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Chapter
One
In the depths of a neglected city consciousness crashed into me like a freight train, derailing on impact.
Fuck, my head.
I peeled open sticky eyelids, greeted by a symphony of pain that crescendoed from the base of my skull down my spine. The cold concrete underneath me was unapologetic against my cheek and my thoughts were blurred and jagged at the edges like broken glass.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered and rolled onto my back like a fucking wounded animal.
The room around me was covered in shadows, with barely enough light sneaking through the grimy windows to make out my personal hell. Moths danced waltzes around a flickering bulb that hung above my head—a useless chandelier in a dungeon of despair. It was poetic, really, in a sick and twisted sort of way.
I would have laughed, if it didn't already feel like my ribs were the ones cracking a punchline.
Drip, drip, drip... The sound gnawed at my fraying sanity, each drop a ticking clock counting down to something inevitable and unwanted. Water—or God, I hoped it was water— pooled in uneven patches across the floor, reflecting what little light there was in distorted mirrors.
Great. Just what we needed, fucking basement-murder ambiance.
I tried to push myself up, but my hands slipped on the slick surface and sent spikes of fresh agony through my battered body. I wasn’t sure if the dampness on my palms was from the basement or my own blood. But at this point, did it really even matter?
I rested for a minute to catch my breath, which felt like inhaling knives.
Note to self, add 'avoid dank basements' to the job description.
I finally managed to sit upright and shivered, more from the cold reality of my situation than the chill in the air. But despite it all—the pain, the confusion, the creeping sense of dread—I knew I couldn't stay down there. Not when every inch of me screamed that time was running out. For the girl. For me.
Alright, Averill, I coaxed myself inside my head, Time to haul ass out of here. You've been in worse scrapes. It might have been a lie, but hell, I'd take any sliver of bravery I could get.
With sarcasm as my crutch, I staggered to my feet, ignoring the screaming protests of my abused muscles. Every step was a negotiation, an exercise in sheer willpower over weakness. The basement mocked me, its silence oppressive, its secrets dark.
Fuck you, basement. I swayed on unsteady legs. You haven't seen the last of me. I embarked on what felt like a grueling trek towards the stairs, to who knows where, all because I couldn't let it go and had a burning desire for sweet revenge. Classic stubbornness at its finest. Because someone was going to pay for this. And they were going to pay a fucking-lot.
I barely made a dent in the distance to the stairs when a muffled sound stopped me cold in my tracks—a whimper, fragile and soaked with fear. It came from behind a stack of moldy boxes.
"Who's there?" I choked out, my voice a hoarse blend of fear and fury.
There, in the dim light that slipped through the cracks above, was a sight that knocked the breath from my lungs. The little girl, her curly hair a halo of chaos, was huddled against the wall. And looming over her was a monster—no, just a man. But in that moment, he might as well have been the devil himself.
"Get the hell away from her," I growled as every ounce of my anger morphed into a weapon itself.
The man's face twisted into a menacing scowl, his eyes dark and cold. "You!" The word was a bullet, aimed straight at my gut. His anger wasn't just directed at me—it was meant to be a death sentence.
"Please..." The girl's whisper was a knife to my chest, and I knew—I couldn't let this be her end.
"Everything's going to be okay," I lied, my promise a desperate chant that tried to conjure up safety like some kind of goddamn street magician. "I swear on my shitty life, you're going to be fine."
"Shut up!" the man spit, but his hold on the girl faltered—a crack in his armor.
"Listen to me," I said, each word tethered to the thread of hope that I spun. "I'm getting us out of here. Trust me, okay?"
She nodded and the tiny bobble of her head felt like a little victory in this cesspool of despair.
"Good." I locked eyes with the man. "Because if you think I'm scared of a basement-dwelling asshole, think again."
His face contorted into an ugly sneer as his fingers dug into the girl's arm. "You think you can stop me? I'll kill you both."
I tensed, ready to fight or run. But the girl's eyes were still fixed on me, wide and trusting despite the terror that swam beneath.
