The Huntress [2018 Archived]

Chapter 15

I stumbled home in a daze.

I wanted to leave that God-awful Schwinn lying on the front lawn, but Joel said that I had to take it because it would link me to Amber's death.

That's right. I said it.

Death.

This could not be happening to me.

I let myself in the back door of my house and stumbled into darkness. The blue haze of night filled the sunroom like smoke wafting through the air. A kind of silence that gave way to horrible memories descended upon me.

Boards creaking. The ring of a cell phone. Her cries for help. And then the sickening thud of bones meeting harsh stone.

My best friend was dead. And I did nothing to try and stop it from coming.

I was quiet not to wake my mom as she snored soundly in her bed. I crept through the house, silent as a mouse, and made my down into the basement. There was a sink down there that we used for washing off paint and muck. Mom never went down there. I could wash without being bothered.

I reached out and felt for a string that hung from the ceiling. I pulled it, and dim light flooded the basement. The walls were made of peeled plaster and exposed rock, the byproduct of years of neglect. Air stood still down here, allowing a musty odor to permeate the atmosphere.

Perfect.

I staggered over to the tiny bathroom sequestered away in the back. My fingers scrabbled for the edge of the sink, and I took a good, hard look at myself in the square-cut looking glass mounted on the wall.

My blonde hair was matted with dirt and sweat. Crazed brown eyes stared back at me, ringed with purplish bags. I looked like a psycho killer, a ruthless criminal. My chin trembled at the sight.

How could things have gone this far? Who have you become, Sierra? a plaintive voice mourned in the back of my head. Who is this person?

I don't know.

I tore my gaze from my reflection and turned the knob. Cold water came gushing out. It was loud-but not loud enough to wake up my mother.

I closed my eyes as the cool liquid washed over my arms. It felt amazing. A little piece of heaven in the hell-ish nightmare that was now my life.

I washed my hands briskly and kicked off my slim shoes. My toes touched the frigidity of the stone floor, and again, bliss. If only I could forget everything that just happened. If only I could un-see the things that I saw.

If only I could rid myself of her panicked pleas.

This will haunt you for forever, Sierra Blake.

Accidentally, I shuffled my feet and something sharp penetrated the skin on my arch. I bit back a curse word and gingerly reached my fingers to the wounded area. My fingers came away red.

For a moment, I was about to scrub away the blood-my blood-but I didn't. Instead, I stared at my hand as the blood mixed with the water, veining down my palm and blossoming into macabre poppies.

My foot still throbbed. It was cut on some broken glass, another one of the many hazards that lurked down here. So I lifted my foot, grabbed some nearby towels, and fashioned a sort of make-shift tourniquet.