Fuck that shit.
Shoving out of the truck, I stalk around the hood where Cull stands looking up at the sky like he’s asking the heavens for patience.
“I told you to stay in the truck,” he growls, his eyes cutting toward me.
“What the hell, Cull? I’m not some damsel in distress. Do you really think I’m going to let you go off by yourself, half-cocked with a gun?” I growl, heat rising in my chest. “Where even are we?”
The vein in his neck pulses before he exhales hard. “This is Mason’s house.”
My heart punches hard against my ribs as I look up at the imposing house. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“Stay close to me.” It’s all he says before he’s walking across the lamp-lit street and up the empty driveway.
I hurry behind him, whisper shouting at him to slow down. “Cull, would you stop?” I finally reach him just as his foot lands on the bottom step.
He turns on me, his face a cold mask. “I just want to check it out. If you’re worried, go back to the truck.”
“This could be dangerous,” I hiss, following him up the steps.
He pulls his shirt up, the metal of the gun catching on the light from the streetlamp. “Why do you think I brought this?”
“For fucks sake, Cull. You’re not one of the Avengers.”
He rolls his eyes and continues up the steps.
The sight of the gun does nothing to quell my rising fear. “Here I thought I was the only one with a death wish,” I grumble.
He stops cold, his hand gripping the front door knob. He shoots me a lethal glare before turning the handle. The door opens without resistance, the lock long busted by someone before us.
Cull is being reckless right now, and I’m just following him like a dumb lost dog.
We step into a foyer that is a ghost of what it used to be. Heavy cobwebs drape from the crystal chandelier, and a thick layer of dust covers the hardwood floor beneath our feet.
“I didn’t think breaking and entering would be on my bingo card tonight,” I whisper, my hand reaching out to grasp the bottom of Cull’s t-shirt.
“Nothing was broken, so technically, this is just entering,” he whispers back, inching towards the family room.
Yeah, I don’t think the cops would see it that way.
“You do remember I’m still facing false rape charges, right? I don’t think getting caught trespassing is going to do me any favors.” My uncle is still working hard on my case, but Heather and her family are doubling down on what they believe happened. It’s frustrating, but Uncle Eli is doing all that he can to clear my name.
“Why do you think I wanted you to stay in the truck?” he snaps back.
I huff a breath but don’t reply, just follow him through the abandoned house. The floors creak with every step, dust swirling through the weak strips of street light leaking in through the drawn curtains. Dark patches of mold crawl up the walls, and every corner looks disturbed somehow, with tiny droppings and claw marks gouged into the baseboards like small animals have been living here longer than people have.
We step into the living room, and the difference is immediate. The air doesn’t smell as damp in here, and I don’t see a single spider web hanging from the ceiling corners.
Family photos line the walls, their frames polished and straight instead of buried beneath grime. A blanket is folded neatly at one end of the couch, and the coffee table holds an empty water bottle and a half eaten take out container.
The whole room feels untouched by time while the rest of the house rots around it.
“Cull, I think Mason is still living here,” I say quietly, motioning to the pillow and blanket lying on the end of the couch.
Cullen carefully pulls the gun from his waistband and holds it loosely by his side. His shoulders are tense as he continues to lead us through the house.
This place is giving me the creeps. I know I was keen on leaving this world a few weeks ago, but this isn’t the way I wanted to go. I picture some slasher villain stalking behind us, waiting to gut us from navel to neck.
I still have intrusive thoughts—sue me.
