Phobic (31 page)

I barge toward the basement door Ada settled into like it was a chair. I lean against it with all of my weight, breathing hard. My blood continues badgering my veins though I’ve stopped moving.

You can do this.

I steel myself with another breath and take the squidgy steps as quickly as I can without causing too much pain at my side. Joel. I have to help Joel, before the psycho hacks him up like he did Thomas.

A putrid smell fills my nostrils and swirls its way down to my stomach. The smell of blood and fluids and days-old rotting flesh. The walls seem to live and breathe with every step I take, and I know it’s Ada. Or maybe my ancestors. I wonder if they were the ones trying to keep me from going down here again. Because once I stop Garrett, I’m pretty sure they no longer get the immortal part of the deal either. They go wherever you’re supposed to go when you die.

The single bulb sways and reveals tables brilliantly tainted with blood and other fluids of random victims. Thomas’ body lies in a heap, surrounded by a crimson puddle in the corner below the coal chute. The once white pentagram beneath him is stained red, and the candles are gone.

It’s hard to tell what he’s missing; but I don’t want to look at him long enough to find out, either. The glint of a handsaw steals my gaze, its metal teeth rusted.

I think back to being in the basement after Todd fell through. How I felt these tables though I couldn’t see them. And after that, how none of this really became visible—not even my glimpses into the past—until I opened that door in the library.

I should have just listened to my father. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t opened it.

Garrett steps out wearing a soiled butcher’s apron. And he smiles right at me, stabbing hackles down my back. It doesn’t make sense how he can see me. Then again, this is happening
right now
; it’s not an apparition from the past—since seeing the dirt streets upstairs, I think
I’m
in the past.

“Ah, you know, do you?”

I glance around to see if Ada is by me, but I take in the cracked concrete walls and the stairway sticking its tongue out at me. I’m alone.

“Your father swore he’d keep you out of it. But one cannot stop the inevitable, I suppose. I told him he would one day need a replacement. That is how this system has worked—since your family first purchased this house many years ago. And it seems the replacement must be you, since your brother refused.”

I’m such an idiot. Joel
did
know what was going on. I should have told him, confided in him. Maybe we could have helped each other.

“Let my brother go,” I demand. Ada said he was well, but she could have been wrong.

Garrett smiles and looks to the darkened room behind him, the room where Todd fell.

“He is contained for now.” He gestures to the contents on the filthy table.

My stomach hurls again, but I have nothing left to puke up. I buckle over and gag, then support myself on the wall with a shaky hand. Joel. He killed my brother. He killed. My. Brother.

The sight only jolts adrenaline and anger into my joints. Tears don’t fall, either. Not this time. I square my jaw and ignore the spear in my side.

“Ada was right—you really are a monster.”

The walls drone as if only one end of the wood is secured down and they’ve just been hit with a baseball bat. Garrett wipes his bloody hands on the apron and rests them on the table. He could butcher me for saying it. Like he did Joel. And Thomas. But after being tormented at school for years, after letting the house toy with me, I’m done holding myself back.

“Why?” I go on. “Why these…mutilations?”

He answers without looking at me, holding a beaker filled with who knows what up to the light. “I suspect you know, since you, like your mother, found my journal.”

My throat thickens at the mention of her. “It’s your fault she’s in prison.”

He pours the beaker into a giant silver pot, and the combination of whatever it is sizzles. “Now, now,” he says. “Let’s not misplace blame. She did, in fact, kill Mr. Morgan, Miss Crenshaw. To keep me from being able to use him. Your father brought the old fool in, but your mother got to him before I could.”

“She was trying to break your time loop thing.”

Garrett dumps another beaker into a larger pot and stirs the substances like he’s making Human Parts Soup. My empty stomach heaves again, and doesn’t stop. Especially not when he dips a ladle in and pours the liquid into an old glass bottle, like the one he shattered when he boarded Ada up. Steam rises from the spout, and it sits on the edge of the table, away from the gore.

“I want to live forever, but since that is not possible, at least I found a way to preserve myself. I live a life parallel to yours, Miss Crenshaw. While yours continues on, mine remains the same. And a man needs his servants, so they are connected to me as well. Ada!” He raises his voice, making me judder. “You may as well come out.”

Ada rattles out from the walls, barely sending a glance in my direction. The slightest change comes over Garrett’s face, like someone undims the light behind his eyes and they take on a different hue. I go back and forth between his look of exultation and her repulsion.

No way. The freak still loves her. My jaw grits like a vice at her dilemma. I don’t get how he can do this to someone he supposedly cares for.

“Well done,” he says, throwing an arm toward the stairs. The basement door slams, jolting my senses and racing terror through me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, spinning around and pleading to the pipes above. They give the same answer Garrett does. Compressing silence. My brain scuffles to figure out what’s going on. But with the door closed, I feel like I’m being strapped with Saran wrap.

“She will do nicely.”

It takes several seconds for his words to register. Me.
I
will do nicely.

It’s a trap.

“N
o!” I break the silence and bolt for the door, nearly tripping on every uneven step. Pain bites at my side, but I fight, I move. I don’t know how I can have been so stupid. Ada never said anything about
me
being the thirteenth piece!

The wooden planks are poor support for my weight. The knob doesn’t give in the slightest—almost like it’s carved from the same wood as the door. I pound with my fists, rip at my stitches as I kick. I slam my whole body against it.

“Help! Somebody!” Todd. Dang it, why did I kick him out?

