Chapter Text
It had been bad enough that the chief of your precinct had assigned you to the Baker case.
But when none of the other deputies were willing to come along with you to check it out, that was just adding insult to injury.
You sat in your cruiser, nursing a cup of coffee while you eyed the long, intimidating driveway leading to the old Baker estate. The air outside hung completely still, like a thick, humid curtain. Rays of dying sunlight filtered through the ancient trees lining the driveway; they were warped and doubled over, their canopies hanging heavy with ropes of spanish moss. Dusk was falling fast.
You gunned the engine and began the long, slow drive down to the house.
You’d had strict orders to investigate the perimeter for any sign of the suspected missing persons from the area. No one had managed to acquire any kind of search warrant for the place, but that wasn’t abnormal in the rural south. Most of the locals usually shot on sight when they saw any member of the force pulling into their driveway.
Gravel crunched loudly under your tires as the house came into view. It was kind of a local legend in the area; the huge, dilapidated mansion occupied by the crazy Baker family was all anyone thought of once people started disappearing.
The Bakers hadn’t always been crazy, no more so than anyone else who grew up swamp-side, but they were more reclusive than most. Anyone in the sparse community would try to convince you that they were devil’s folk, and not to be trusted. You, on the other hand, thought that was ridiculous. They were just another southern family that kept to themselves; that was as normal as could be.
You shut the engine off and unclipped your seat belt, making sure your gun was firmly seated in its holster.
A few fireflies were drifting lazily through the summer air as you stepped out of the cruiser, slamming the door behind you. You left your lights on; there was no need for subtlety, as the Bakers weren’t a hospitable bunch, you assumed you’d make your intentions clear.
It was obvious from the start that something was wrong.
Two cars were parked outside the house’s old, rusted gates. Neither of them looked like vehicles the family owned, and one of them fit the same description as the van that a few of the missing persons had been driving.
Bingo.
Ready to call for backup at any minute, you began the slow, cautious walk through the gate and up to the house.
The sun had already sunk beyond the trees, letting the oppressive bayou darkness occlude your surroundings. It stuck to your skin like pitch, the darkness, in a way that was entirely too invasive. You unclipped your flashlight to illuminate the path as you walked, occasionally sweeping it from side to side to investigate the grounds.
It felt as if the house was watching you. No lights were visible from the outside, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was looming behind its dilapidated facade. Junk, the kind you associated with every dying house in the countryside, was piled all around. Tires, chunks of chain-link fence, loose boards, and rusty sheets of metal covered the moist earth outside the house and made the whole place look as if it were the abandoned set of a horror movie.
Suddenly, when you were a few yards away from the front porch, you heard a crash inside, followed by muffled shouts. You froze, hand going to your gun. The words were indiscernible, but the tone sure wasn’t. Anxiety flared in your core as you sped up, climbing the aging wooden porch steps and pressing an insistent finger to the doorbell.
The resulting metallic trill lasted for several seconds, reverberating through the inside of the house. The shouts ceased immediately, as you’d expected them to, however the resulting eerie silence was that much more worrying.
Clearing your throat, you pounded on the door with the side of your fist. “Police!”
No one answered. Typical.
Cautiously unholstering your gun, you stepped off of the porch and began circling around the house for possible signs of another entry. You’d noticed the garage on the way in and decided to save it for last, opting instead to investigate each of the boarded-up windows. Blue and red flashed intermittently, casting long, shuddering shadows along the base of the house.
Eventually, the beam of your flashlight caught a window that had fewer boards lining its panes, and you fixated on it. Better than nothing.
The window rattled loudly as you pounded on it with your fist. “Police! Anyone home?”
The house was motionless inside; all you could see was the beginning of a dimly-lit hallway, curving off and to the right. Didn’t look like anyone was going to answer you here, either.
Just as you were beginning to lose hope, you saw a flicker of movement at the end of the hallway. You battered the window as hard as you could without breaking it. “Open up!”
There was a figure just beyond the end of the hall. When he heard you, he rushed to the window with wide, panicked eyes.
