Page 35 of Wicked Nightmare

"Ready to raise some hell, baby?"

I grinned, feeling the monster stir in my chest. "Always."

With one last look, we moved towards the building. Whatever was in there, whatever we were about to find, we'd face it the way we faced everything.

Together. Armed. And completely fucking unhinged.

Chapter Twelve: Lakey

The crunch of gravel under our feet sounded like bones breaking. Fitting, considering the shithole before us. I squinted at the faded sign, my stomach churning as my body reacted before my brain could catch up.

"St. Agnes Home for Wayward Girls," I read aloud. "More like St. Agnes House of Fucking Horrors. Who the fuck was St. Agnes anyway? Probably some cunt with a stick up her ass and the pope's dick down her throat."

Cam's hand found the small of my back, a gentle pressure grounding me. "You okay, Lakes?"

I swallowed hard, pushing down the bile. "Peachy. Let's get this over with."

The building looked worse than I remembered. Which was saying something because I remembered it being a shithole. The paint had given up entirely now, peeling off in long strips that hung from the walls like dead skin. The sign out front, the one Lydia had drawn a smiley face on years ago, was barely legible. The smiley face was gone. Probably scrubbed off by Sister Anne because joy was a sin and fun was for heathens and smiling was only appropriate during mass when Father Christopher was watching.

We approached the building, each step closer making my body tighten in ways I couldn't control. My hands were fisting at my sides. My jaw was locked. My breathing had gone shallow without me deciding to do that. The body remembers what the brain can't, and my body remembered this place the way a dog remembers the vet.

Every cell was telling me to turn around and run.

I didn't run. I hadn't run from anything since I was seven years old and I wasn't about to start now.

"You sure about this, Lakes?" Cam's voice was low, concern etched in his features as he regarded my hesitancy. "We can turn back."

I shook my head, steeling myself. "No. I need to face this. There are too many blind spots in my memory. They probably kept some kind of filing system here. Names, addresses... procedures..."

Cam nodded, scanning the perimeter. "Alright. Let's find a way in."

He led us around back, his tall frame casting long shadows in the moonlight. I trailed behind, my fingers absently tracing the scars on my arms. Each one a reminder of what I'd endured, what I'd survived. The ones I could remember, anyway. There were scars on my body that belonged to memories I didn't have, and those were the ones that scared me most.

"Hey," Cam called out suddenly, jerking me from my thoughts. He was pointing at a window, slightly ajar. "Kitchen entrance. Looks like our ticket in."

I stared at the opening, my heart racing. This was it. No turning back now.

"After you, doll," Cam said with a smirk, gesturing dramatically.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"Such a gentleman," I quipped, moving towards the window. "Don't forget, if anyone's in here, they're mine. Don't even think about killing them before I do."

Cam's laugh echoed in the empty yard. "Wouldn't dream of it. Your murderous tendencies are one of your most endearing qualities."

As I gripped the windowsill, preparing to hoist myself inside, I paused. The scent of lemon-pine cleaner somehow wafted out, mixed with mold and decay. That smell. They used to mop the floors with it every morning at 5 a.m., the squeak of the mop and the chemical sting of the cleaner serving as our alarm clock. I'd wake up to it every single day, and now, years later, I still couldn't walk past the cleaning aisle at the grocery store without my hands starting to shake.

"I can do this," I whispered to myself, closing my eyes briefly. "I'm not that little girl anymore."

Cam's hand squeezed my shoulder. "No, you're not. You're a goddamn force of nature, Lakey Aldrich. Now let's go raise some hell."

With a deep breath, I nodded and pulled myself through the window, ready to face whatever ghosts awaited us inside.

I landed on the dusty kitchen floor with a soft thud, my feet kicking up clouds of neglect. The sound echoed through the empty room. As Cam's large frame followed me through the window, I took in our surroundings.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered, my eyes darting around the kitchen.

Broken plates and shattered cups littered the floor. Chairs lay overturned, frozen in a moment of panic that had long since passed. The air was filled with dust and something else, something organic and rotten. The industrial fridge was still plugged in, humming weakly, and I didn't want to know what was inside it.