Nadine

Nadine
Nadine
Lying on my bed after being gone for weeks feels strangely right, even if it’s in Logan’s house.
Thoughts of Daniel flood my head, twisting my stomach into knots. How did it come to this? How did his life end like that?
Then, there’s Logan. His involvement in all of this mess. What did he gain from it? What was his real reason for being there that night? And then there’s Sammie’s dad—he was there too.
So why did Logan have to shoot him?
The question burns in my mind, making my chest tighten.
Logan is ruthless. Heartless. He only cares about himself.
How could he kill his blood? The thought alone makes my heart bleed, and the image of Daniel’s blood on my hand.
I remember how I watched his life slip away, how his breath slowed, how his eyes became empty.
I squeeze my eyes shut, But the memory won't leave me.
Eventually, exhaustion takes over, and I drift into sleep.
But sleep brings no peace.
Instead, I find myself trapped in the grip of something cold and invisible, an unseen force wrapping around my neck.
I gasp, clawing at the hands tightening around me. I thrash wildly, trying to break free, but the grip is too strong.
I can’t breathe.
The figure above me is nothing more than a shadow. A faceless monster with a hood covers his head, shrouding him in darkness.
But I need to see who it is.
With the last of my strength, I yank the hood back—and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Daniel.
His face is twisted, and blood drips from his mouth, his nose, and his forehead, staining his clothes. He lets out a cold, hollow laugh, the sound crawling over my skin like a thousand spiders.
"You thought you could escape me?" His voice is a whisper, but it’s everywhere, in my ears, in my bones.
His grip tightens around my throat again.
I choke, gasping for air, my vision blurring as his fingers dig into my skin.
I kick him using every bit of strength I have left. He stumbles back, but within seconds, he lunges at me again.
And this time, he’s holding a gun.
I freeze. My heart stops.
The metal gleams under the dim light and Daniel’s bloody fingers curl around the trigger.
I try to move.
But the gun rises, aiming straight at my chest.
And then—
A deafening scream rips from my throat.
My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright in bed.
My chest heaves, my lungs burning for air, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Sweat drenches my skin, and my hands shake violently.
It was just a dream.
But as I sit there, gripping the sheets, I can still feel Daniel’s fingers around my throat.
I can still see the gun.
And I can still hear that haunting, humorless laugh.
"Oh my god, that was such a horrible dream," I mutter, my voice shaky as I glance around the room, needing reassurance that I’m not back in Daniel’s den.
My heart is still racing, and my body is still trembling from the nightmare. But as I take in my surroundings I exhale in relief.
I’m still in my room.
At Logan’s house.
Just as I’m about to lay back down and collect myself, a sudden, loud banging on the door startles me.
I groan, rolling my eyes. I already know who it is.
Logan.
I am not ready for this conversation. Not after the night I just had.
I sit up slowly, swinging my legs over the bed and slipping my feet into my slippers.
Moving to the door, I plant myself in front of it, pressing my palm against the cool wood.
"Logan, please, go away. I’m fine," I say, keeping my voice as firm as I can.
But he didn’t stop.
He keeps knocking—louder.
Shit. If he keeps this up, he’s going to wake the whole house.
I turn toward the window, blinking in surprise when I notice sunlight streaming through the curtains. My gaze flicks to the clock on the wall, and my stomach drops.
2:00 PM.
Shit.
I overslept.
Shawn.
I was supposed to see him this morning. He must have woken up thinking I was just a dream.
Guilt settles deep in my chest.
The banging on the door pulls me back to reality. I close my eyes, inhaling sharply. I need to deal with Logan.
Slowly, I reach for the handle and pull the door open.
Logan stands there, with a tight expression his eyes filled with concern.
For a moment, he just stares at me. Taking me in.
I snapped first. "What?"
He opens his mouth to say something—then closes it again.
A muscle in his jaw ticks as I can see frustration flash in his eyes before he exhales sharply.
"You know what? Don’t bother."
And with that, he turns and walks away.
I guess seeing that I’m okay must have given Logan some relief—maybe that’s why he just walked away without another word.
Shaking my head, I step back into my room, closing the door behind me. I need to freshen up.
Since it’s already afternoon, I hurry into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes before stepping under the warm shower.
The water flows down my body, washing away the remnants of the nightmare.
It’s calming.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself just breathe.
I stay under the shower for what seems like ages, letting the warmth soothe me.
But eventually, I know I have to move.
With a deep breath, I step out, wrapping a towel around me. Water drips from my skin as I make my way back into the room.
Opening my closet, I scan through my options.
I just want to feel free today.
My fingers land on a light, flowy short gown. The top wraps across my chest in a soft lap, and from the abdomen down, it flares slightly, giving it a relaxed elegant look.
Perfect.
After slipping into the dress, I blow-dry my hair, adding a touch of product to enhance its shine before pulling it back into a simple style that frames my face.
A light gloss on my lips, a quick check in the mirror.
I like what I see.
Grabbing the list, I wrote last night, I step out of my room.
First stop—Shawn’s room.
I push open his door, hoping to see my little boy.
"Shawn?" I call softly, but the room is empty.
Where is he?
The house feels eerily quiet.
But as I step back into the hallway, I catch the faint sound of voices.
Two people. Talking.
I strain my ears, trying to place them.
And then, I realize—one of them is Logan.
I follow the voices, my curiosity growing with each word I catch. The conversation is tense. Logan's voice is low and controlled, but I can sense the barely restrained anger beneath it.
That only makes me more curious.
With Logan, you can never be too sure what’s going on behind closed doors.
I inch closer, careful not to make a sound.
Damn it.
My footsteps betray me, and suddenly, the room falls into silence.
I freeze, holding my breath.
Will they continue talking? Will I get another glimpse of what’s going on?
No.
Logan knows I’m here.
I bite my lip, debating my next move, but curiosity wins. I step forward, making my presence known.
And when I finally see who’s in the room, my brows furrow in shock.
Why didn’t I think about her sooner?
The relief in her eyes is clear. But something about her posture, the way her shoulders are drawn tight, tells me that something is wrong.
I snap my gaze to Logan, suspicion burning in my chest.
"What have you done to her?" I ask with a sharp tone.