You raised your flashlight to peer through the window and illuminate him better. The stranger looked like he was in his mid-30s or so, wearing a white shirt which you noticed, unnervingly, was speckled with blood. He had sandy blonde hair and an angular face that was a little battered-looking, but no worse for wear.
When he laid eyes on you, something flickered across his expression. The faintest hint of a hopeful smile.
“Hey, you gotta help me!” The man exclaimed, grabbing the boards over the window. Something was very wrong; frankly, the guy was giving you the creeps.
“Hey, easy, pal. Do you live here?” You asked slowly, hoping you weren’t dealing with some crackhead. His eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously.
“What, me? No, no!”
“Alright…” You surged ahead, trying to visually check him for weapons. “Well, sir, I’m just here responding to some missing persons reports in the area-”
You jumped a little as he slammed a hand against one of the boards. “You don’t understand. I gotta get out of here!”
“Calm down, sir.” Your tone betrayed a hint of nervousness as you peered around the house behind him. No one else could be seen. “Are you-”
“You’re not listening to me.” The man snapped. He had the wide, panicked look of a cornered prey animal. “There are crazy people in this house and they’re trying to fucking kill me.”
Despite your professional attitude, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation with him. Most people didn’t take that tone with a deputy, especially you. Obviously he didn’t know he was on thin ice. “Look, pal. You don’t seem like you’re playin’ with a full deck yourself.”
“Are you kidding me?”
You exhaled sharply through your nose. He was definitely a threat, but maybe he really was another victim. You couldn’t rule out either possibility. “I’m gonna need your cooperation on this.”
“... fine.” He relented, holding up both hands in defeat. “I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“That’s more like it.” You began to holster your gun, keeping your flashlight trained on him. “Now, just meet me in the garage, and we can-”
“No no no, wait a minute!” His words came out in a quick breath. “You gotta give me your gun!”
Alarm bells rang in your head as you resisted the urge to laugh. “Are you crazy?”
“Look,” the man leveled his expression, training his eyes on you in an attempt to look slightly less unhinged. “Deputy. Do you wanna see my name in the obituaries, or do you wanna be a hero and save my life?”
You hesitated, hand lingering on your holster. He had a point- you really, really didn’t want to be responsible for a homicide you could have prevented. And yet, even if he wasn’t a crazy murderer, you still weren’t going to be caught dead inside the house without your gun. You decided to compromise and handed him the knife from your back pocket.
His brow furrowed. “A fucking pocket knife? What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Get creative.” You responded, lowering the flashlight. “Now meet me in the garage.”
The man shot you a sour look before disappearing back into the bowels of the house, leaving you alone on the other side of the window. The whole exchange had left you feeling thoroughly unsettled; there was no real way you could trust him, obviously, but at the same time he seemed like a man who was genuinely running from something.
Dulvey was a small town. So small, in fact, that it didn’t even have its own branch of police. You’d been called in from the neighboring town of Hayes, and felt almost as out-of-place as if you were a chihuahua sniffing around a pack of wolves. So you could imagine that the sight of a badge and a gun would be likely to send the locals into a tizzy. Anything could happen.
Silently praying that all would go well, you squared your jaw and walked around the side of the house to the garage.
No more than a few seconds had you stood there before the door rolled open with a mechanical rattle, and the man from before came rushing at you with a relieved smile on his face. “Hey! Okay, you’re safe, good. We gotta get the fuck out of here.”
Up close, and without decaying boards and broken glass occluding his face, the guy was actually kind of a looker. Something about his intense features, the way his voice betrayed just the slightest hint of gratitude amongst the overwhelming concern, was enough to make something inside you flutter.
You made sure to stay professional. “Just a minute. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”
“Me? Uh-” His head swiveled as he glanced over his shoulder, obviously on high alert. “... you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. We need to-”
He glanced back at you, and you saw his eyes fixate on something over your shoulder. Before you could react, the man grabbed you by both shoulders and yanked you to his side. Your face clumsily collided with his chest and you flailed, jerking yourself out of his grasp. Before you could reprimand him, however, a split second later you felt the whoosh of a passing object and heard something heavy and metallic clang against the cement floor.
