Layla
I watch Dalton disappear around the side of the house. My heart is still pounding in my chest as I rinse off my legs with the hose and stand in the sun to dry off for a moment. My wrist throbs where I sliced it open on the rose bush. That, or from the feeling of Dalton’s tongue gliding over my skin, which had felt… electrifying.
I blush, then blow out my breath, wiping my wet, bare feet on the grass. I pick up my sandals and the mug I’d tossed in the yard before my ill-fated journey through the marsh and walk into the quiet house. I’m not sure where Dalton went, but after dumping my muddy sandals in the utility sink in the laundry room and walking up to my room, I gather he’s not in the house.
I take a cold shower, scrubbing what feels like years’ worth of grime from my skin. I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw and aching and then wrap myself in a towel and sit on the edge of my bed in the hot sun to fully dry.
Dark clouds form in the distance, and the smell of oncoming rain seeps through the window screen as I brush my wet hair and dress in soft, comfy linen pajamas. It’s only 3:00 in the afternoon, but I have the night off again. I need to stay on my night schedule, however, so I slide into bed and take a nap.
Sometime later, I wake to a storm thundering overhead and rain pooling on the windowsills where it seeps through the old sealant. I’m woken fully by a sharp jolt of lightning that lights up my room with a startling flash of blue. The power flickers. I reach for my phone, realizing I hadn’t put it on the charger, and it’s sitting at two percent battery. It’s also nearly ten o’clock. I’ve slept the entire day away.
Another flicker of my bedside lamp steals my attention just in time for the power in the house to cut out entirely.
“Oh, shit,” I exclaim, nearly falling out of bed and rushing toward my door. Vera’s footsteps are already echoing in the corridor when I pull it open and step out into the dark hallway.
I follow Vera into my aunt's room. An unsettling kind of silence seeps through the walls. I’m so used to the soft beeps of her ECG machine keeping me company at night, and now there’s nothing but her soft exhales and the fluttering of the curtains. Rain slams in silver sheets against the windows as thunder and lightning crack the sky in two above us.
I walk to Vera’s side as she checks on my aunt, a flashlight pinched between her teeth as she examines Aunt Penny’s IV port on her wrist. Vera backs away, clutching the flashlight, and turns to me. “She’s fine without the ECG. It does nothing but monitor her heart rate.”
“I know,” I tell her, not liking her mocking tone. “Do we not have a backup generator? I’m more worried about the cameras in here–”
“I’m still on shift until tomorrow morning,” Vera snaps, crossing her arms. “You have no reason to even be in here, Nurse Bryant. I have it handled.”
I bristle at her tone, straightening my shoulders just a touch. “I’m just–”
“Go downstairs and take care of that hand of yours,” she says, cutting me off with a little wave of the flashlight. “There’s a lantern inside the dumbwaiter by the stairs. Take that with you. I’ll stay here with her.”
Another flash of lightning illuminates the old woman’s face.
“Fine, just keep me updated on her–”
“Goodnight,” Vera snaps.
I hiss out a breath and storm out of the room. The house creaks and shutters as the storm rages overhead. I look up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but shadows. It’s so dark. So eerily quiet. I find myself holding my breath until my fingers curl around the handle of the battery powered lantern and slam the creepy dumbwaiter shut, pressing myself against the wall as I fumble with the on switch.
The lantern sends a flare of flickering light through the stairwell as I creep downstairs, my footsteps creaking with each step. Without power, the lantern is the only way to guide my steps, but the faint glow also creates intense, fluttering shadows that make me want to crawl out of my skin and find somewhere to hide.
In the total, all-consuming darkness, I should feel utterly alone.
But I don’t. I’ve never felt truly alone in this house.
I stumble into the supply room and root through boxes of gauze and bandages, fumbling in the dark. My wrist has been throbbing since I woke up, the skin around the jagged scrape puffy with irritation. I rip a length of tape with my teeth and spread my goodies out on the plastic work table in the center of the room. Alcohol, bacitracin, the works. I chew my lip as I quickly clean the wound and wrap it in clean bandages, wincing at the sharp sting from the alcohol.
I have it in mind to break into the sharps to find some penicillin, just to be on the safe side, when the lantern flickers and cuts out, casting me in pure, soul sucking blackness.
I freeze. “Shit,” I whisper, inhaling sharply. I slowly run my hand over the table, looking for the lantern. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Lightning pierces the sky, filling the room with a brief burst of light. A male figure comes into view near the window for a split second before we’re swept into total darkness again.
“Dalton?” I blink attempting to clear my vision enough to see past my fingertips as I stretch my hand across the table.
“If you’d only accepted my rose, you might not have scratched your beautiful wrist on that hedge in the cemetery.” His voice sounds far away, like there are miles between us, yet it wraps itself around me and drags me down under what feels like fathoms of water. He doesn’t sound like himself. His voice lacks that dry, sarcastic edge.
But it’s him. Who else could it be? His sudden presence in the room is overwhelming, but strangely… unfamiliar.
“You told me you weren’t the one who left me the rose,” I say, my voice straining over each word.
My skin prickles when a soft ripple of air brushes over my arms, then my neck, like he’s standing behind me now. “You are like a rose, my pet. Soft and supple. Stealing the beauty of every flower around you.” Each word brushes over my skin, but it’s cold. Draining. My skin prickles with adrenaline as my heart begins to race.
Not with need. Not with that feral desire.
With fear.