Panic twines through my veins, stripping against them like it’s laced with poison and too big to fit. “Ada!” I call against the familiar shaking in my frame. “Stand up to him, remember?”

Don’t let him do this. Don’t help him
.

I can’t die. Not like this. If he only needs a piece of me, I wonder which one he’ll take. Please don’t let him take my hands.

My clarinet; Interlochen; my dreams of playing orchestral scores for movies. I beat on the door with these hands—my precious hands.

“Joel! Todd! Somebody!”

I slide down the door, whimpering. Tears drip one after the other, landing salty on my lips. Garrett’s boot lands heavy on the bottom stair, and he glowers up at me between the sideburns on his cheeks.

I push against the crumbling wood with my foot, but the closer he gets, the more imprisoned I am. This isn’t happening. It’s in my head—he’s dead! This is in the past!

“You’re not real!” I shout. I bang hard on the door, but the phone in my pocket buzzes, and I shriek.
Thunk, thunk, thunk,
his boots climb closer.

“Not real, am I?”

Bloodstained hands reach for me like tyrants, and I push my back against the barrier. The very thought of
his
hands makes me want to gag.

“No,” I say with a shudder. “Don’t touch me. I’ll come.”

Garrett straightens and cocks his head to one side. The most disgusting part is that the look is an appealing one. In a vicious, I’m-a-murderer kind of way. I try to think of an escape, but he’s making it clear—he’s my only way out.

“Very well.” Garrett turns and backs away.

I hobble down the steps. Ada stares at her fists, and her shoulders lift and lower with purpose, like she’s intentionally staying out of things. My eyes stray to the bottle on the table, and an idea spurts from my brain all down my limbs in a rush.
The elixir. That’s the whole reason he’s doing this.

“What’s the point of living on and on when nothing ever changes?” I ask, my voice breaking like I’m a speaker whose batteries are dying. “Don’t you get bored of doing the same things over and over? And plus, you never even go anywhere. You’re always here.” I gesture to the macabre scene of silver hooks and sharp butchering utensils.

Garrett has a twisted smile on his face, and his hands rest behind his back. Like he’s in on some joke that I’m oblivious to.

“I shall make things simple for you, Miss Crenshaw. I need a fresh specimen. One life, each year. That will be your task.”

My task. I have stupid relief that at least he’s not going to chop me up, though it doesn’t ease my qualms in the slightest.

“I’m not my mother,” I say.

Garrett’s eyes harden. “Indeed. You are not foolish enough to try and stop me. I will live on, Miss Crenshaw. And I will have your cooperation.”

I force my feet the slightest inch to the side. Subtle, so hopefully he won’t notice. “Or what? You already killed my brother. What more can you take from me?”

I look to Ada, who steps forward. Her hands are still in fists. “You are mistaken this time, sir,” she says. “Whether you use the girl or not, I’ll not live through this illusion of time for another second.”

Flames rise in Garrett’s eyes, filled with disbelief and disgust. There’s the reaction I’ve been expecting him to give me. “You dare defy me?” he asks, reaching for the knife on the table. I clench at the memory of Ada’s words.
He’ll hurt me
.

But to my surprise, his hands fade to a ghostly hue, slip through the black handle. He stumbles, struggling to catch himself. Panic clouds his face as he lifts his insubstantial hands, flickering in and out of color like a projection, toward the ceiling.

It’s starting. I break for it, cross the cement floor and slam into the table as hard as I can. The bottle of elixir tumbles and shatters to the ground, spilling steaming liquid. The pot of puke-my-guts-out soup tips with a crash. Flesh and goo slop all over the floor, as do a few of the surgical tools. I grab the rusty hacksaw, ready to defend myself in case it doesn’t work. The weapon feels tainted in my hands.

Garrett wheels around, his glance a collection of red, white, and horror. Pieces of his body continue to fade, then flicker back, only to dim once more. “You ignoble little wretch! What have you done?”

I clutch my whining side. “If you can’t drink it, this freak show on repeat ends.”
Please let me be right.

Garrett’s nostrils flare, and fury blots its way up until he’s the flustered color of skin and radishes. “Damn you,” he mutters, and then his voice increases. “Damn you!”

Ada stands with her chin high. A triumphant look of gloating rides every inch of her pretty face. She seems taller than before.

Garrett’s glance crawls all over his body, frantic. He diminishes to the flimsy, supernatural vapor Thomas holds, as well as Ada at times, until a deafening boom racks the house, shaking straight to my bones. I squeal and slam my lids shut. And when I open them, Garrett is gone.

Finally
.

An eerie silence pillows the room. I wait for the rickety sounds of the house to give some warning, for the walls to collapse, tumble into Garrett’s mess and trap me here as punishment for my indiscretion—well, for ending a spell that’s preserved it for the last 137 years.

But nothing happens. The tables, the mess of fluids, the rotting stench, even the hooks—they’re all here. I half expected and hoped it would all vanish.

I glance around for Ada, for any sign, really. For something concrete to say,
Good job, Piper,
or
Way to go, you killed the evil guy.
But I guess the vast silence is confirmation enough. It’s strange, but at this moment I wish I could talk to Ada, to wish her luck or something. I didn’t realize how invested I’d become in her story. But it’s over now. She’s free to be with Thomas. I won’t have to worry about my house acting up, about anyone else getting hurt. I relish in the feel of
me,
of my limbs intact, my jagged breathing and stuttering heartbeats. He’s gone. This is done.