“Aw, c’mon, boy! Don’t spoil an old man’s fun!”
You wheeled around, instinct and training taking over as you whipped out your gun and brandished it with wide eyes.
Another man was standing in the garage doorway. You recognized him from the case files: Jack Baker. In his hands he was gripping a massive shovel, the dull end of which was clotted with dirt and bits of unidentified meat. His cruel eyes glimmered behind his glasses and he grinned, showing off his filthy, unbrushed teeth.
“Mr. Baker,” you said sharply, “lower your weapon and raise your hands or I will shoot.”
Jack shot you a cruel sneer. “You sure are pretty… for a pig.”
Fingers tightened on your arm and your mysterious benefactor pulled you out of harm’s way as Jack swung the shovel again. It whistled by, mere inches from your face.
“Let me go!” You viciously tore your arm from his grasp, righting yourself and aiming the gun directly at Jack’s face. Without issuing a second warning, you squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with an ear-splitting crack.
There was a meaty puncturing sound, and Jack went down in a spray of dark blood.
Your heart was hammering in your chest as you lowered the gun, stepping forward to approach him, but the man behind you grabbed your arm again and wheeled you around to face him. His eyes were focused on yours with an intensity you found almost frightening.
“We have to go,” he said quietly, squeezing your arm. You didn’t pull away this time.
“It’s okay,” you gently reassured him, “he’s dead. I can get back out to my squad car and call for backup-”
The metallic rattling of the garage door kept you from finishing your sentence. Your companion looked over your shoulder and hissed a string of curses, then reached down to snatch your gun from your hand before you could stop him.
“Hey-” You yelled, reaching for your stolen firearm, but the man just pulled you protectively behind his back and pointed the gun at Jack’s body.
Jack’s body, which was now standing fully upright.
Mute horror overcame you and left you completely speechless. You didn’t understand- you’d shot him in the head. The dwindling light from your cruiser outside glinted through the clean hole that your bullet had torn through his left eye.
He lurched forward. You screamed. Your mysterious benefactor-turned-protector kept you closely shielded, brandishing the gun as the dead man shambled toward him. “Stay back!”
“You watchin’ closely, boy?” The old man slurred, blood pooling and dripping down his cheek from the gaping hole where his eye used to be. “Cuz you’re about to see somethin’ wonderful.”
Then he grabbed the gun, held the barrel firmly under his chin, and pulled the trigger.
Your companion’s grip on you tightened as Jack’s head popped like a blister, spraying the ceiling and walls with blood and bits of brain matter. Everything above his neck was immediately eviscerated, leaving a jagged flap of skin as all that was left of his lower jaw. The body fell to the ground, shuddering and twitching.
You didn’t realize you were trembling until your protector wheeled around and gripped both of your shoulders. He looked completely calm. “Are you okay?”
“I…” you stammered nervously, trembling in his grasp. You weren’t okay. You were just a small-town sheriff’s deputy, none of your training could have possibly prepared you for something like this. Your breath was coming in hitching, panicked gasps. “What- What the fuck happened to him? What is going on here?”
He absentmindedly swiped at your face, his hand coming away bloody. “Look, I can’t- it’s hard to explain. I don’t understand it myself. But we need to get out of here as soon as we can before we end up like him.”
You glanced back down at Jack’s corpse and realized with a grotesque twisting in your stomach that the remains of his head were squirming. “I don’t-”
“Look at me.” The man demanded, shaking you again. Your eyes sought relief in his face again; he was a comforting presence in all the madness, despite the relatively unhinged look in his eye and the splatters of blood across his face and neck. His eyes were gray. “What’s your name?”
“My…?” You muttered, unable to look away from him. You quietly rattled off your rank and last name. The man shook his head.
“Your first name.”
You told him. He smiled a little, his grip on your shoulder loosening.
“Good. I’m Ethan. Ethan Winters. It’s, um… it’s nice to meet you. Now come on.”
