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“You had a gun this entire time?” I asked in a shocked whisper.
“Shh.”
The flashlight bounced off the glass aquariums, creating a horrifying display of shadow puppets that seemed to be taunting us from their invisible stages. This was worst-case scenario. We were in the belly of the beast, and the beast just snapped its jaws shut around us. I wanted to curl up in a corner and accept my fate, but then I remembered I had made it out of this once; I could do it again.
“Keep behind me,” Gabe said, inching toward the stairs. “And try to aim the light wherever I aim my gun.”
It was difficult at first. He would look left, and my light would still be aimed to the right. Fear pooled in the back of my throat, like spoiled milk fighting its way to come back up. I tried to reframe this situation: use it as research. I could write a killer thriller when all this was done.
The caveat being that I had to survive this in order to write it.
Gabriel put an arm out and came to a sudden stop. We were right in front of the stairs that led up to the rest of the house. Sure enough, the door we had come in from was now shut, only a small slice of light breaking through. I could hear my own heartbeat. Or was that Gabriel’s? I couldn’t tell.
He started moving forward again. It felt like I had swallowed a gallon of sand, my mouth as dry as ash. I swallowed, but it hurt, nearly making me cough. I put a fist up against my mouth to cover any noise as we slowly went up the steps, the thin wood planks creaking even as we inched upward. Gabriel had the gun aimed up toward the door.
He reached out, his hand holding one of the handles. I took a breath and steadied myself. I had no idea what was on the other side of that door, except I did know it was our only way out. The darkness felt like a living thing, its inky black tentacles stretching up from the basement and trying to close around my ankles, dragging me back down into the depths. A cockroach scuttled up the wall near my head.
Gabriel pushed the door open and exploded outward, practically leaping out of the floor, gun aimed. I held my breath. I expected a shot, something to say it was all over, that Gabe had ended the nightmare.
Instead, I heard Gabriel call back to me. “No one’s here. You can come out.”
I hurried up the last few steps, the wood bending under my weight. The air was still musty and wet, but I took a big gulp of it, filling my lungs. The lights were off up here as well, but there was plenty of sunlight coming in through the cracked window, allowing me to turn off my phone.
“Hurry, let’s get out of here,” Gabriel said. He was clicked fully into bodyguard mode, his posture at high alert, his muscles twitching as he continually scanned the room through the sight of his gun. If I wasn’t so scared, I’d probably be turned on.
I stuck close to Gabe, a hand on his shoulder as he led me through the shack and back out, back to safety. The air tasted much better out here. I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, replacing it with another big chug of oxygen. The sun on my skin felt like being kissed by God herself. I half wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the ground but figured that would be way too dramatic.
We hurried to the car instead. I jumped into the passenger seat, Gabe having reholstered his gun as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He gave the property one last scan before reversing, the crooked grin of the broken door seeming to taunt us as we left.
“Holy shit,” I said, another exhale coming out with a shocked laugh attached. “Think that was the Midnight Chemist back there? Maybe it was the wind?”
Gabe shook his head. He gripped the wheel with one hand, his forearm pushing at the fabric of his rolled-up sleeve. “I think it was the Chemist. Those fish look taken care of. He might have been coming back. Probably heard us and freaked out, ran, and slammed the door shut.”
“And cut the power? Maybe to slow us down?”
“Probably.” Gabe looked over at me and winked. “Nice deduction, Watson.”
I chuckled. The further we put that house behind us, the better I began to feel. I lowered the window and let the wind rush in, sticking my arm out and letting my hand get carried in the invisible currents.
And then I remembered. “The phone. Do you still have it?”
“I do. It’s in my pocket.” He shifted so I could reach in and grab it.
“Do you have a car charger?” I asked, flipping the phone over and seeing that the port was one of the newer ones.
He slowed down at a red light and reached across me, grabbing a long white cable from inside the glove compartment. “Would this work?”
I checked the ends. “Yup,” I said, plugging it into the dead phone. It only took about a minute for the screen to blink on, the white Apple logo sitting in the center. It opened straight into an icon-littered homepage.
“Yes,” I said, pumping my fist. “No password.”
I went straight to the settings option and clicked on “My Phone.” It gave me a screen full of information: how much storage was in the phone, what version it was, what model, and—most importantly—who it belonged to.
“Mason Martinez,” I said out loud. “That’s who owned this phone.”
“Holy shit.” Gabe nearly slammed on the brakes. “That was Grayson’s boyfriend—one of the Chemist’s most recent victims.”
I looked over at him, my deduction skills only taking me so far.
