Page 100 of Shadowface

A deep sense of relief washes over me. He has her, but he didn’t kill her. He’s had her this entire time.

I press my forehead against the wall. “Are you hurt?” I ask her. “Has he physically hurt you?”

A muffled sob. “Yes, he cut me once, and he won’t let me go. Please, I’m begging you, I can’t be locked in here anymore.” Her voice is clear now, like we are talking through a vent. He’s had her for weeks…weeks.

I dig my fingers into the wall and grind my teeth together. I turn my head toward the door in which I came.

“Keep your voice down,” I warn in a hushed whisper. “You don’t want to wake him up.”

“Will you help me? Please call the police, do something, just get me out of here. I won’t tell anyone or say anything, I swear.” The way she’s talking to me, as if I have something to hide, as if I’m one of them.

The police… Given the chief of police’s daughter was straddling a masked man upstairs earlier, I don’t think the police will do anything even if I called them. Lincoln told me who each of them were. The police chief’s daughter, the mayor’s son. Dani told me about all of them.

Calling the police is pointless.

It would be so easy to find her, rescue her, and let her go. Both of us should just flee. Mikael’s the one who took her, and Lincoln is protecting her. Either way, Lincoln will go down for this, and I can’t let that happen. After last night, I am convinced Lincoln can’t hurt a soul.

Mikael was the one who cut her, and it’s a miracle she’s even still alive.

But he didn’t kill her…

I stand dazed for a moment, my hair falling over my face as I’m left pondering and puzzling the pieces together.

Lincoln did, however, lie to me. He fabricated the narrative for his sick pleasure to get to me and make me admit to the darkest parts of myself. It’s easier to fall in love with a monster than to admit you are one.

I take a moment to catch my breath as my thigh starts to pulse. I run my fingers over the blistering scar. Was that why he cut Cali? Did he mark her, too?

Something inside me stirs.

He didn’t kill her.

I slam my hand against the wall. “Fuck,” I cry out.

I can’t do it. I can’t turn him in, but I can save Cali. I continue moving, searching for a way to reach her. I run my hands along the wall, hoping to find something. I need to see her and make sure she’s okay. But it’s been weeks, and she’s still alive. I’m sure she’s miserable, but at least she’s okay.

He didn’t kill her.

Eventually, my hand meets cold metal. I pause before I turn the handle and push another door open and fumble my way until my hands find a light switch.

The light pops on and I jolt back.

In front of me stands a woman with white hair, her eyes filled with blood, and her body marked with shadows. A smile spreads across her face, causing my heart to skip a beat. It’s as if I’m looking at the exact replica of my grandmother, who once lived in this very house.

It takes me a moment to realize it’s not her ghost covered in blood, but rather a mirror tucked away in the corner of a bathroom. The girl staring back at me is none other than myself, although I hardly recognize her. I take a deep breath and shut myself in and warmth instantly hits my skin.

I look back at the mirror and finally see nothing of the girl I see staring back at me. I’m a disheveled, freshly fucked mess. There is a girl hidden within these walls, yet I’m not screaming bloody murder.

I turn the shower on, cranking the heat as high as it can go, letting the steam build up around me. I sit on the floor like a child, and take deep cleansing breaths, letting the warmth fill my bones as the entire washroom fills with thick steam.

After a few minutes, my head starts to hang heavily in front of me. Suddenly, a faint squeaky noise echoes through the mist. I scramble to my feet and squint to read the message on the mirror. The fog gradually lifts, allowing me to read the message clearly, as if it were written plain as day.

Hi pretty girl…

My breath falters as a shadow engulfs me, and the burlap mask stares back at me through the mirror.

I whip around and face him. A faint squeak escapes me as I take him in. He’s wearing only boxers and the mask. The rest of him is identical to the man I was just sleeping next to, the same man who was holding me ten minutes ago.

Part of me wants to cry out for Lincoln, as if he’s merely sleeping in the next room and could come save me.