Then he gripped your hand and whisked you out of the garage before you could look at Jack’s twitching corpse.
~*~
Reports of missing persons in South Louisiana have increased dramatically in the past two years.
The majority of those missing are tourists and vagrants. At least 20 people are thought to have gone missing so far.
Police suspect foul play and believe there may be a connection between the incidents. Plans are in place to step up local interrogations and increase personnel to further the investigations.
You scanned over the newspaper clipping that had been pinned to the fridge, brow furrowed with confusion. None of it was making any sense. From what you’d been able to gather, based on Ethan’s brief, hushed explanations of the events of the evening so far and the state of the house, there was no doubt in your mind that this was where all the missing persons cases had been centralized.
But why? And to what end?
Ethan was just around the corner, murmuring quietly into the hallway phone. He’d barely had time to tell you what was going on before it had started ringing, and he had rushed to pick it up. You pored over the rest of the notes, but nothing held any clues. What the hell was happening in this place?
The phone hit the receiver with a muffled click, and Ethan came rounding the corner of the hall to catch up with you. “Sorry,” he muttered, “Zoe- er, the girl on the phone- she was talking like she knows how to get us out of here. Couldn’t miss the chance.”
You let the newspaper fall to the grimy floor, shooting him a sharp look. “For someone who promised to answer all my questions, so far you’ve given me jack shit.”
He gave you a humorless smile, running his hand through his hair. You noted a bloody, jagged scar on his right wrist that had been crudely repaired with staples. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would get caught up in this.”
“Well, it looks like I am.” You snapped, looking away from him and down the hall. There was no sign of anyone- but the house kept emitting subtle creaks and shifts, so much so that you were unable to tell if anyone was coming. “Give me my gun back.”
Ethan scoffed. “What? No. I need it to keep us both safe.”
The levity of his tone made you bristle. “You know it’s a felony to take an officer’s gun, right?”
“Cuff me, then.”
‘Jesus fucking christ, is he flirting with me?’
“... fine.” you glowered, hoping he didn’t notice the way your face warmed at his cheeky proposal. “I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing. How do we get out of here?”
Just like that, Ethan was all business again. He gestured for you to stay behind him and brandished the gun- your gun- as he crept slowly down the hall. “Zoe said something about an exit through the main hall. We’ll know it when we see it.”
The house was an absolute wreck. Each new turn revealed corners piled high with old trash, crawling with bugs. The smells of dust and rot hung thick in the air, lodging themselves inside your nostrils like wet cotton. You were probably going to have to burn your uniform. And to top it all off, Ethan’s arm swiveled behind his back to shield you at every little groan and creak the house made. It was like he had completely forgotten that you were the one here to save him.
“Careful,” he whispered, “don’t want you getting hurt.”
You brushed it off as a panic response. So he was an overprotective guy. You didn’t really blame him. The first time you saw a rat scuttle out from underneath an overturned cardboard box, you had to suppress the urge to shriek. It was easy to be jumpy given the circumstances.
It was also an absolutely massive house, too. The main hall was easy to find, but neither you nor Ethan could find an unlocked door that led outside anywhere in the place. You thought you heard footsteps crossing the floor upstairs at one point, but chalked it up to your paranoia.
About an hour into your investigation, you finally cleared your throat and turned to Ethan, who was fiddling with the lock on a flimsy-looking drawer.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
His shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. You watched those gray eyes avoid you as he focused on his task. At length, he sighed and let it go, still unable to meet your eyes.
“It’s… my wife. She went missing three years ago. A couple weeks ago, she sent me a message telling me to come find her here in Dulvey.”
You had already noticed the wedding band glinting on his finger, so the news wasn’t much of a surprise. His wife had been one of the victims and he wanted to play hero, so he came out to a ramshackle mansion out in the bayou and nearly got himself killed. Makes sense.
“So she was one of the victims?” You asked, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened to her?”
Ethan looked at you for a split second, his eyes flitting down to the floor as if the sight of your face was too much to bear.
