Dalton
After I put Layla to bed, I return immediately to the shed. I look down at the dead man with a mix of pity and rage. He’s not much older than me. He was handsome, with blond hair and eyes that used to be blue. But now, they’ve started to decay into his skull. The skin is flayed from his fingers, revealing bone, but the rest of him is in surprisingly good shape considering how long he’s been here.
I remember him. Henry, that was his name. Henry Swanson, from Mississippi, an architect apprentice who never made it back after traveling here to visit his girlfriend.
The last night nurse.
I wrap a bandana around my nose and mouth and crouch, picking up the knife Layla discarded upon discovering the poor bastard.
That’s what he is, too. Discarded. This wasn’t his fault.
I wonder what was going through that young nurse's head as she put each brick in place. A glance at his torso tells me she stabbed him at least once, somewhere that caused him a great deal of blood loss, enough to effectively knock him out long enough for her to cage him into this tomb.
But he hadn’t stayed like that.
I wrap the putrid body in a tarp, trying not to breathe. His hand slips out, his bones gleaming in the light of the lantern I brought with me. The missing skin from his fingers exposes the bone. I imagine he did that to himself as he’d been trying to claw his way out.
I drag the body out to the marsh, trudging through still water. Rain peppers the top of my head as I walk forever until I reach the edge of the woods and reach the expansive wetlands that choke the Gregory property.
Something out here will eat what’s left of this body, regardless of its level of decay. I unroll the tarp and let the body splash into the water. Airless, it slips away into the murky depths, never to be seen again.
Sitting on a ledge that overlooks the water, sheltered from the rain with my back resting against a tree, I watch the rain dust over the wetlands as I draw a cigarette from my pocket and light it, dragging the smoke down my throat before letting it out slowly.
The poor woman who did this likely didn’t realize what she’d done until it was too late. She killed this man out of fear, but it wasn’t his fault. It was never any of their faults.
“Was it fun?” I ask the endless marsh around me. “Did you enjoy tormenting her until she snapped?”
I’m answered by silence. Amos has been quiet since Ms. Penny woke up from her stupor. He’s leery of her, of course. She is the last of the Gregorys who were able to keep this beast contained, and without her in the picture, he was allowed decades of torture, almost always ending in murder.
The previous night nurse had no idea Amos was whispering in her head. She had no idea until she killed the man she loved and ran desperate into the woods to get away from the real threat in that house.
When I came to this place, I had no idea what would be waiting for me. But, unlike the rest of the men and women who’ve had the displeasure of walking those shadowed halls, I’ve lived in houses before that were inhabited by otherworldly beings.
Amos can’t tempt me. He can’t pierce my mind and make me act out, doing his bidding. He can’t force me to rape and torture like he’d forced these other men to do.
But he’s in Layla’s head. I know it. And if he’s not, he’s getting close. His only desire is to make her fearful of me, to make me out to be the bad guy, to make her believe I’d hurt her so she’ll hurt me in return.
I can do all of that by myself. I don’t need his help. Which is why he hasn’t driven her to madness yet.
I take another drag from my cigarette and toss it into the marsh. Curious fish inspect it but dart away, disappearing back into the gloom.
By the time I make it back to the house, it’s pouring down rain. Thunder booms in the distance, echoing through the house as I slowly make my way upstairs. I’m soaking wet and tired and completely forgot I’d put Layla to bed in my room a few hours ago. I pause in the doorway, then shut the door, walking back to the second floor.
I check on Ms. Penny first. She’s asleep, her room cast in silver shadows as the storm starts to move closer to the house.
Next, I check on the other nurse. Bailey is curled in a little ball in Layla’s bed. I stand in the doorway for several long seconds watching her sleep. She shouldn’t have stayed the night here.
Slowly, I close the door and return to my own room to shower.
Lightning illuminates the sky when I finally slide into bed beside Layla, her body warm, supple, and bare in my hands as I pull her to my chest.
I have the unmistakable urge to claim her as I lower my face to her shoulder, inhaling her soft scent now tinged with my citrus shampoo.
If I’d been a weaker man, Amos would have both of us in his clutches. We wouldn’t have lasted this long, either. But maybe that’s a bad thing. This push and pull with him the last several weeks since Layla’s arrival has only made him more desperate to consume her, to take over her mind, to try to force her to take care of his biggest problems.
Being trapped in this house—and me.
I push my knee between her thighs and clutch her to my chest, my arm snaking under her neck while my free hand clutches her breasts, gently kneading while my mind spins over every possibility of escape that we have.
I can’t think of any.
She lets out her breath in a soft moan, her nipples hardening under my touch. Her heat slides over my thigh as she grinds her pussy into my leg. She’s barely awake, but it’s not the first time I’ve taken her while she slept.
“Is this what you want?” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear as I gently nudge her legs apart and fist my cock, teasing her entrance. I roll her from her side to her belly, and her ass beckons to me–round and soft and perfect. She’s an excellent distraction. Maybe that’s what Amos wants her to be for me–something to keep my attention diverted. It works. My mind is completely consumed by Layla to the point I can barely think straight, let alone paint. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Her safety and wellbeing has completely consumed me.
But I made Amos a deal several years ago, a deal he continues to hold over my head. The only request I’ve ever made of him is to give me Layla. Yet, he keeps fucking with her.
“Layla,” I whisper, kissing the back of her neck as I press my cock inside of her. Her pussy clutches my dick in a way that makes my head spin. Every inch of her is perfect.
Her answering moan has me pumping into her with fervor, loving the way she clamps and spasms as she comes in pounding waves.
It doesn’t take long. Layla’s body reacts to mine in a way I’ve never experienced with anyone else. She is made for me.
And I’ll die before I let anyone, or anything, else have her.