Page 37 of The House That Held Her

36

R ain soaks the air, washing everything in a dull roar, and lightning flashes in the black sky, exposing the familiar outline of my home. I’m trapped in the back of the police cruiser when Chief Miller slams his door shut. The sound of metal on metal is swallowed by the howling wind, but I can still feel its finality thud in my chest. Through the rain-splattered windshield, I watch him approach the porch, his uniform clinging to him, weighed down by the downpour. My breath is shallow; I can’t look away.

Walter stands there, a dark shape pacing in circles across the battered porch. He looks positively manic, his body tense, his head swiveling with each flicker of lightning. Even from inside the car, I can sense his anger radiating into the night. Rain hammers the roof, blending with the wild thrashing of my heart.

I fumble for the door, trying to escape, but the handle doesn’t budge. Child locks. I’m stuck. A jolt of raw panic drives me to the window instead. I brace my feet and slam my shoulders into it, but the glass doesn’t give. I scream in frustration, tears spill now. The wind tears the sound from my lips, devouring it instantly.

Outside, Chief Miller and Walter are shouting at each other, their words lost in the relentless storm. Their anger is unmistakable: arms flailing, fingers stabbing at one another, at the cruiser, at the house. I swallow hard, seeing something truly vicious in the sharp, rigid lines of Walter’s face.

Summoning courage, I launch my body sideways, kicking with every ounce of strength. The window cracks but doesn’t break. Lightning stutters overhead, illuminating the yard in haunting flashes: shattered branches, water-logged debris, the once-proud porch turned into a battered stage for this showdown.

Another kick. My legs are weak, numb from fear. Still, I see tiny fractures webbing across the glass, teasing me with the chance of escape. I grit my teeth, gather what’s left of my energy, and slam my foot out one more time, perfectly timed with a thunderclap. The window shatters, bulletproof film peeling away in a single piece.

An instant later, the door on the opposite side is wrenched open. I jerk my head around, a flash of lightning reveals the familiar damp, furious features of Chief Miller.

“Get out,” he snaps, voice lost in the wind. I barely have time to react before he lunges in, grabs a fistful of my hair, and yanks me from the cruiser. I slam into the muddy ground with a sickening splat, water and silt drenching my clothes. Pain ricochets through me; my lungs forget how to breathe.

Walter looms just behind Miller, like a demon. The moment he releases me, Walter snatches my arm with a bruising grip. Rain pours off his brow, and for a heartbeat, I see the reflection of lightning in his eyes—wild and unhinged.

I let out a shaky breath and try to twist free. “Where is Shannon?” I scream, my voice tearing from my throat. “She went upstairs after we opened the hidden door, and now she’s gone! You took her, you sick bastard. Where is she?”

His lips curl into a mirthless grin, ignoring my thrashing. He says nothing, just hurls me toward the house. The front door yawns open, swallowing me in darkness. A flicker of lightning reveals the dim hallway, the grand old furniture now battered, askew.

I stagger, snapping my head around to see if Shannon might be here—any sign of her, some clue. “Shannon!” I shout, voice echoing off the walls. No response. God, if he hurts her…

Walter pushes me to the empty chair and turns to Chief Miller who is following us into the living room, my living room.

"You know, I've always appreciated the things you've done, Andy. Even–“

"Shut the fuck up, George," Chief Miller snapped, his voice cold. It cut through the noise, through the rain and the wind pushing into the room. I lift my head, blinking against the water that had run into my eyes, trying to understand what I just heard. George ? He just called Walter, George .

The realization hits me like a jolt—a final, sickening piece of the puzzle snapping into place. Walter is George Hawthorn? So, he hadn't disappeared, hadn't abandoned this house. He had simply become someone else. But why? Why would a man go from being the owner of the grandest estate in town to its caretaker? The questions buzzed in my mind.

"I understand you're upset," George began, his voice soothing.

"No,” said the chief. “I am done with this... horror show you've let yourself become, George. I'm done. I let it go too far. I should have stopped you years ago, but now it's gone beyond anything I can fix. I won't be part of it anymore. Your hold on this town, on me, ends here. I'll cover this one up, just like the others. But after this, I'm finished. If you harm another soul, I will make sure everyone knows what you are. I will take you down, even if it means going down with you."

George stands there, the rain dripping from his clothes, his face a picture of something almost serene, as if he was expecting this. "I understand," he says, his voice quiet, nearly soothing. You've always been my most loyal friend. My only loyal friend, really. Ever since Cece died?—"

"Don't," Chief Miller hisses, his finger raised, trembling. "Don't you dare."

George raises his hands, palms out, a gesture of innocence. "I'm done," he promises.

The Chief looks towards me, his eyes meeting mine. I see something in them—something raw and broken. Regret. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the storm. "I'm sorry for what I've done, for what I couldn't stop. I should have protected you." He steps forward, removes the handcuffs from my raw, red wrists, and steps back toward the door.

“At least tell me where Shannon is,” I plead, trembling with rage and grief. “Tell me she’s alive!”

Walter just smirks, rain dripping from his hair onto the hardwood. “Haven’t seen your friend,” he says softly. “She must’ve left. Maybe she’s had enough of you, Margot.”

My vision blurs with hot tears. “Liar!” I shriek. I lunge for him, fists swinging, but Chief Miller grabs me by the shoulders and hauls me back, guiding me carefully behind him.

Miller’s next breath rumbles in his chest like the distant thunder. “God damn it, George! he growls. “You said you were finished with this madness, that you’d keep your darkness tucked away. You told me no more bodies. ‘One last time,’ you said, but now there’s a body just waiting around to be found in Hawthorn House. You’re going to kill Margot here, and now someone else is missing?” he’s shaking now, his voice growing louder with each word.

