Layla
Bailey’s eyes are growing heavy despite the third cup of coffee she’s consumed in the last two hours. We’re in the supply room, years and years of notes taken by a variety of nurses spread out on the plastic table between us. She brings the coffee to her lips, shaking her head. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing until your doctor friend gets here tomorrow,” I tell her, swiveling from side to side in the computer chair while the printer beside me works in overdrive. We’ve been going through the computer system, printing out everything and anything pertaining to Aunt Penny’s care. The notes only go back ten years or so, but that should be enough to give this new doctor a clear idea of what’s been done to her.
“What about Vera?” Bailey asks, her eyes rimmed red with fatigue.
“I’ll handle Vera this weekend. I’m going to call the lawyer after we talk to this new doctor and fill him in on everything, then I’ll have Curtis come over and change the locks.” In my opinion, Vera has no right to ever step foot in this house again, especially if she conspired with Dr. Ashford to keep Aunt Penny in a state of full mental sedation for what sounds like decades.
But, I do want to know why she did it.
I cross my arms and lean back, watching Bailey peer over the notes. “Bailey, just go to bed. Aunt Penny isn’t going to wake up tonight; we both know it. My bed is made up. Go sleep there.” She’s not used to working nights, and it shows.
“All right.” She sighs, giving me a soft smile. “But wake me up if anything happens.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
She stands with a groan and pads away, disappearing into the shadowy stairwell. I swivel back to the computer and print out a few more notes then spend the next half hour organizing everything in neat piles on the table. The tablet with a video feed of Aunt Penny’s room is silent, and she’s asleep.
In fact, it’s surprisingly quiet in the house tonight. The open windows let in a soft, cool breeze, and the air is full of the songs of cicadas and frogs.
For once, the house doesn’t feel full of ghosts. And for once, I feel calm and secure within its walls and not exceedingly on edge.
Also, my body is still thrumming with bliss from my encounter with Dalton earlier this evening.
I smile to myself as I walk into the kitchen for a snack and another cup of coffee. I wonder where he is right now. He’s likely painting or sleeping. I realize I’ve never really ever sought him out. He always seems to just appear out of nowhere.
For a moment, all I want to do is go find him, maybe sit in his studio for a minute and watch him work, but… this thing between us is just physical, right?
I have to be okay with it if it is just physical between us. I can’t catch feelings for him, even though it feels impossible not to. We haven’t ever talked about what this is between us. We don’t talk about much at all, actually.
Maybe it’s better this way–just a bit of summer fun.
A soft scratching sound catches my attention while I rinse my mug out in the kitchen sink. The scratching is similar to what I’ve heard in the house many times before but have always done my best to ignore. This time, it’s a distant sound, like it’s coming from outside. I stare out the window, narrowing my eyes on the shadows along the tree line. Did I see something move, or is it just another trick of my mind?
The scratching sound grows sharper, echoing across the yard as I step out on the back porch.
It’s probably just raccoons, like Curtis said. There’s several outbuildings scattered around the more developed parts of the property, many of which are run-down and unused as far as I know.
Something heavy falls somewhere past the trees to my left where several sheds fan out in the overgrowth.
Huffing out a breath, I turn back to the house and grab a flashlight and a knife from the kitchen before stalking out. My sandals crunch through the grass, then hit the back driveway, and I stop, waiting for the sound to come again.
A scurrying, scraping sound comes from one of the sheds near a cluster of trees.
I walk around the back of the detached garage and fan my flashlight through the trees. One of the sheds is open, and as I point my flashlight through the door, I find nothing but gardening supplies stacked neatly on old wooden shelves.
The scratching sound comes again–like nails on a chalkboard. “Where the hell is that coming from?”
I whirl toward the trees. A crumbling structure withers into the brush only a few yards past the tree line, obscured by shadows. The scratching sound is coming from within it.
I immediately bristle with fear. First of all, why am I out here, anyway? I look down at the knife in my hand. What the hell was I thinking?
But curiosity gets the better of me as I creep toward the building, my flashlight lighting the way forward as I step between the trees and shove my way through the brush.
I push open the door, which creaks so loudly it sends an echo through the yard and over the standing water where the marsh begins.
It’s pitch black inside, empty, and cold. I step over the threshold and peer around, the light from my flashlight dusting over cobweb covered crates and old shelving.
There’s a wall made of brick–sloppily constructed–toward the back of the room. It looks odd against the rotting wood sides of the outbuilding. A few of the bricks have come loose, some of them lying on the ground in front of the wall.
