Page 164

Iwoke up groggy, the world swimming slow and thick around the edges, like I was trying to surface from deep water with weights tied to my limbs. My head throbbed, a dull, relentless ache behind my eyes, and my mouth tasted like spoonfuls of chemicals had been stuffed inside.

Blinking, I stared up at the ceiling above me. There were cracks running down the length of it, and a single bare bulb was swinging lazily overhead. Shadows danced across the rough surface, and for a minute, I couldn’t place anything. Where was I?

Then it hit me.

Harvey. His smile. Marvis on the floor. His hand over my mouth and the sharp prick in my neck.

No.

A garbled, choked sound burst out of my mouth as panic flooded my veins. I tried to sit up…and couldn’t. Nothing responded when I tried to move, not my arms, not my legs, not even my fingers.

I willed my hand to lift, silently screaming at my body to respond, but it lay there heavy and useless, like it belonged to someone else. I checked my breathing next. In. Out. Steady. My heart came after that, racing hard but strong, proof that it was still doing its job.

The rest of me wasn’t, though.

Everything else stayed locked and unresponsive, leaving me paralyzed and trapped inside my own skin.

Fuck. Fuck, no.

Terror clawed deeper, and I tried to scream again, but only a weak rasp escaped out of my uncooperative throat.

I twisted my eyes, the only thing that would obey me, and scanned the room piece by piece. At first glance, it almost passed for a basement with its low ceiling and the cinder blocks stacked up, but as I looked closer, I saw that the surfaces were uneven, the walls rough beneath the dim light, and stone was peeking through. Shelves had been bolted into rock, and they were lined with dusty jars and old tools.

And then I saw the deep freezers.

They squatted along the far wall, their lids sealed tight. Cold crept down my spine, dread settling heavy in my stomach as my mind supplied its own helpful guesses about what was inside them.

I was suddenly very sure it wasn’t beef.

My gaze flicked to my other side, and another pathetic gasp launched out of my mouth as I tried to scream again.

A skeleton was sitting next to me, its bones yellowed and brittle. It was dressed in a faded floral dress like it was going to Sunday service. A cheap wig perched crooked on the skull, synthetic blonde strands tangled and dusty over empty eye sockets that were staring straight ahead.

Jewelry glinted on its bony fingers…including something that looked suspiciously like a wedding ring.

The door at the top suddenly groaned open, and light spilled down in a harsh slant before Harvey stepped into view. His shirt was buttoned up, and his eyes were so much clearer than normal.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he said softly, almost kindly, his jaw clicking once as he descended the last steps. His gaze flicked to me, then to the skeleton beside me, and his expression warmed. “You’ve met my sweetheart.”

He walked closer, his boots scuffing concrete, and crouched in front of the skeleton, brushing a strand of the wig’s synthetic hair from the skull’s forehead with gentle fingers before he pressed a kiss to its mouth.

My stomach lurched, and I gagged as bile hissed up my throat.

“I’m sorry about her appearance,” he murmured apologetically, as if he was embarrassed for me to see her this way. “I’ve been quite busy lately. Haven’t had time to get her fixed up properly. Clean her dress, brush her hair…the little things she likes.”

He was talking to it—to her—like she was still alive. Like she could hear him.

Harvey straightened, turning to me with that same soft smile, his eyes gleaming with something tender and terrifying. “Emmy-Lee’s such a good girl nowadays,” he said proudly.

Emmy-Lee…his wife? Who’d died years ago?

“She never causes any trouble,” he said. “Never tries to leave me anymore.”

He reached out and trailed his fingers down my cheek like he was petting a frightened animal. “You’ll learn, too. Bad girls always do. In time.”

He tilted his head, that soft, almost boyish smile never leaving his face, like we were just two people having a polite conversation over coffee.

“I’ve always liked newspapers,” he said conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing in front of a rotting corpse dressed in her Sunday best. “Especially the big-city ones. New York. Chicago. Boston.”