jerking shadows across the scene. My heart drops like a stone the instant I recognize where I’ve emerged: Hawthorn House’s basement. The white metal tub sits there, still stained red from Nate’s blood, his headless body sprawled as if in grim parody. The tiles are slick with mud and gore, forming a monstrous mosaic that wrenches my stomach.

But I’m not alone. Standing over Nate’s body is Chief Miller.

He whirls at the sound of my footsteps, and I catch the confusion blazing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he draws his sidearm, leveling the barrel at my chest.

“Freeze!” he barks, voice clipped and shaking with tension. I see panic and distrust etched across his face as he locks onto me.

I throw my hands up, a shiver raking my spine. “Chief, listen to me,” I plead, trying to steady my breath. “I’m Margot Bennett. Walter—he?—”

“Turn around!” he roars, taking a measured step closer, gun unwavering.

A crack of raw fear tears through me. He’s not hearing me. To him, I’m a suspect. Maybe an accomplice to this nightmare. My eyes flick to the tub, where Nate lies motionless, and a sob tears from my throat. As someone I had initially pegged as dirty, in this moment, Chief Miller is the only one who may be able to help me. My last chance.

“Please,” I say, my voice cracking. “He’s the one who did this—Walter, he killed my husband, he took Shannon, and?—”

“Shut up!” Chief Miller snaps, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me so hard I gasp. The grimy, blood-smeared wall slams into my cheek. “You think I’m an idiot?” he snarls close to my ear, wrenching my arms behind my back. My shoulders scream in protest as the handcuffs bite into my wrists.

“That…that body, it’s—” My breath hitches, trying to get the words out. “It’s Nate. My husband. Walter did it.”

Chief Miller grimaces, glancing at the tub. “He doesn’t even have a head. How the hell would you know it’s your husband?” His suspicion practically drips off him.

I want to collapse. The weight of the day’s horrors crushes me, and I can’t find any words that might break through his anger. The silence is broken by the sound of a phone ringing. I watch as he picks it up, glaring at me. “Don’t move,” he growls.

I slump against the wall, my wrists screaming, tears slipping down my cheeks. I’ve never felt so helpless. Footsteps thunder overhead, and I can hear him placing a call from the top of the stairs. His voice is ragged, furious, but I can’t make out every word—only the anger:

“…body here… yes, Hawthorn House… I have Margot Bennett in custody… I want to do this by the book… No… Fine.”

The chief comes back down, jaw tense, eyes dark with something that might be fear or loathing. He grips my cuffed arm, forcing me to stand. “Get up.”

I stumble, nearly tripping on the blood-smeared tiles. My brain roils with shock, unable to shake the image of Nate’s lifeless body in that tub. The chief half-drags me up the basement steps and through Hawthorn House’s hallway. Everything tilts, spinning in a sickening blur. I expected to be leaving this place behind forever—not locked in cuffs, not under suspicion of murder. Outside, the night air hits me like a slap, cold and unforgiving. He shoves me into the back of his police cruiser and slams the door.

We pull away, the engine’s growl blending with the pounding of my heart. I gather my courage, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “Chief, please,” I manage, voice trembling. “Walter is dangerous—he’ll?—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he snaps, eyes forward, knuckles white on the wheel.

Terror clamps around my chest. I’m losing precious time. Shannon is missing, Walter is still out there, and nobody’s listening. “He’ll kill you, too!” I choke out, desperation flooding me. “You have no idea what he’s capable of?—”

The car screeches to a halt, pitching me against the front seat. Luckily, there was no metal barrier between the front and back seats, or I would’ve likely broken my nose against it. “I said shut the fuck up!” he snarls, slamming his hand against the ceiling.

He slams on the gas, and the cruiser lurches forward again. Rain spatters the windshield, quickly growing into a furious downpour. The world becomes a murky kaleidoscope of shifting shadows. I press my forehead to the glass, peering through rivulets of water, feeling like I’m drowning on land.

Time slips by. My heart thuds faster as we wind along a curving road, the scenery half-drowned in darkness. Something about this route nags at me. It feels familiar . A horrifying certainty creeps up my spine.

“Chief…where are we going?” I whisper, my throat bone-dry.

He doesn’t answer. I see a flash of pointed peaks and glowing windows. My lungs seize. No. We’re returning to my house. My blood runs cold, an icy dread rooting me to the seat. I can’t tear my gaze away from the looming shape rising out of the darkness.

“Please,” I croak, hysteria thundering in my veins. “Don’t. You can’t ?—”

The cruiser bumps to a stop on the gravel. Lightning forks across the sky, illuminating the porch—and on it, Walter paces like a caged animal, muttering frantically to himself. He whips around, catching sight of me in the car. His eyes blaze, his mouth twisting into a grin I feel in my gut.

A scream rips out of me, raw and wild. I flex every muscle in my body as if I can melt into the seat and vanish. The rain pelts the roof with deafening force, matching the manic pulse in my ears. Beyond the window, Walter stands, arms tense, beckoning with a silent invitation.

I’m trapped, cuffed in the back of a patrol car, with no idea why Chief Miller brought me back. My mind reels, and I realize once more how little control I have over my own fate. I scream, raw with terror, and my body curls into itself, drawing my knees up to my chest.

There is nothing I can do.

Nothing that will stop what is coming.