I wait in silence, my heart in my throat, for anything to happen. A sound, a shadow….
A sharp scratch echoes through the space. I whirl toward the brick wall and flash my light against it. There’s something behind it. My light catches a gleam of an object, white and smooth.
My senses take over as I grip the knife and walk forward. The scratching sound suddenly intensifies, as does a creeping, desperate sensation now crippling my mind. Frantically, I begin to stab my knife between the bricks, loosening some of them, then drop the knife to start pulling the bricks out of the wall with one hand as I hold the flashlight with the other.
My breath comes in quick gasps as my nails scrape over the bricks, pulling them free, letting them hit the ground at my feet.
The scratching sound is louder than ever, so loud my ears pop and ring. I pull another brick free and half the wall comes down. I step back just in time, sucking in a breath full of dust and… decay.
A half rotted body slumps forward, one hand outstretched like it’s reaching for me, it’s fingers worn down to the bone.
The bricks at my feet are covered in scratch marks like…like whoever this is had been trying to scratch their way out–
I rest my hands on my knees as the smell hits me–rancid and overwhelming. Bile rises in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Layla?”
My name brushes over my cheek and causes my skin to prickle with terror. I open my eyes, and the dead man is directly beneath me, his eyes milky and wide open as his half decayed mouth parts. “Layla!”
My scream rips through the air as I stagger backward, groping in the dark for anything to break my fall. My flashlight clatters to the ground and flickers out, casting me in darkness.
I fall backward over the threshold of the building into the woods, landing hard on my ass just as a shadow roams over me. Another scream tears from my throat before a hand claps over my mouth.
“It’s just me.”
“Dalton!” I choke against the palm of his hand. He pulls me upright, checking me for any injuries. “Dalton!”
“Why are you out here? Have you not listened to anything I’ve said–”
“There’s a body,” I sob, my voice cracking over the words. “Daltons, there’s a dead person in there!”
He takes my face between his hands, looking hard into my eyes. “Eyes on me, Angel.”
I whimper, choking down a sob. “I’m dreaming–I’m dreaming again, aren’t I?”
He says nothing, but the look in his eyes is absolutely heartbreaking as he shakes his head. “Come on,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “I’m putting you to bed.”
“But the body–”
My knees give out, but he catches me, scooping me up into his arms and cradling me to his chest like I’m a small child. “Don’t worry about it now.”
“Did you know?”
“No,” he grinds out. “I didn’t.”
“Who is it?”
He shushes me with a gentleness I hadn’t expected from him. He carries me across the yard and into the house just as clouds begin to flood the sky, covering the stars. “The knife–I left a knife in there.”
“I’m going to take care of it,” Dalton whispers as he carries me through the kitchen.
He walks upstairs but passes my door where Bailey is sleeping. Instead, he climbs another flight of stairs and edges toward the door to his room, still carrying me in his arms.
He must know Bailey is asleep in my bed. Or, he wants me here, close by.
He sets me on the edge of the bed and pulls my shirt over my head.
“Your pants, too.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re filthy,” he growls, making a little clicking sound with his tongue. He leaves me to undress and disappears into his bathroom, and within seconds, I hear a shower running and cabinets opening and closing. “Take a shower and then go to bed. Do not leave this room.”
For once, I obey and let the hot shower scald me while I rub my skin raw.
Dalton isn’t in the room when I leave the bathroom wrapped in a towel. His door is firmly closed, locked, in fact, from the outside.
I wiggle the knob, my heart rate spiking.
That bastard locked me in here.
Exhaustion and shock keep my senses blurred as I move to the window on the far side of the room. My view of the backyard is blocked by the garage, and the shed is just out of sight. Where did he go? What does he mean to do with the body I found?
He won’t call the police, I’m sure.
I slide into his bed wondering if I can trust him. I want to. I feel like, in a way, I need to trust this man.
If he were going to hurt me, he would have done so already.
I slip into sleep so quickly I’m unaware it’s happening. Darkness clouds my mind–the inky, black kind that promises a long, dreamless rest.
What feels like hours later, I wake slowly, sleepily, to the feeling of someone pressed against me. A familiar scent hits me, and I think it has to be Dalton. Naked beneath the sheets, I press my body to his, my eyes still closed, my breath coming in a soft rasp. He slides his arm under my neck, his other arm resting under my breasts. He nuzzles my neck, then my ear, his teeth lighting grazing the rim.
It feels wicked and loving at the same time.