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Nothing looks out of place. Not a pillow or a curtain or a speck of dust looks disturbed. And, looking around, Billie spots her cell on the bed.
“Wait,” she whispers and scurries over to it. Snatching up the cell in one swift move, she’s quick to press a button for the screen to light up.
No missed calls or waiting texts. Not even from Preston.
That’s… not right. Can’t be.
So she presses down on the power button, her breath held tight in her chest. The cell powers down. She releases the button—and counts the seconds in her mind, one, two, three…
Four.
And she hits the power button again, turning the cell back on.
Takes a moment before the screen lights up. She doesn’t wait for the notifications to come through on their own. The screen lags as she hits open the text inbox, but nothing from Preston—or anyone. Even her call list is dry.
There’s so much wrong about that.
Preston would’ve texted her after their spat on the porch. It’s in his nature. Even if the text was something spiteful, he would go out of his way to type it, to send it.
No messages from him feels…wrong.
It fuels her unease.
Like the blade of a cold knife, an icy sensation trickles through her chest. Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she looks over her shoulder at Kate—
But there is no Kate.
Billie blinks at the empty, open doorway. As though blinking will make her reappear. But she doesn’t.
Bony fingers clench around the black cell. A sudden clamminess slicks her palms, and she whispers out a sound, something that sounds like ‘Kate?’
A squeak of a noise.
And one that gets no answer. Nothing but silence.
Too much silence.
It’s thick, as though it makes the air heavier somehow. And the night, darker.
Again, she swallows that lump swelling in her throat, but it does little good. She takes a tentative step towards the doorway. Beyond it, the faint glow of the light in the corridor dusts through shadows.
“Kate?” She manages a bit louder this time. But still, there’s no answer.
Another step forward.
Beneath her sock-clad foot, the floorboard creaks.
Her face twists with a grimace at the noise and she clutches too tightly onto the cell.
Heart skips a beat in her chest. “Preston?”
She waits.
And nothing.
A shudder runs through her and she aches to take one more step towards the doorway—but her body is frozen. Legs won’t move. Something squirms in her gut, warning her away from the doorway.
In a blink, she’s turned her head down and is furiously smacking buttons on the cell.
