Unmasked (King Morine #4)

63. Mallory

CHAPTER 63

Mallory

I ’m giggling as I hang onto Mandy’s arm, carefully making my way up the rickety steps. “I hope we don’t fall through the damn porch.”

Mandy giggles. “We won’t.” She looks so cute dressed as a sexy female pirate, stumbling in her heeled boots. “I should’ve chosen different shoes. I might take us out wearing these death traps.”

“Nah. You’ve got this.”

She looks at my red glowing mask skeptically. “Let’s hope. You look too damn sexy to wind up in the hospital. I can’t wait until Stryker sees the picture you sent. He’s going to lose it when he sees your costume.”

I grin as we step inside the creepy house. “When I saw this black leather dress and the mask, I knew they’d go well together. The fishnet stocking and the boots are the icing on the cake.”

“One look at your costume, and he’ll forget all about work and drive his ass here to fuck you into oblivion.”

“Mandy. Bold thing to say.” I giggle, then wink, “I really hope he does. ”

She grins at me, but our smiles fade as our attention turns to the creepy house we’re standing inside. The cool air hits me, making me shiver as I take it in. The stairs are straight ahead. The living room is to our left. To the right is a kitchen.

We shiver, moving closer together as we enter the living room. Everything is covered in dust and cobwebs, and eerie candles cast shadows on the wall.

“I can’t believe you brought your sketchbook,” Mandy whispers.

“Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones here.” I nod toward the door. “Corey is outside, waiting by the trees.”

We move to the kitchen, my eyes moving around the dusty room. “I wanted to sketch this for Stryker.”

“Only you.” She shakes her head.

“They went all out, didn’t they?”

“It’s the biggest scandal to ever happen at SRU. They’re capitalizing on it.”

We head up the creaky old stairs, with Mandy leading the way. I cling to my sketchbook, trying not to touch the rickety cobweb-laden banister.

Turning left, we head down the hallway and enter a bedroom.

“This room is supposed to be the youngest son’s room. Rumor has it that the asylum director shot him first. His wife woke up thinking someone was setting off fireworks. She heard it again, and that’s when he went into his daughter’s bedroom and shot her.”

I shiver as I look at the blood on the bed. “They’ve certainly made it look realistic.”

“Spooky, huh?” She swallows as we exit that room and head into another one. “This is the daughter’s room. She was the second victim.” Blood is on the bed and spattered on the walls and floor. I shiver before we turn and head down the hallway to the final two bedrooms.

“The mother got up to investigate. The oldest son had woken up from the sounds and met her in the doorway. From here, they could see him shooting the daughter.”

“What happened to him that made him go crazy and shoot his family?”

“Rumor has it his sanity was slipping after working with the criminally insane for so long. They promoted him to an administrative position, thinking that would prevent him from burning out.”

“Obviously not.” I shake my head. “I wish Stryker could see this. But I have such good visuals in my head that I can draw it for him.”

We walk through the son’s room and finally to the master bedroom. I shiver, goosebumps lining my skin, as I look around at the unmade bed. The scene looks so realistic, as though it just happened.

We turn around and move into the hallway. Mandy is in front of me when she suddenly stops walking. I crash into her back. “What the hell?”

She looks at me over her shoulder. “I think your wish came true.” She spins and hurries down the steps, leaving me on the second floor.

I creep toward the stairs, grinning as I take in the red purge mask, black hoodie, and jeans. Stryker!

“Catch me if you can.” I whirl around, heading to the master room and slamming the door shut. I lock it, then hurry toward the closet.

As I shut myself inside, I grin, hearing his footsteps pounding up the stairs. I bump into something and nearly scream. Turning to see what it is, the glowing red light from my mask illuminates a door.

Turning the knob, I spot a steep stairway. Wonder if it leads to an attic?

Thinking it would be a good place to hide, I sneak up the steps, quietly closing the door behind me. I move carefully, trying not to fall.

I hear the bedroom door knob frantically turning.

It gets brighter as I climb higher. Once I reach the top, I see the candles strategically placed, lighting the way.

“Come out, come out, little girl.”

I freeze. The blood in my veins turns to ice. That isn’t Stryker’s voice!

Panicking, I survey the attic. There isn’t much up here except for old, broken furniture, dust, and cobwebs.

Spotting a window at the other end, I tiptoe across the floor, wincing when the boards creek.

Fuck. Where can I hide?

I go to the window, looking through the dirty pane into the darkness. The roof is too steep, and the drop is too high. Plus, I’m unsure I could fit through the small window even if I got it open.

The bedroom door crashes open, and I barely muffle my scream. My sweaty hand clings to my sketchbook. An idea hits me.

Flipping to a blank page, I frantically sketch the man chasing me. I write, “Come out, come out, little girl,” beside the rough sketch of the man.

The attic door crashes open, banging against the wall. I hide the sketchbook behind me as I inch away from the window into the shadows.

Pulling my mask off, I hide it behind my back. My heart pounds like a drum as his footsteps thud up the steps, bringing him closer.

My breathing is ragged as I press my other hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound.

I slowly hunker down, quietly setting my sketchbook on the floor.

The shadowy figure appears, his red mask illuminating the room. His eyes slowly move around the room, stopping when they land on me.

My sweaty fingers release the sketchbook, but I grip the pencil tightly in my hand.

He lunges for me, and I stand, stepping out of his grasp when he reaches for me. I kick him with my boot, and when he bends down to rub his shin, I slam the charcoal pencil into the side of his neck.

I dash around him, running for my life. My heels click against the floor, impeding my progress. I nearly trip down the attic steps as I run, gripping the banister, no longer worried about spiders or cobwebs.

His footsteps thud behind me, and I curse my boots as I run as fast as possible. Fear lodges inside my throat, making it hard to breathe.

I make it halfway across the master bedroom before he tackles me. My body slams against the wooden floor, his heavy body knocking the wind out of me.

“Gotcha,” he rasps as he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. I scream from the pain. A sharp pinch in the side of my neck makes me wince.

What the hell did he inject me with?

The room begins to swim as I fight whatever it is. I squirm and buck against him, connecting the back of my head with his skull. He howls, releasing my hair. I roll over, slamming my fist against his nose. He moans, pressing his hand against the mask.

I shakily climb to my feet, my eyes heavy. My hands slide to the door, then the wall, as I use them to force my weak legs forward. It’s as though I’m drunk and unable to control my body.

His evil laugh is behind me as I stagger in the hallway, falling to one knee.

“Give it up, little girl. You’re mine now. ”

I try to get up, but my limbs are like Jello, refusing to hold me.

As I slump to the floor, tears fill my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.“Stryker. Please help me.”

The man squats down in front of me. “He can’t help you now. No one can.”

The world spins, growing darker. I try to tell him he’s wrong, but my tongue is too thick.

The darkness claims me, dragging me under.