“I can’t keep burying your sins. I won’t. The fact I have for so long…” He shakes his head, voice ragged. “That’s on me, but it’s over. I’m done.”

George lets out a low, bitter laugh. He stands there, rain plastering his hair to his skull, that same half-smile on his lips. “Oh boy, Andy finally grows a pair!” he applauds patronizingly, “but you forget, you were part of this, too; always have been.”

Lightning cracks outside, throwing their faces into sharp relief: Miller’s trembling anger, George’s cold detachment. With a snarl, Chief Miller draws his gun, pointing it at George’s chest. Adrenaline explodes inside me. For a crazed second, I’m convinced they’ll kill each other.

Instead, Miller grips the weapon with purpose. “George Hawthorn,” he says, voice breaking with suppressed emotion, “you’re under arrest. For the murder of Nate Bennett, along with many, many others.” He squares his shoulders, the gun unwavering in his hand. “Put your hands behind your back.”

I stare, hardly daring to breathe. For months, I’ve felt hopeless, trapped in a never-ending nightmare. But seeing Walter, George, whatever his name was, forced to comply, arms raised and eyes dull with resignation, I feel a spark of relief. I let out a strangled sob, almost laughing with disbelief. “Oh my God,” I whisper to myself.

Walter moves slowly, whispering something under his breath, so low I can’t catch it. He’s… smiling? The subdued grin on his face is chilling. He looks almost proud, or possessed. I glance at Miller, who sets his jaw and snaps the cuffs around George’s wrists.

Within minutes, George is marched back outside, the storm’s fury lashing at us all. Miller pushes him into the back of his cruiser, where I was stranded only minutes ago. I dash forward, ignoring the rain slicing across my skin.

“Miller,” I gasp, adrenaline spiking all over again. “Please. Make him tell us where Shannon is—he took her! He must’ve. You have to force him?—”

“No,” Miller cuts me off, voice tired. “I’m done abusing my power. Everything’s official from here. I’ll bring him in, process him by the book. We’ll get the truth legally, not by intimidation. I’ve… done too much of that already.”

My heart writhes like a caged animal. “But that’s not good enough! After everything you’ve done, allowed to happen, now is when you want to be the good guy?” I stare in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping away, eyes brimming with regret. “We’ll find your friend. We’ll find Shannon. I promise.”

I stand there, drenched, wanting to scream. The door to the cruiser shuts with a heavy thunk, and Walter’s eyes, just visible through the rain-streaked window, lock on me. There’s a terror in them, an insanity that makes my blood run cold.

With trembling hands, I grip the cruiser’s door handle, yanking it open. Miller shouts behind me, but I barely hear him. I need to try, even if it’s insane. The moment I crack the door, the smell of stale sweat mixes with wet leather. George turns his head, and the sharp overhead light makes his eyes disappear, black holes existing where pupils should exist.

“Where’s Shannon?” I shout, voice cracking. “What have you done with her?”

George says nothing for a long moment, eyes drifting shut. Then, in a sing-song hush, he murmurs, “Do you really want to know, Margot? Would you do anything for the answer?”

I recoil at his tone. “Name it,” I whisper, hateful tears blurring my vision. “Just tell me she’s alive.”

He half-laughs, the cuffs rattling as he shifts his hands behind him. “I want a hug,” he says, voice dropping to a childlike hush that crawls up my spine.

My stomach revolts. “You’re sick. Absolutely insane?—”

Behind me, Miller’s footsteps splash through the mud. “Don’t do it, Margot. Don’t get close to him. You’re not safe?—”

But I can’t fight the guilt, the desperation. Shannon is all I have, all I trust. If there’s even a shred of hope she’s alive… I push aside reason, ignoring the frantic pounding of my heart, and nod.

I lean into the cruiser. Walter’s eyes widen, a slick grin crossing his face. The wind tears at us both, rain streaming onto the seat. I inch closer, feeling his breath warm against my cheek. The feeling is vile, invasive, a thousand times worse than I imagined. My mind screams at me to pull away, but I force my arms around him, feeling the cold bite of the cuffs pressing into my chest. My stomach heaves; I can smell the stale blood on him–does it belong to Nate, to Shannon?

George lets out a ragged sigh, and in my ear, he whispers one word that sends my heart crashing: “Pier.”

My entire body goes rigid. “What…?” I manage.

“The pier,” he clarifies, a ghost of amusement coating each syllable. “That’s where you’ll find Shannon.”

I recoil, stumbling out of the cruiser, nearly falling into the storm again. Miller lunges, grabbing me, steadying me as I pitch sideways. “Margot!” he yells over the wind. “What did he say?”

I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. My voice emerges in a hoarse croak. “He said she’s at the pier.”

My mind spins back to when I found Walter in my room, right after seeing the muddy footprints from the hidden passage. Realization slams into me: he must’ve taken Shannon—dragged her to the pier—and circled back to intercept me. She hasn’t been at the house for hours now.

Lightning stabs across the sky, revealing Miller’s stunned expression. “We’ll get a team,” he mutters, “comb the pier?—”

I’m already sprinting, my legs burning, water up to my ankles in the flooded grass. Shannon is out there, alone. I refuse to let her be the next victim claimed by this cursed town.

As I race away, the thunder cracks with deafening force. Rain lashes my face, blinding me, but it doesn’t matter. Chief Miller’s shouts fade behind me as I tear across the yard, to the road that’ll lead me to the water’s edge. Deep in my chest, I plead with God for the first time in my life.

Please let her be there.

Please let her be alive.