Page 22

ASH

Now

The apartment is dark when I step inside.

I switch on the bathroom light, its harsh glow bouncing off the mirror and the black tiles. My reflection stares back at me. The mask is still hanging around my neck, and my face is streaked with sweat, fog residue, and layers of theatrical grime.

Bracing my hands on the counter, I exhale.

Bryn.

It’s a name I’ve tried to forget, but in truth it’s embedded in me like a wound that never quite closed.

I peel off the mask first, dropping it beside the sink. The cool air hits my skin, and for a moment I close my eyes, imagining her fingertips instead. I can still feel her pressed against the wall of the maze, her breath catching as I caged her in. Beneath where the mask sat, the paint is layered so thick it feels like a second skin. I drag my fingers through it, breaking it apart, wondering if she would’ve touched me like this, or flinched at the darkness underneath.

Turning on the tap, I splash warm water onto my face, watching the makeup bleed into dark rivulets that swirl down the drain. They seep away in black, grey, red layers of my Fright Night persona. It also happens to be my online alter ego. Grabbing a towel, I scrub harder, until my skin stings and my reflection comes up clear. I go about my routine on autopilot, my mind focused on only one thing …

Bryn is back. After all these years. After I’d convinced myself she was gone, living some peaceful, boring life far away, but no, she walked straight into Shadow Land Amusements, right into my maze, right into my hands like I’ve been wanting her to for years.

Leaning in closer to the mirror, I grip the edge of the sink as images of her flash behind my eyes. Her flushed cheeks, the dazed look she had when she stumbled out of the maze, the way she glanced back, as if expecting me to have followed her. Maybe I should have. I drag my fingers through my hair, pushing back the damp strands, and laugh under my breath.

All that waiting, and now she’s here again.

‘She has changed,’ I whisper to my reflection. ‘But she is still beautiful. Still mine.’

I shut off the light and walk into the living room, my eyes beginning to sting with exhaustion, even though the night isn’t over for me. Working out and running are what I do in the early hours of the morning, when it’s dark and no one is around. This town is far more exciting when everyone is asleep.

I’ll find her again.

We will continue this cat and mouse game.

Tonight is only the beginning.

11

ASH

Five Years Ago

My fist slams into the punching bag over and over. Sweat drips down the back of my neck as I throw everything I have into each punch. Bryn stopped replying. We went from texting every minute, to radio silence.

Glowering, I stare out at the bright day. I can’t go sneaking around the neighbourhood until it’s dark, and this day has decided to go painfully slow. I take a long sip of water before going back to the punching bag. It’s the only thing I can do right now to prevent me from going off the rails.

Upstairs, everyone is home, including friends of my brothers, who are nothing but morons who share one brain cell among the lot of them, their trashy groupies included. I grunt through each punch and manage to go a whole five minutes without checking my phone.

Where the hell is she? And what is she doing?

My phone sits on the workbench, screen dark, with no new notifications to light it up. I’ve checked it so many times that the battery’s almost dead. I scroll through our last messages again, just to make sure I didn’t miss something, some hint, some shift in our messages, but there’s nothing. Her last reply was hours ago.

I rub a hand down my jaw. My heartbeat pounds through me, restless and uneven, like something hot and ugly clawing at my ribs. I can’t sit still anymore. I shove over a stool so hard it tips, clattering against the cement floor.

The air down here is stale and dusty, but the basement is the only place that ever feels safe in this shitty house. Cracking my knuckles, I plant my feet and hit the bag as hard as I can. The chain jerks from impact. I hit it again and again, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. Sweat starts gathering at my temples. With every punch I land, the same questions slam through my head: Why isn’t she replying? Did I say something wrong? Has someone else got her attention?

My breathing becomes ragged, but I don’t stop. Maybe she’s with someone. Maybe she’s laughing at my messages and ignoring them. Maybe – no, this is my paranoid brain convincing me of something that isn’t true. Bryn is a nice girl, and we connected on a level that I never have before. I’m overthinking things, as usual.

I punch the bag until my knuckles scream and my arms shake. Pressing my forehead against the swaying leather, I shut my eyes.

‘Just text back,’ I whisper into the empty basement. ‘Just tell me you’re okay.’