Layla
“Layla!”
I skid to a stop in the hallway between my bedroom and Aunt Penny’s room. Bailey shuts Aunt Penny’s door with a soft click and beams at me. I force a smile to my lips, but it wobbles as she looks me up and down.
“I’m headed out. She’s asleep. She’ll probably sleep all night, I’m guessing. I’m going to take off, but I’ll see you in the morning. Did you talk to the lawyer?”
“Yeah,” I manage to choke out, but my mind is reeling, and my throat tightens as I continue. “He’s going to talk to the estate executor about the assisted living home the doctor mentioned.”
“Oh, that’s good news,” Bailey says with a sigh of relief. “She’d do so much better there. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you before you left because I just got a call from my mom.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Bailey’s sunny expression shifts to one of muted shock as she blows out her breath. “Dr. Ashford died.”
“Oh, damn,” I mumble, swallowing hard. “That’s–that’s a shame.”
“They arrested the person who did it a few hours ago. It hasn’t gone public yet…”
My heart nearly stops. Oh, God. When was the last time I saw Dalton? Last night, when he woke me up in the middle of the night to have sex? I’m barely keeping a handle on my nerves as I try to focus on what Bailey’s saying, but the blood is hammering so loudly in my ears that all I can see is her mouth moving, her voice drowned out by the fear and confusion gripping my senses.
“Wh-what?” I stammer.
“His wife,” Bailey says, her eyes going wide. “His wife did it! She killed him. She said he attacked her, and it was in self-defense. She’s lost her mind entirely, according to my mom. She was transferred to an institution in New Orleans for now. I guess she had a psychotic break during the interview with the police and tried to stab herself in the neck with a ballpoint pen.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, and that's all I can think to say.
“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“B-Bye,” I murmur, my heart threatening to leap out of my chest. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind as I rush up the steps to the third floor. I’m not sure my heart keeps beating as I skip every other step all the way to the top.
Dalton’s bedroom door is locked. I bang on it, my chest squeezing tight with each rushed breath I take. I listen for footsteps, but I’m met by silence.
“Dalton?” I force out his name in a soft whisper like I’m afraid to say it any louder.
I turn to look down the darkened hallway and grip the banister to help guide my way through the dark. The hallway splits into a T. Light pours from a closed door down a hallway to the left. I suck in a breath, fighting to get my nerves in order before storming down the hall and throwing open the door with so much force it bounces off the wall.
Dalton’s studio fans out in front of me. The air is stolen from my lungs as I step inside and look around, taking it all in.
I’m alone. That’s the first thing I realize as I edge deeper into the room. A trio of windows overlooking the driveway take up one wall, all three of them open to allow cool evening air to drift into the otherwise dusty space. Two easels stand in the center of the room. Canvases are propped along the walls, some of them covered in tarps. A wooden work table rests along the wall closest to the door where cans and tubes of paint are scattered as well as glass jars full of well-worn brushes.
But it’s the artwork on the walls that catch my attention. Portraits. Landscapes. Plants and the occasional animal.
And me.
Me looking over my shoulder. Me shirtless, my breasts full and heavy as I look forward with a heated look behind my eyes. Me in the kitchen with a scowl pinching my brows together.
Me smiling up at something unseen, my lips slightly parted.
I slowly turn my attention to the easels and get a closer look at the contents.
Tears spring to my eyes as I gaze at a nearly finished portrait of me laughing, my eyes creased and a startling blue that only someone who's seen me very close up could have captured. Freckles dot the bridge of my nose, and my hair is loose and falling around my sun-kissed shoulders. The colors bleed into a beautiful, rosy background. It’s all sunshine and florals and…
I look happy. In most of these portraits I look happy, and if I’m not happy, my eyes are full of unbelievable desire.
I whirl toward a creaking noise behind me. Dalton takes up the entire doorway, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his jeans, his T-shirt damp with either sweat or rain.
His green eyes meet mine as he closes the door I’d left open, and then we’re alone.
“You painted me.”
“I said I would.”
Charged silence settles between us, broken only by the rising song of the cicadas outside.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say so softly I wonder if he catches it. But, he nods, his mouth parting slightly before he thinks better of saying something and closes them again. I step toward him, my heart and mind at odds, and ask, “Who are you?”
“You know me.”
“I barely do,” I admit. “I don’t even fucking know your last name.” I know his body. I know his touch ignites a fire within me that will burn as an ember for the rest of my life. I know his scent. I know how safe I feel in his arms when there’s no good reason I should trust him.
Especially now.
He swallows, the column of his throat bobbing with effort as he tears his gaze from my face and looks down at his work table. “It’s Rice, and you shouldn’t be here, either.”
“I was hired–”
“You were hunted,” he corrects, his eyes lighting on mine again.
“You need to start explaining what’s happening here,” I plead, my eyes beginning to water. “I just talked to the lawyer. There’s never been boarders here.”
“I was given a set of rooms when I was hired as a painter.”
“But that was years ago,” I whisper. “No one knows you’re still here except for me, right? I asked–I asked Bailey about you, and she didn't know who I was talking about. E–Even Vera looked at me like I was speaking in tongues!”
Dalton exhales sharply, his eyes flashing with mingled frustration and annoyance. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth!”