“... she’s dead.”
“Oh.” You muttered, suddenly feeling like an ass for pushing the issue. “I’m sorry, I- I thought-”
“It’s fine.” Ethan idly twisted the wedding band on his finger. “I was too late to save her. That’s all.” Then he looked up and gave you a surprisingly reassuring smile, as if to help you feel better. “I just hope I won’t lose you, too.”
Something in your stomach fluttered for the second time that evening. You suddenly hated how soft his gray eyes could be, and how his sad smile was somehow the heaviest thing you’d ever beared. What was up with him? Here he was, telling you he’d just found out his wife was dead, and you were feeling a girlish crush while he held his own wedding band?
What the fuck was wrong with him?
More importantly, what the fuck was wrong with you?
A low growl suddenly came from the shadows beyond the main hall’s stairwell, just a couple feet behind you. All the blood in your body plunged into your feet as you whirled around to assess the threat. When you saw it, your throat closed up, and all that you could emit was a breathless squeak.
It was enormous. Huge and wriggling, your stomach churned in horror as the humanoid, oily-black thing lurched at you out of the darkness. It was like a clump of wet hair pulled from a shower drain. In the dim light of the room, two rows of hideously sharp teeth emerged from its glistening mass. Your feet stayed stuck to the ground as they yawned open, coming together with a sharp, hungry snap.
“Ethan,” you said once. The thing reached out and clutched your arm. It felt like pond muck.
A loud gunshot echoed from the room behind you and the monster flinched, letting out a guttural screech. The bullet punctured its chest and left a hole that began spewing a black, musty-smelling goo. Ethan fired again, this time nailing the thing in the head and knocking a few of its teeth loose.
His hand grabbed your arm and jerked you out of harm’s way as he surged forward, pulling the trigger over and over again. The room erupted with frenzied gunshots, the sharp smell of smoke making your eyes water. Even after the monster fell to the ground with a heavy, moist splat, Ethan unloaded every single bullet he had into its bulbous head.
The silence that descended after the last few empty clicks of the gun was somehow even more frightening. In the absence of the gunshots, you could hear Ethan’s ragged breathing, and see the way his shoulders shook from behind. A typical fear response. You stepped forward to thank him, and that was when you saw his face.
He was staring down at the thing’s lifeless body with bulging, furious eyes. Still brandishing the now-useless gun, he panted through gritted teeth, glaring at it hatefully. Something plummeted in the pit of your stomach. “... Ethan?”
At the sound of his name, your companion whirled around and began scanning you for injuries. His cheeks were pink. “Did it hurt you? Are you okay?” His fingers clutched at the fabric of your sleeve. “God, I thought you were done for.”
Your pulse pounded dully in your ears. If he had been overbearing before, this was alarming. The fear of standing face-to-face with a literal monster was replaced by the confusion of why on earth this total stranger would be obsessing over your well-being.
“I’m- I’m fine, Ethan. Really.” You pulled up your sleeve to show your perfectly unblemished arm.
Your heart leapt into your throat as he grabbed it, his fingers trailing across your skin, poking and prodding for any sign of a cut or a bruise. He raked his eyes up and down your hand, your forearm, and you felt a flare of warmth as his thumb ran over the inside of your wrist, nearly caressing it.
“Thank fuck.” He murmured, his voice softening with relief. “That scared the shit out of me.”
‘You scared the shit out of me.’ You thought, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. And yet… something about his mindless concern warmed your insides and sent blood rushing to your face.
Ethan glanced up, his pale, gray eyes meeting yours again. For the first time since you’d set foot in this hellish place, you felt entirely safe with him.
“Come on,” he said softly, gripping your hand, “we still need to find a way out of this place.”
~*~
“Ugh, gross.”
The scent of fetid, rotting meat washed over you as Ethan opened the door to the lower half of the basement. You were still hovering just behind him, content to let him open every door and face every danger. The rest of the house had contained little more than those awful swamp monsters, but you’d barely been able to fight them off; Ethan took care of every one, demolishing them all with a savagery that bordered on psychotic. It seemed like he was liable to lose his shit if you even thought about being the first in any of the rooms.
