Bailey
“Holy shit!” I whisper.
I’m sitting at one of the computers in the Hahnville Public Library, which doubles as the town’s historical records center. After arguing with Tanner this morning, I’m now determined to find something, anything, to explain the things we’ve been experiencing. With the article that’s currently on the screen in front of me, I think I may have just hit the jackpot.
Twenty-seven murders have been connected to the property in the better part of the last century.
I’m no expert in homicide statistics, but I’d bet good money that that number is way higher than the average.
As I skim the cramped text of the article, which is published on a sleek-looking true crime website, a pattern starts to emerge. Most of the victims were men from out of town. The vast majority of suspects were women, and all but six of the alleged murderers ended up in psychiatric facilities. The others had committed suicide before the police could catch up with them. All of the people involved had some sort of connection to the Gregory property.
My eyes widen as I pick out a familiar name in the mix of victims: Ashford. I picture the face of Penny’s doctor, the one who had conspired with Vera to keep the old woman sedated and who had later been brutally murdered by his own wife.
Was it possible that Dr. Ashford’s death had been related to the house?
I knew he hadn’t been attacked near the swamp and that he had ultimately passed away in the hospital. Did that mean whatever was on the Gregory property wasn’t bound to the land? I don’t even want to think of the implications that would hold for Tanner and me.
Swallowing thickly, I force myself to keep reading.
After listing out the names of the dead, the author shifts from fact to speculation, notating some of the theories that have arisen over the years. This feels like safer territory. A lot of these conjectures are rumors I’ve heard over the years: the land is haunted, or cursed, or there are witches and demons in the swamp. But there’s no proof for any of these, and I end up with more questions than answers by the time I’m finished reading.
I lean back in my chair and sigh.
I don’t know what to make of all this. I’ve lived in Hahnville all my life, and of course I’ve heard the rumors that have swirled around the old Gregory place like dirty water down a drain. As kids, we’d whispered that the house was haunted and that a witch lived there. Even as Penny’s day nurse, I’d hated being alone in the house after dark.
Could the land really be cursed or haunted?
I don’t want to believe it, but I also can’t think of a better explanation for all of the terrible things that have happened there over the years. My mind drifts back to Layla, who had refused to set foot on the property again after the fire that had consumed the main house and a good portion of the outbuildings.
Maybe I really should call her. As much as I hate to drag Layla back into the grips of whatever is happening here, a growing part of me understands that she’s the only one who might have some of the answers I’m so desperately searching for.
I’ll call her tomorrow, I decide.
The rest of my research doesn’t bring up much new information. By mid-afternoon, I come to the conclusion that if there is anything more to uncover, I won’t find it here. I take a moment to print out the article, thank the librarian, and then step out into the overcast heat. The sky is dark and crowded with purplish clouds, heralding an impending storm.
Luck is on my side, and I manage to make it home just as the skies open up. Thunder crashes with an intensity that I can feel in my bones. The atmosphere is electric, as though the very air that I breathe is somehow alive. Although I don’t know why, I realize that I’m frightened, my body anticipating that something terrible is about to happen.
I don’t want to give in to that feeling, so I drop my research on the kitchen table before retreating to the bedroom with my laptop to watch some mindless reality TV until it’s time to go to work.
I’m on my third episode of some silly dating show when I hear the front door creak open over the roar of the storm.
“Tanner?” I call, my heartbeat galloping as I strain to pick up any unusual sounds. “Is that you?”
To my immense relief, he calls back, “Yeah.”
Confusion floods through me then. It’s only 4:00 in the afternoon, and Tanner doesn’t usually get home until right before I leave for my shift at 7:00. What is he doing here so early?
When Tanner appears in the doorway of the bedroom, I’m sure that something terrible has occurred. His face is etched with fear, and he looks older somehow, as though he’s aged several years since our fight this morning. A haunted gleam lingers in his eyes as he fixes his gaze on me.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice little more than a whisper.
Tanner runs his hands over his face and shakes his head. After a long moment, he finally replies, “There was an accident at the job site.”
“An accident?” I gasp. “Is everybody all right?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. I wait for him to tell me more, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he kicks off his boots and starts unbuttoning his shirt, which is damp and wrinkled as though he’s been standing in the rain.
I’m not sure why, but my gut tells me to tread carefully. I wait until he shucks the shirt into the laundry hamper and perches on the edge of the mattress before I probe, “Are you okay?”