“I was hired five years ago,” he grinds out, his jaw sharp and flexed. “I came here just like you did. Bright eyed, excited, thinking that this would be the respite I was looking for after years of fucking toiling in New Orleans, fixing up those gaudy mansions, listening to rich wives complain while their husbands carry on with mistresses. I came here because I needed a break, and now I can’t leave. Not for long, anyway.”
“Why can’t you leave?”
He eyes me skeptically, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. This has gone way too far.”
“What has?”
“This!” He motions to the air between us. “You were never supposed to come here. I knew the second you pulled up that something had gone terribly wrong, and I–I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t stop any of this from happening. None of it!” He roughly grabs a stool and sits down, running his hands through his hair. Little droplets of rain stick to the silky, dark brown strands. “Vera was in on it. Bringing you here as a nurse. She has access to the entire Gregory directory–every family member you have, old and young. You were exactly what he was looking for. Young, inexperienced, gullible. At least, he thought so.” He takes a breath but keeps his head in his hands. “God, Layla, I am so sorry.”
“Who are you talking about?”
He looks up at me then. “Asmodeus… Amos.”
The name whispers through the air between us on a cold breeze that seems misplaced. It’s stiflingly hot tonight, even though all the windows are open, yet my skin prickles with a chill that goes straight to my bones.
“I’ve heard Aunt Penny say that name–”
“That name,” he says, standing, “is the name of an entity. A thing that haunts this house. A name for the demon your family summoned over two centuries ago, Layla. And he’s here, now, stuck in this house, delighting in the torture and undoing of everyone he can get his hands on.”
“Stop,” I tell him, holding my hands out as he approaches me. “This is insane, Dalton.”
“You’ve heard the stories from Curtis. The family deaths. Your aunt’s father was killed, and her mother went insane, just like every man and woman who came after. Robert Wilson was telling the truth about those two men who were murdered here. He told the truth about the women they were connected to, as well. And that man you found in the wall–”
“Stop, please!”
“I knew him,” he says in such a strained voice it cuts me to my core. “I knew her, too.”
“The other night nurse.” It’s not a question.
The pieces start falling into place as he continues, “They loved each other. Like, true, undying love. He came to visit her here a few weeks before she… left. Everything was fine for the first couple of days, but then they started having dreams.”
I close my eyes.
“That’s how it starts.”
I hear him beginning to pace.
“Dreams–vivid ones. The kind that blur the line between imagination and reality. She’d wake up screaming. He’d try to comfort her, but the dreams were about him doing unimaginable things to her. Raping her, torturing her….”
I find it impossible to breathe.
“She started to turn on him, and at the same time, he was fighting his own mental breakdown. Amos was in his head, too, toying with his reality, chipping away at his psyche until he could get into that man's mind and break him completely. That’s how he does it, Layla. He feeds on all of us. He thrives on our fear. It makes him stronger.”
I shake my head, choking down a sob.
“He can make himself seem almost human now. It didn’t used to be like this. The last night nurse was the tipping point, I believe, based on what I’ve been able to find out about this kind of…entity.”
“I can’t–”
“You have to believe me,” he says sternly, his eyes meeting mine as he comes to stop a few feet away from me.
“I don’t know what to believe!”
“Dr. Ashford!” he shouts. “Do you think that man had the strength, let alone desire, to assault you in the middle of the living room? A man his age shouldn’t have been able to overpower someone like you–someone whose dealt with unruly patients, whose had to lift people out of beds–”
“You’re saying he was possessed?”
“Yes, Layla.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Vera,” he says sharply, cutting me off. “Vera is in on this. She’s working with him, or he’s in her head. He can influence people, especially weak-minded individuals who are more susceptible.”
“Do you realize how crazy you sound?”
“Did you not find it odd that a random lawyer in fucking Hahnville reached out to you for a job nursing a sick old woman?”
“I’m her family.”
“You,” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “are being set up to inherit everything. Vera will see to it. That’s one of her assignments from him, I’m sure.”
My blood runs cold. “What? No. Dalton, I barely know this woman. The house is going to the historical society. We’re not close. My family–”
“Penny Gregory is the only one that can keep Amos in check. It’s something about your bloodline. Someone summoned him centuries ago, someone in your family, and he’s tethered to the heir to this estate. That’s why she refused to marry. That’s why she refused to have children and why she won’t willingly leave the house to you—or anyone in the family.” His voice drops low, his eyes going dark.
I shake my head, but what he’s saying makes sense.
“That’s why Vera keeps her fully sedated and unaware of what’s happening. It’s so he can remain unchecked. But Penny is weakening. She’s old and frail. Vera’s interference has caused her health to plummet. If she dies, Amos won’t have another heir to cling to. He’ll have to start all over again. He’s probably afraid he’ll return to being a whisper of a spirit in the marsh where someone in your family summoned him centuries ago. That’s why you were brought here. That’s why he has Vera slowly killing your aunt while he tries to get into your mind. You will be the next Gregory heir, and he’ll be able to continue his reign of terror. This house, this fucking property, is tied to all of it. He doesn’t want to start over again.”
He steps closer to me. I don’t back away.
“He had Vera bring you here after running through his last couple. He sent the last night nurse into a state of insanity, burning through her mind. Now he wants you. He needs you. He needs you to submit to him, to be his pet, to allow him the freedoms Penny denied him.”
The word “pet” echoes through my head like a death knell.
“What about you, Dalton? If this is true, what do you have to do with it?”