Chapter 86 The Shadow in the Hall
The silence of the house was a lie.
It was Friday night, and I should have been focused on the biology notes spread across my duvet, but the air in the room had turned heavy. Stagnant. I shouldn't have been alone; Cassandra and the boys had gone to the market, their laughter still echoing in the hallways like a fading ghost.
Creek.
The floorboard outside my door groaned under a weight that didn't belong here. My heart didn't just beat; it slammed against my ribs, a trapped bird looking for an exit. I didn't think. I scrambled, diving into the back of my closet, burying myself beneath the hems of my coats.
Then came the smell. It seeped through the slats of the closet door—the sharp, acrid sting of cheap cigarettes and the fermented rot of bottom-shelf whiskey.
"Elowen," a voice cooed. It was a sandpaper rasp that made my skin crawl. "Come out, little genius. Don't you want to tell me how much smarter you are than everyone else? Don't you want to use those big words of yours?"
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. Don't breathe. If you don't breathe, you don't exist.
I heard his heavy footsteps retreat. He was leaving. He was gone. I waited, counting to a hundred, my lungs burning, before I pushed the closet door open. I bolted. My feet were silent on the carpet, then cold on the hardwood as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I just had to get to the front door. I just had to—
A hand, thick and calloused, shot out from the shadows at the base of the stairs. It clamped onto my throat.
I screamed, the sound dying in my windpipe. I lunged forward, sinking my teeth into the meaty part of his forearm until I felt his skin give way. He roared, a sound of pure, narcissistic rage, and I tore myself away, skidding toward the kitchen.
"You little bitch!" Dale shouted, his heavy boots thudding behind me.
I scrambled around the marble island, my breath coming in jagged, pathetic hitches. He wasn't just chasing me; he was hunting. He reached out, his hand sweeping across the counter, and his fingers closed around the handle of a chef’s knife. The blade caught the light, a silver fang.
"Think you’re so special because you skipped those grades?" he taunted, stalking closer, his face a mask of sweating, drunken fury. "You think you’re better than everyone? You’re nothing. You’re a mistake I’m tired of looking at."
I tripped. My heel caught on the edge of the rug and I went down. Before I could scramble up, he was there. He hauled me up by the back of my shirt, pinning my spine against his chest. His arm was a vice around my neck, the other hand holding the knife inches from my face.
"I've got you," he whispered into my ear, his breath hot and foul. "Where's that mouth now, Ellie? Say something smart."
"You... you're a coward," I wheezed, my eyes darting toward the front door. "You’re so small... the only way you feel big... is with a weapon."
The lock clicked. The front door swung open.
"Ellie? We’re back!" Owen’s voice called out, bright and unsuspecting.
"Help!" I screamed, a raw, primal sound. "Owen! Jace! Help—"
The world didn't end with a bang. It ended with a cold, sharp shove. I felt the blade sink into the left side of my stomach, a sickening, wet slide that stole my voice and replaced it with a vacuum of heat.
"Ellie? Ellie, look at me!"
The smell of whiskey vanished. The heavy arm around my throat turned into a soft, trembling hand on my shoulder.
The kitchen was bright—too bright. I wasn't in the old house. I was in the estate. I wasn't thirteen; I was 24, and the weight in my right hand wasn't a biology notebook. It was a silver steak knife, gripped so hard my knuckles were white.
"Ellie, honey, please," Cassandra whispered. She was standing five feet away, her hands held up in a universal gesture of peace. Her eyes were red-rimmed, terrified. "Put the knife down. You’re safe. Dale isn't here."
I looked around the room, my chest heaving as if I’d just run a marathon. Jace, Grant, and Owen were stood back, their faces pale, frozen in a tableau of shock. Rhys was the closest, his eyes fixed on the blade in my hand with a look of devastating clarity.
"He was just here," I gasped, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. "He had me. He... he stabbed me again..."
"He’s not here, Ellie," Rhys said, his voice low and steady, though I could see the muscles in his jaw working. "He’s nowhere near you."
I looked down at the knife. I looked at my brothers, who were staring at me like I was a ticking bomb. The adrenaline that had kept me upright curdled into a sickening, heavy shame.
The knife slipped from my fingers, clattering against the tile with a sound like a gunshot.
My legs turned to water. I didn't fall so much as I folded, my body collapsing toward the floor. I didn't hit the tile. A dozen arms seemed to reach out at once.
I was on the floor, but I wasn't alone. My mom was there, pulling my head to her chest; Jace and Grant anchored my sides; Owen gripped my hand like he was afraid I’d float away. And Rhys... Rhys was behind me, his arms wrapping around the whole broken mess of us.
I buried my face in my mother’s robe and finally, the scream I’d been holding since I was thirteen broke into a thousand sobbing pieces.
The sobbing didn't stop for a long time. Gradually, the kitchen stabilized. The modern, clean lines of the estate replaced the decaying walls of my memory.
"I'm sorry," I managed to choke out against my mother’s neck. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... the knife..."
"Shh," Jace muttered, his forehead resting against my temple. His hand was shaking, but his grip was firm. "Don't apologize for surviving, El. Never for that."
Owen hadn't let go of my hand. He was staring at the spot on my shirt where the old scar was hidden beneath layers of fabric, his eyes dark with a guilt he shouldn't have been carrying. To him, the memory was just as real—he had been the one to walk through that door and see the blood.
Grant reached over, his large hand gently squeezing my ankle. "We've got the perimeter, Ellie. Nothing gets in. We're right here."
Finally, I looked up at Rhys. He wasn't crying, but his expression was one of controlled, tectonic heartbreak. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek.
"You're here," he whispered, a promise and a prayer all at once. "You're in the light now, Elowen. The shadow is gone."
I wanted to believe him. But as I leaned back into the warmth of my family, I could still taste the copper on my tongue.