Someone will buy my family home, tear it down, rebuild. And when they dig up that dead garden, my legacy will be rewritten as a horror story—not the work I devoted my short, vain life to.
The realization slams into me like a freight train.
Panic claws at my senses. The blackness closes in, every scrape amplified. The phantom crawl of bugs under my skin rips a scream from my throat.
The calm waters of my acceptance rebel.
A storm thunders through me as I crash against the boards. My hands flail, feet thrash. Fingers claw at the wooden deathtrap, raking up splinters beneath my nails. I can almost smell the metallic trace of blood in the thin, musty air, and I become a wild animal, fighting for freedom.
Determined, I kick against my prison—and my foot connects with something.
It doesn’t register at first. The panic has gripped my body and mind in a vice, pulling me too deep, too fast.
I roll to my side and brace my shoulder against the lid, listening. To the sound of my breath, loud and ragged, amplified in the cramped silence.
Think.
Think.
Think.
I’ve analyzed Grayson for months. I’ve been inside his head. I understand him. And that gives me an advantage none of his other victims had—he has rules. And his disorder demands that he obey them.
I take three deep breaths, quelling the dread. Slowing my heartbeat. Reserve oxygen.
Then I carefully use my foot to nudge the object upward. Once it reaches my knee, I reach down and grab it.
A phone.
Oh, my god.
Relief surges through my body. I flip the device open, and the glow illuminates the interior of the box. I sweep the light around quickly, searching for a latch, a loose nail—anything.
“Dammit.”
Even if I found a way out, even if I clawed my way out of the earth…what then? Grayson will be waiting for me.
With shaky hands, I punch in 9-1-1 and hit Send.Three long beeps answer back. The top of the screen flashes no service.
“Shit—” He’s toying with me.
But no, there has to be something else here. Grayson records his victims. He watches them. He gives them choices, dammit.Where are mine?
Static crackles from the device—then:“You once said you disliked people because they’re selfish. I wonder if it’s more thattheir selfishness is a reflection of what you dislike in yourself.”His deep, accented voice fills the dark.“Something you wish you could change but can’t,” he continues. “That’s a conundrum, an enigma. You’re full of these little puzzle pieces, London.”
I study the phone—an old radio model. There’s a single button on the side.
I press it.
“The only thing I want to change is my view,” I say to him, trying to control my anger, the fear. I swallow hard and steady my breath.“If you do this, Grayson… if you kill me, it won’t satisfy you. You know it won’t. It’ll haunt you, and you’ll never be free.”
A long silence follows as I wait for his response. I squeeze my eyes shut. Grayson is too intelligent to be so easily deceived. He’s studied me these past few months just as I’ve studied him. He knows my tells, my lies. Mytruth. He wants me to play his game, but there’s some bigger part of him that wants me to win.
Where all his other victims failed, I have to succeed.
“You said you’d give me answers,” I try again. “I followed you here. I left everything behind to be with you. You can’t let me go without—” I cut myself off, my hand gripped tight around the phone.
“You wanted to see how far the rabbit hole went,” he says. “Did Alice enjoy her Wonderland adventure? No, she was terrified. And to think, it was all in her mind. The most frightening things in this world usually are.”
