Bailey
This can’t be real.
My heart thuds against my ribs as my eyes dart around the familiar space. Everything is the same as it was before the fire. The wallpaper, lovingly restored by Dalton, is fresh and vibrant. The surface of the dining room table gleams as though it’s just been polished. Warm yellow light spills down from the chandelier, the crystal beads clinking delicately amidst a backdrop of suffocating silence.
It’s Miss Penny’s dining room at the old Gregory place.
Logically, I know I can’t really be here. Here doesn’t even exist anymore. I watched the flames consume the house, tearing at the old wooden frame with a thousand grasping fingers. The heat was unbearable, and I coughed for weeks afterward from breathing in so much smoke.
So how am I here?
The last thing I remember is going to sleep after coming home from my night shift. So this must be a dream. There’s nothing else it can be. And yet…
I stare at the table, which should be burned to a crisp along with the rest of the house. A chair is pulled out, waiting for me.
I take a step toward it. I’m screaming at myself to stop, but my legs seem to move of their own accord, dragging me closer and closer until I fall roughly into the seat. The wooden edges dig into my thighs and back, sharp and cool against my skin.
There’s a creaking noise behind me. It’s the unmistakable sound of footsteps crossing the tired floorboards from the kitchen to the dining room. Horror trickles down my spine, alighting my nerves and urging my heartbeat to a gallop. I try desperately to turn my head to see who’s approaching me, but I can’t. My muscles are stuck tight. It’s like my body is betraying me.
It’s all I can do to squeak out, “Who’s there?”
Goosebumps break out across my arms and legs as a low, masculine chuckle thrums through the room. The footsteps stop directly behind me, the stranger standing so close to me that I can feel his breath, hot and oppressive, fanning against my skin.
“Hello, Bailey,” a voice croons in my ear.
“Who are you?” I whisper, still unable to move.
“Maybe I’m Tanner,” the stranger suggests. Feather-light fingers ghost over the exposed skin of my neck, and I gasp in surprise. “Maybe I’m Dalton.” The digits brush my collarbone. “Or maybe I’m something else entirely.”
Before I have time to react, the hand closes around one of my shoulders and shoves me forward, propelling me out of the chair and up against the hard edge of the dining room table. I yelp at the sudden movement as the stranger bends me over the wooden surface, pinning me down with a firm hand on my back.
I squirm against his hold, but he’s way too strong.
Another chuckle erupts behind me, and I freeze as the stranger nudges my legs apart and steps in between them. Only then do I realize how exposed I am. I’m only wearing a thin satin nightgown and a pair of lace panties, and now, bent over the table, I can feel the stranger’s body pressing against my core.
“Are you scared, Bailey?” he asks, his velvet voice laced with poison.
“No,” I say, even though I know he can feel me trembling against him.
“Good girls don’t tell lies,” the stranger hisses in my ear. “But we both know you’re not a good girl, are you?”
Anger swells in me, overtaking the fear. “Who are you?” I spit. “What do you want?”
“So impatient,” he murmurs. He nuzzles his face into my hair, and I cringe against his hold. “Are you that eager to be mine?”
“I’m not yours,” I snarl. “I’ll never be yours!”
I don’t even think about what I do next. It’s purely instinctual, fueled by some distant part of my brain coaxed alive by the fear that’s pulsing through my veins.
I shove both of my elbows behind me, catching the stranger in the ribs. He staggers backward just enough for me to turn in his grasp.
Everything stills as I catch sight of his face.
The thing that’s not Dalton stares back, it’s lips upturned in a mockery of a smile. Crooked, sharp teeth line its mouth. Its eyes are dark, the type of black that seems to gobble up the light, and they’re locked on me.
“What the fuck are you?” I breathe, terror permeating the curve of my words.
Its grin widens.
“It’s time to wake up, Bailey,” the thing says. Its mouth doesn’t move in time with its voice, like its movements are lagging a split second behind the sound it produces.
It raises one hand and snaps its fingers.
The transition between sleep and wakefulness is sudden and shocking.
One moment, I’m in the dining room of the old Gregory place, withering under the gaze of the thing that’s not Dalton.
The next, I’m sitting up in bed, panting and shaking and ready to puke my guts out.
It’s a race against the bile rising in my throat as I desperately kick myself free of the tangled sheets and dash into the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
Once I’m done retching, I sink down onto the bathroom floor, relishing the cool smoothness of the tile against my overheated skin. Sweat beads on my forehead and the small of my back. My muscles tremble as they had in the dream, and my heart flutters like a hummingbird’s from the adrenaline running through my system.
“It was a nightmare,” I whisper to myself. For the sake of my sanity, I’m not even going to try to consider any other possibilities.