I whirl around as thunder crashes, sending a shudder through the room. “I d-don’t like this game,” I tell him. “Th-this is too far.”
“Do you not like the dreams I’ve sent you?” He’s behind me again, like he’s moving soundlessly around me.
“Go away–”
“Did you not love the way I touched you while you slept?”
I suck in a surprised breath as that cold rush of air sweeps over me again, chilling me to the bone.
Another flash of lightning casts the room in ribbons of blue, slicing through the shadows.
He’s in front of me, only a few feet away. But the lightning travels through him like he’s one of the shadows dancing in each corner of the room.
I know, without an ounce of a doubt, that this isn’t Dalton. Whatever it is might look like him, might sound like him, but it’s not him. It’s not him. It’s something else.
I take a step away, my back hitting the shelves with a crunch that sends an ache down my spine.
“Are you afraid, pet?”
Pet. Not Angel.
I can sense him coming closer. My mind spins as I try to make sense of this situation, but I find myself falling into a state of delirium.
“I’m dreaming,” I say out loud. “This is another dream.” It would make sense. Have I not had dreams just like this one, where the voice is familiar but somehow wrong?
“Come to me, Layla.”
“N-no–”
“Submit.”
“No, I won’t.”
A dark, cackling laugh cuts through the air. His voice rings through the room like a death knell. “I will have you, one way or another. I always do.”
When lightning flashes again, I see him clearly for the first time. His face–it’s sharper, more… maddening. It’s like looking at Dalton through his reflection in the mirror and the angles are all wrong. The way his lips tick up in a smile is all wrong. And his eyes? They’re not the soft, polished jade I’ve come to find familiar. They’re black pits of the same sucking darkness choking the room.
“No,” I say with more force. “This is a dream. A nightmare.” I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my nails into my arms, hugging myself tight. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!
“Layla…” My name is whispered over my cheek. It’s enough to break me from my fear fueled stupor.
I run, tripping over the rug in the foyer and falling to my knees. I flail in the dark, finding my grip on the very first step on the stairs.
“Layla…”
I choke on a silent scream as I tear up the stairs. “Leave me alone!”
The second floor is silent and dark and feels like it stretches for miles as I tear down the corridor and wrench on my aunt’s door. The door finally gives way and opens so abruptly that I fall inside, landing on my knees.
“Vera–” I open my eyes and gape at the empty room. It spans out in front of me, dust hanging in the lightning fueled haze that illuminates cobwebs and furniture covered in rotting sheets.
My breath catches in my throat as I slowly turn my head to where Aunt Penny’s bed rests. I clasp my hands to my mouth as she stares down at me, her face withering to the bone with each passing second.
This is a dream. This is all a dream.
But my name echoes through the air. His voice carries an unfamiliar lilt as it travels down the hallway outside of Aunt Penny’s room. He’s coming. He’ll be here any moment.
I’m up in a split second, backing out of the room, tears falling down my cheeks. I stumble back into the hallway unsure of which direction I’m facing.
“Layla! You cannot hide from me…”
I feel along the wall for my own door, but the wall stretches on and on, completely smooth. I can’t find the door. I’m growing more frantic as I glide down the wall, sending silent prayers to whatever gods are listening to help me.
“LAYLA!” Dalton’s voice booms through the hallway, murderous and full of rage.
“Leave me alone!”
A sharp scratching sound erupts all around me, like nails against a chalkboard. My ears ring, the noise blurring my senses as I break into a sprint through the inky darkness. Thunder continues to shatter the sky, each boom settling in my bones. I should have woken up by now. I keep pinching myself and running into the wall, scraping my hip bones on the tangle of sharp corners that make up the second floor, but I stay locked in this epic, endless nightmare.
I begin to beg for help, my voice fractured and desperate, but the thunder and scratching sound drown out my cries.
My toes catch on the steps leading up to the third floor. No, no, no, no. I need to get to the first floor. I need to run out of the house entirely.
“LAYLA!”
His voice merges into something deadly and unfamiliar as I practically crawl up the stairs, unable to see past my hands as I grope in the dark. I reach the third floor landing as lightning erupts, sending shards of light through the window at the very top of the stairs. I take one look behind me, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes glow in the darkness, narrowed and cat-like. Not Dalton. This isn’t Dalton. It was never, ever Dalton.
My scream shatters all around me but cuts off abruptly when someone’s hand clasps around my upper arm and yanks me from the top of the stairs. I’m pulled through a doorway. The door slams shut, and then all of the sudden, the voices stop, and the scratching ceases, and the only sound is me choking on my own breath.
Dalton steps into view. I jerk away, my lips parted as a scream wrenches up my throat, but he clasps a hand over my mouth and presses me to the wall.
“Quiet,” he says in a dry, commanding tone. My heart races as he keeps me pinned against the wall. His warmth seeps into my skin, thawing the icy numbness clouding my senses. Outside the door, footsteps travel back and forth, followed by that scurrying, scratching sound.
Then the footsteps are gone, just like that.
I meet Dalton’s eyes, tears still sliding from my lashes.
He slowly takes his hand from my mouth, caressing my face instead, his eyes bright and full of concern. An oil lantern illuminates the snug room behind him, a bed and dresser coming into view.
“Is this real?” I manage to say, fighting past a sob.
In answer, he leans in, resting his forehead against mine as his lips gently brush over my own. I feel his touch–warm and rough, just like earlier in the day when he’d found me at the cemetery.
“This is real,” he rasps, and presses his lips to mine. “Layla, this is real.”