She huffs with frustration, quietly slinking up to my side. “And we’ve been over this. If they can hit a solid object, they can hit you—another solid object. I mean, really, Enzo. You need to watch more movies.”
“They’re fake,” I argue.
“But some of them are based on real stories!” she whisper-yells.
“They’re grossly exaggerated.”
Her little fists are balled, and she’s scowling at me. It’s pretty cute, but the person—thing—whatever it is, moves something, and it’s loud enough to draw my attention away.
“Stay up here,” I murmur, ignoring her little mewl of disappointment while I grab the shotgun. Staying light on my feet, I head toward the staircase.
Of course, Sawyer doesn’t stay, falling in step behind me. She plasters herself to my back, nearly tripping me as we make our way down, the gun poised in my hands.
I’m tense, and when the bottom floor comes into view, I quickly sweep my gaze across every inch.
There’s no one here.
I pause at the bottom step, sensing the stagnant energy in the room.
“Oh, man, this is fucked,” Sawyer whines quietly, shifting on her feet and causing the metal beneath us to groan. “Can we go upst—”
“Baby. Shut the fuck up.”
“Rude,” she mutters, but otherwise, doesn’t have any further unnecessary commentary.
Refusing to believe that something can just vanish like that, I scout every inch of the kitchen and living room area. The rug and broken table are over the top of the cellar, so there aren’t very many places to hide, and within minutes, I’m forced to accept the fact that whatever was down here, isn’t anymore. At least not anywhere I can see.
I’m standing in the living room, glaring at the cold, dead fireplace, when Sawyer creeps in.
She looks around nervously, still on edge that the thing is going to come back.
Good chance it will, and I fucking hope it does. I’d love to see for myself if there really is an invisible spirit walking around, wreaking havoc on the place and our sanity.
“Uhh. You see that?” Sawyer asks, her spine straightening and all hesitance bleeding out in a matter of seconds. I follow her gaze, landing on the two bookshelves up against the wall opposite the couch.
One of them looks shifted. Not to the side, but at an angle.
As if it were a door.
Beelining toward them, I quickly order, “Grab the flashlights in the kitchen.”
She hurries off to get them, rejoining my side just as I start to tug at the crooked bookshelf. With little effort, it creaks open, sounding very similar to the noise we heard before we came down here.
Sawyer’s gasp is the only thing that can be heard now as we stare into a black abyss. The bookshelf is a fucking door, and behind it is a spiraling stone staircase.
“The beacon,” she whispers behind me, clicking on the flashlight and moving ahead of me.
“Sawyer, get behind me. You were scared not two seconds ago.”
She cuts a glare over her shoulder.
“I’m too excited now. So, you get behind me. Being a man doesn’t make you special. Last time I checked, I’m the murderer, not you.”
I raise my brows. “I’ll be happy to make it even, bella.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering “Men” derisively as she forges ahead. The corner of my lip curls, and I snatch the extra flashlight from her grip that she forgot to hand over, letting her go ahead.
She’s right. She doesn’t need me to save her, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect her, and it sure as fuck doesn’t stop me from aiming the gun over her shoulder in case Sylvester pops out.
We both keep our steps light as we make our way up, spinning around the structure for what feels like forever. When she reaches the top, she pauses for a split second before she squeals with excitement.
“It’s the beacon!” she exclaims, though conscious enough to keep it quiet.
I step up into a small spherical area. It’s nearly all glass, with a door leading out to a railing that circles around the room. I catch sight of a metal ladder that must lead to the actual light above.
A wide grin spreads across Sawyer’s face, and she looks back at me with delight.
A control panel spans across half of the room. And on the far left side of it is a radio.
My first reaction is fury. It’s confirmation that Sylvester has been lying to us all along. Keeping us here purposely, imprisoning us.
And though he never said it aloud, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he did it because he’s a lonely, fucked-up man and wanted to keep Sawyer here.