Avery uses her phone to crank up the music filtering through the speakers and the figure filters from my mind as she begins to dance in her seat. Falling into her swaying, we sing the rest of the short journey to my college campus and park a street over from the frat house. After thanking Jenson, we follow the thumping bass the rest of the way to avoid the chaos that comes with a ‘Hughes’ child in their midst. It’s impossible to enjoy ourselves when the paparazzi are pushing a lens into her face and jumping down her throat for a drunken slogan to splash across the newspapers in the morning.
Rounding the house, spiderwebs hang from the bushes and carved pumpkins line the path, candles flickering inside. Strobe lights are leaking through the windows in time to the music, figures jumping inside with their fists firmly pumped in the air. In the top central window, a shadow is standing behind the glass pane, seeming to be staring at us as we strut up to the front door. Wow, these guys have really gone all out this year. Pushing the door open, I brace myself for the onslaught of music that is about to blast into me, but nothing comes.
Five figures in blood-red robes stand at the bottom of the staircase in front of us, the rest of the house is dark and empty. Their hoods are pulled low, casting their faces in shadows as we wait for something to happen. I reach out to grip onto Avery’s hand, but my fingers meet the air and I spin around in search of her. She’s gone. Twisting back, panic seizing my heart, the figures have also vanished, all expect for one. I know I should turn and run, but my feet stay rooted to the floor as I wait to see what will happen next.
My body is pulled closer of its own accord, my toes dragging across the wooden planks. I struggle and fight back but it’s no use, the force of a thousand hands shoving me forward. Only when my chest is pressed against his do I stop, my breathing rapid and ice clawing into my bones. The house around us falls away, nothing but stone and shadows skirting my vision.
His hand suddenly reaches up, making me flinch as he drags a calloused hand down my cheek. There’s longing in his touch, a wishful craving for something more. I can’t help but lean into his touch, the warmth melting frost coated skin. His fingers trail lower, a path of heat skimming across my neck. The air around us changes a second before his hand clasps around my throat in an iron-tight grip, a choked noise leaving me in response. He applies more pressure, squeezing until I cannot draw breath and I feel my windpipe closing.
But the sense of dread I expected doesn’t come, no flash of life before my eyes or praying for a miracle. Staring deep into the shadow beneath the hood, a pair of green eyes begin to glow with a blinding intensity. Despair and misery fill their empty depths and my last thought is how I wish I could have intervened sooner.
I jolt upright, sweat clinging to my skin and my breathing laboured from my nightmare. What the fuck was all that about? I try to grasp onto the important details my mind was trying to show me, but the dream slips away before I get the chance. Resting a hand on my chest, I focus on evening out my breathing and slump back against the wall. My mom would have a field day with me right now, she would have grabbed her ‘Dreams and their Meanings’ book from her impressive bookcase and flicking through the pages to analyse what I can remember.
A pang of guilt blooms in my chest for all the years I withheld my dreams and emotions from her. She’s always been ready to delve into my mind, but I had worried she might not like what she found. The daughter of a therapist should be the straightest of arrows, no dark thoughts, or fantasies of running away like I’ve had multiple times over the years. She’s been right there, willing to teach me coping mechanisms for the never-ending spiral of shit life dishes out and now I’ll never get the chance to tell her how sorry I am for shutting her out.
Footsteps ring out from the steps beyond my door bring me back to reality, butterflies bursting to life low in my belly as I anticipate Wyatt’s arrival. Wait, no. Clearly, they are fluttering around in dread, their wings singed and heavy with unease. That would make more sense than the former, otherwise I’m really messed up. But I have always had a thing for the wrong guys…
The chain is pulled free, its rattling vibrating through the cell and the door is yanked open. Wyatt’s green eyes regard me for a second and I have the insane urge to run to him instead of away, until he steps aside to permit an aged man and his two guards’ entry into my temporary residence. Shuffling forward with the support of a cane, the older man’s shrewd eyes drag across my body in a way that leaves me feeling exposed and the ghost of a smirk appearing on his thin lips. His thin hair has been gelled back, the dim orange lighting emphasising the scars scattered across his leathery skin.
“Meg, is it?” I remain still, not fooled with his pleasantries. I know who this man must be by the loyalty seeping from the guards who refuse to leave his side as they all clamber into