Standing on shaky legs, I stagger over to the sink and turn on the cold water. I run my hands under the stream for a moment before splashing the cool liquid against my face. As it drips back down into the basin, I imagine that it’s the nightmare sloughing off me, swirling away down the drain and far, far away.
I take a few deep breaths to steady myself before straightening up and grabbing my toothbrush. But when my eyes flash to the mirror, I catch a glimpse of a face – its face – reflected there, floating just over my shoulder.
Letting out an ungodly screech, I whip around and reflexively fling my toothbrush at the thing.
There’s nothing there.
The toothbrush sails through empty air and clatters on the floor.
“Fuck you!” I scream, kicking the spot where the thing had been.
I feel like I’m going crazy. My mind races as I claw my way out to the bedroom. I try to slow my breathing and quiet my racing thoughts, but it’s a Herculean task. After several minutes of counting my inhales and exhales, I calm down and locate my phone, which is still plugged into the outlet beside the bed.
My first instinct is to call Tanner. But instead, I find myself dialing a different number.
The line rings two times before somebody picks up. “Hey Bailey, what’s up?” a cheerful, familiar voice greets me.
“Layla,” I sigh, relief crashing over me at the sound of her familiar accent.
“That’s me,” my friend agrees, sounding thoroughly confused and a little bit concerned. “Bailey, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. I try to muster up some more enthusiasm, pushing the panic away. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m great,” Layla replies, though I can tell she’s not totally convinced by my answer.
I struggle to find a topic that has nothing to do with the nightmare I’ve just lived through. Finally I ask, “You’re liking Florida?”
“Uh-huh! It’s awesome. There’s so much to do!” Layla gushes. “I’ve got a great nursing job, and we’re renting such a cute little house. I can’t wait until you can get some time off to visit!”
“I’d love to come down,” I reply earnestly. The thought of leaving Hahnville, of fleeing this thing, is so tantalizing. I think back to our failed trip to NOLA. Maybe we hadn’t gone far enough. Would it leave us alone if we put enough distance between us and the swamp? Something tells me it will never stop, but part of me wants to grab Tanner and run. I decide that I’ll talk to him this weekend, see if I can convince him to get the hell out of here.
“How’s everything in town?” Layla inquires, breaking me from my reverie. “Is everybody behaving?”
“No more than usual,” I joke. “I did take a new job though.”
“Ooh, spill!”
“You remember the Wilsons?”
“Of course,” Layla confirms. They were really kind to her after the house burned down. They had assisted in finding a suitable living situation for Miss Penny, and they had basically taken Layla and Dalton in until they could shift their lives to Florida.
“Well, Robert had a pretty gnarly fall a little while ago. His leg’s pretty messed up. Helen’s got me coming over for night shifts so she can get some sleep,” I relay.
Layla gasps. “Oh my god! How’d it happen?”
“He said he was out for a walk and fell in the marsh.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth either.
Luckily for me, my friend doesn’t pry any further. “I’ll call Helen and check on him,” she promises. “How’s his prognosis?”
“His recovery will be pretty long and painful, but I think he’ll be able to walk again,” I tell her. I take a deep breath and then ask her the question I’ve been holding in since I first called. “How’s Dalton?”
“Oh, ya know, still sexy as hell,” she giggles. “He’s started doing freelance work around the city so he’s earning his keep. You should see the houses he’s restored. Some of these places are like gold toilet level of ridiculous!”
“So he’s mostly in Florida these days?”
“Yep,” she confirms. “Actually, hang on. He’s right here, I’ll put you on speaker!
A second later, Dalton–the real Dalton–speaks. “Hey Bailey!” he says.
“Hi,” I respond weakly, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. There’s no excuse now. Whatever I’ve been seeing, it definitely isn’t Dalton. Part of me has known that all along, but now there’s no more wiggle room, no room for doubt.
I can’t really pay attention to the rest of the call. The words we exchange pass in a blur until I look at the clock on the bedside and realize I have to start getting ready for work.
“I have to go,” I say. “Talk soon?”
“Of course,” Layla assures me. “Bye!”
“Bye!” I echo before ending the call.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, just listening to the silence. After a few seconds, I sigh. I really do have to start moving if I want to make it to Helen’s in time for my shift.
Standing demands massive effort, and I trudge towards the bathroom wondering how the hell I’m supposed to get through an entire night of work after all the things that have happened today.
I’ve made it a few steps away when my phone rings. Layla’s name flashes across the screen. Figuring that she must’ve forgotten to tell me something, I answer the call without hesitation.
For a moment, nothing comes through the speakers but a weird crackling noise.
And then the music starts, flooding down the line and blasting out into the room at a decibel I didn’t know my phone was capable of.
Folks, I’m goin’ down to St. James Infirmary, see my baby there…
I press the button to end the call, but nothing happens.
She’s stretched out on a long, white table, so sweet, so cold, so fair…