Locked In

4

AINSLEY

I stood in front of the door, my heart hammering in my chest. The cold air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed it. The house stood before me, dark, stirring an unease deep in my gut. This wasn’t just a job—it felt like a mistake. I wasn’t sure if the two hundred dollars he’d offered was worth my head.

My fingers twitched at my sides, brushing against the hidden knives I’d tucked into my jacket. It was probably irrational, because what kind of person would offer so much money for a late-night house cleaning? He could be anyone...or anything. The thought made me shiver, but I tightened my grip on the blades, forcing myself to move. I had to be ready for whatever was behind that door.

I’m going to die.

I took a deep breath and knocked—once, twice. The sound echoed unnervingly in the stillness, louder than I expected. My heart skipped a beat as silence swallowed the noise. Nothing. I glanced over my shoulder, half considering turning back, but I couldn’t afford to. Not after I walked here with frequent glances over my shoulders. I’d come too far to chicken out.

Before I could decide whether to knock again or wait, the door clicked open.

I stepped back, my breath catching in my throat. The door swung open slowly, revealing a dim living room. I blinked, staring into the space. Cold air drifted out, carrying a faint scent that I couldn’t quite place.

With one last glance behind me, I stepped into the house, gripping the knives tucked into my jacket. The door clicked shut behind me, the sound like a final seal made by a ghost.

I briefly recalled that the beginning of horror movies always played out like this, so I began to scan my surroundings.

The inside of the house was...normal. I hadn’t expected it because most houses that required cleaning weren’t neat. Polished wood floors gleamed beneath the dim lighting, and the furniture, though sparse, was elegant in a way that matched the exterior.

The living room was spacious but almost empty. The fireplace on one side sat cold, no fire or warmth coming from it. A hallway stretched out on the left side of the living room. The low light from where I stood barely reached the narrow space, making it seem even more shadowy.

The longer I waited, however, the more that cold knot of dread began to settle back in. The shadows clung to the corners, refusing to shift, and despite the well put together sitting area, the place felt wrong. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there. Like something—someone—was watching me.

My phone buzzed..

Vin: Tell me you’re still alive.

Me: Don’t be dramatic. I’m inside though.

“Hello?” I called, my voice wavering as I tucked my phone back.

No response. I re-clenched the knife. My heart pounded harder.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” I called out again, my voice sounding thin in the oppressive silence.

Still nothing. I looked towards the hallway and moved towards its direction. But something wasn’t right. The air felt thick, and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. Was this a mistake? What if this guy was really a serial killer? What if he was waiting to—

“The first door on your left. Start with the study.”

The voice cut through the quiet, low and calm, but chilling. I flinched, my breath catching in my throat. I glanced towards the hallway, but there was no movement. No footsteps. Just his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers trembling around the handle of my knife. “Okay,” I called back, throat tight as I made my way towards the door.

I got there and found the study door unlocked. Inside, everything was arranged. Too arranged. There wasn’t a thing out of place, just dust, as if the room hadn’t been touched in ages.

When I got in, I turned to lock the door, but the lock was broken. Was this a joke? Gosh, I’m so dead.

I clasped and unclasped my grip around the knife, assuring myself that I was safe.

“Okay, this shouldn’t take long.” I breathed out as I tugged the sleeves of my hoodie up and reached for the cleaning items he’d put there for me.

While cleaning, I constantly checked the door, not for once backing the entrance. This couldn’t be. He didn’t call me to clean just his study for two hundred. It wasn’t even that dirty—had to be the cleanest space I’d seen since I got to this town.

I texted Vincent every ten minutes to keep his mind down, and after thirty minutes of cleaning the table, floor, shelves, computers, dusting the books and disposing dead plants, I stepped back with a sneeze.

I sneezed again as I went out and closed the door, turning back to the living room. Fucking dust. I sneezed again and again, until I had to place my hand over my mouth because I thought the sound might disturb the owner who seemed to love quietness.

I texted Vincent that I was done, and might be stepping out soon if he didn’t have other places to clean. And judging by his living room, I didn’t think he did.

“Hello...I’m done. Is there anywhere else you want me to clean?” I called out. “If not, I think I gotta get going.”

No sound. Okay, this was beginning to piss me off. “You can throw the money out. You don’t have to show your face if—”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps sounded from the dark hallway, and I breathed in, fisting my knife tight. I moved a bit back to the door in case I had to run. His slow, deliberate footsteps grew closer with every passing second. My heart slammed against my ribs. I tightened my grip on the knives, ready to defend myself.

“Hello, Ainsley.”

My stomach folded in on itself, his voice creeping me out. “Hi. Uhm...I have to—”

“Have to what? Go?” The mockery was obvious, almost as if he wanted to laugh.

Fuck if I didn’t know this would happen. I reached for my phone. Then it hit me. This place was definitely clean because he killed his victims here and often scrubbed it to get rid of evidence. Also, on my way here, I noticed his house was a bit far from the rest. Not really far, but far enough for me to start panicking.

“I’m a bit disappointed, I have to say.” One step closer. His face wasn’t still visible.

Me: It’s not looking good. Should call the cops.

“What is disappointing? That I’m an easy prey?” My voice didn’t shake, but within me was an earthquake.

“Prey?”

“Never heard of the word?”

Another step. If he took two more steps, I’d be able to see him. Vin hadn’t texted back.

“Sorry, I didn’t graduate high school,” he replied.

“That’s too bad for you, man.”

He chuckled now, and Lord, I wanted to run. “Isn’t it?”

Having enough, and with Vin not texting back, I turned to the door, deciding to pick my life over money. Took me long enough.

“For someone who’s wanted to drown herself to death five times, aren’t you too scared?” he drawled, his voice low.

I almost tripped with how suddenly I halted, not because he knew I’d attempted to drown myself, but because of the accuracy of the number. Five.

I swirled, backing the door, my fear heightened. “Who are you?”

He wasn’t just a serial killer. He was much more. Or maybe I was looking into it too much. He must have guessed the number. And about the drowning, if he saw life from my point of view, he’d want to drown himself to death as well. It was not something hard to figure out. He might just be highly perceptive. He was. He had to be.

Solidifying the thought, I turned and twisted the knob. I froze. Then I tried it again. The door wouldn’t open. I jerked and pushed, hammering my fist on it as if it was enough to break the door open.

“Open this door! I’m going to call the police!”

“There are over a hundred billion neurons in the human brain.” Tap. Tap. Two steps closer. I looked back. “But judging by your decisions most of the time, I’m starting to think you’re a few short of that number.”

His arms were the first thing my gaze swept to, and seeing the ink running up one of them twisted my chest.

I looked up.

Blood drained from me.

“Finally, we meet, Ainsley.”

Oh fuck.

Is that...is that—

Theon Ryder is...alive?