His eyes snap to mine, and it’s like there’s a war going on inside of him. After a moment too long, he answers, “I don’t know.” His tone is flat, and the weight of it makes my skin crawl. Whatever he’s seen today, it wasn’t good. Maybe he’s in shock, I consider.
Tentatively, I reach out to take his hand. He flinches as my fingers brush his wrist, but before I can draw back, he clutches my palm and brings my hand to his bare chest. The desperate thud of his heartbeat radiates through my fingers, and my mind conjures up an image of a deer, frozen and panting, in the headlights of on an oncoming car.
“What happened?” I ask again, shifting to rest beside him on the edge of the bed. “Please, Tanner, just tell me.”
He closes his eyes and draws in a hitched breath. “It could have been me,” he whispers, naked terror saturating his voice. “It could have been you.”
Before I can ask him what he means, he closes the distance between us and claims my mouth in a searing kiss. I stiffen at first, confused and a little frightened, but then I remind myself that this is Tanner, the man I love. He’s not making any sense, and I still don’t understand what’s happened, but I can feel the desperation as his lips pull at mine.
I kiss him back, throwing caution to the wind. He needs this, I know it in my bones. Hell, maybe I need this too, especially after our fight this morning.
As soon as he feels me respond, Tanner uses his weight to flip me back onto the bed so that my back is pressed into the mattress as his toned form looms over me. He stares down at me, his eyes bright and wild like he’s in the grips of a fever.
“You’re mine,” he breathes in a voice so low it’s barely audible over the storm. He punctuates his words with a thrust of his hips, and I can’t help but moan as his concealed hardness brushes against my core. “Say it,” he growls, rolling his hips again. “Say it.”
“I’m yours!” I moan, arching my back off the bed in an attempt to find a better angle.
He leans down, the planes of his muscled chest hard against my clothed breasts. His teeth nip at my ear, and I sigh. “You’re mine,” he repeats, his hot breath fanning the tender skin of my neck. “You’re mine.”
He wastes no time undressing me as I writhe beneath him. He gathers the hem of my blouse and tugs it unceremoniously over my head. Next, his quick fingers unclasp my bra, releasing my breasts. He takes one peaked nipple in his mouth as his hands work at the zipper of my shorts before sliding the denim down my toned legs.
Soon, I’m entirely naked, every inch of skin exposed to him. He drinks in the sight of me with bright, hungry eyes. Without dragging his gaze from mine, he steps out of his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock.
Anticipation builds as he slides the head of it through my slick folds. I sigh with pleasure as he moves against me, but it’s not enough. I want more.
I buck my hips against him, urging him forward. Obeying my wordless command, he positions himself at my entrance and, just when I’m about to whine in frustration, he slams into me hard.
“Fuck!” I gasp at the sudden fullness. I half expect Tanner to pause to give me a moment to adjust to his size, but instead, he draws back and immediately thrusts back in.
The painful pleasure of it is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I moan as he pistons into me, hitting just the right angle with every stroke, and he stifles the sound with his mouth against mine.
I can feel myself rising closer to the precipice with every thrust, and soon I whisper, “I’m so close, Tanner.”
His quickens the rhythm, coaxing me closer and closer until I tumble over the edge with an ecstatic cry. Tanner doesn’t stop though. Instead, he presses his forehead against mine as I feel him begin to twitch inside me.
“You’re mine,” slips from his mouth as his hips stutter from his own release.
We lie there listening to the storm in silence until my phone alarm alerts me that I have to leave for work.
By the time I’m dressed and presentable, Tanner is asleep. I kiss his brow softly, not wanting to wake him, before crossing over to the door.
But something makes me linger on the threshold. It’s as though something in the air behind me has shifted, and my neck prickles with the sensation that somebody is watching me.
I turn slowly, squinting against the stormy dimness. There’s nobody else in the room except for Tanner, who’s still asleep in bed.
A flash of lightning pierces the gloom, and for a moment, Tanner’s face isn’t his own. The thing that isn’t Dalton stares back at me, the corners of its mouth upturned in a rictus grin.
Panicked, I slap the light switch, immediately bathing the room in a warm glow.
The face is gone, leaving only Tanner sleeping soundly in bed.
I turn again to leave, and this time, I don’t look back.