But this one was by far the worst.
Black, glistening matter was clumped to the floor and dripping along the walls. Beyond some kind of protective chain-link fence, there was what looked like a section for meat storage. Mysterious, canvas-wrapped lumps hung from chains on the ceiling, and the whole place smelled like old roadkill. Ethan gestured for you to stay behind him as he slowly crept into the room, gun at the ready.
Then you saw it: the last dog’s-head relief, hanging from a chain in the center of the room. It had taken hours to find all the others. You felt your heart soar when you saw it, just ready for this nightmare to be over.
“Ethan, look! We found it!” Your voice cracked with relief as you surged ahead, snatching the small tile from its chain. Ethan’s eyes widened and he shouted your name, brandishing his gun.
From behind you came a grating shudder, followed by the piercing metallic shriek of a chainsaw blade.
You whirled around to see Jack Baker, grinning as he brandished a bloody chainsaw. “Looks like I’ve got me a new cut of meat!”
With a cry, you leapt out of his way as he swung the chainsaw at you. Ethan rained a volley of gunshots on the man as you retreated out of the way, the dog’s head relief clutched to your chest protectively.
“Ethan, be careful!” You shouted, as the two men grappled with each other.
It was useless. Jack obviously had the upper hand, and Ethan’s bullets weren’t doing anything. Each gunshot ripped through his body, but none of them even seemed to bother him. The shrieks and clatters of the chainsaw against metal were only out-measured by the old man’s maniacal laughter.
‘Think,’ you told yourself, ‘think think think.’
The room was empty aside from the butchering table and a few metal shelves, still splattered with drying blood. Nothing would help. Then, as Ethan swung aside one of the hanging bundles of meat from the ceiling, you got an idea that made your chest swell.
It was going to be close, but it didn’t look like Ethan had much time to lose. He was almost out of bullets.
Racing across the room, you sunk your fingers into one of the canvas bags and pulled it back until the chain was taut. With your other hand, you jammed two fingers into your mouth and whistled. Loud.
Jack whirled around, chainsaw tight in his grasp.
“Hey, motherfucker! Come get me!” You shouted.
The old man’s face split into a wide grin. “I love a woman who’s bold,” he yelled over the roar of the chainsaw, staggering unevenly in your direction. The metal blades whirred, glistening dangerously in the harsh light.
Ethan shouted something that you couldn’t make out. All your focus was on Jack’s footsteps, his slow, tortuous approach. His eyes glimmered cruelly behind his glasses.
‘Come on, just a little bit closer…’
“Gonna have me some bacon!” He roared, raising the chainsaw over his head. You saw your opening.
‘Bingo.”
You shoved the canvas sack with all of your might, and all of its weight came crashing into Jack’s side. The chain rattled with a violent jerk as he was knocked onto his back, the bloodied weapon skittering across the cement ground. You glanced up at Ethan, who looked like all the blood had drained from his face.
“Ethan, the chainsaw!”
His wide, wild eyes swiveled down to where the vicious-looking weapon had landed, and swept down to pick it up without even missing a beat. Jack was still on the ground, looking dazed and furious as he tried to clamber to his feet.
He tried too late.
You looked away as Ethan rammed the chainsaw full-tilt into Jack’s chest. The view was lost, but you still cringed at the sounds of the blade ripping through his flesh. The old man laughed and laughed as you heard the grotesque crackling of bone, and then was cut short with a violent, deep-rooted rip. It sounded like a shrub being torn from the ground.
When you finally turned to look again, Ethan was standing over Jack’s twitching legs. The rest of his body had been turned to mince meat.
“Do me a favor,” your companion threw the chainsaw on the ground, “and stay dead.”
The seconds slowed to a crawl as Ethan looked up at you. His shirt was splattered with blood and viscera, and his hands were still shaking from the thrum of the power tool. Your eyes widened, taking all of him in. He looked like a monster.
A monster who had just saved your life.
“Come here,” he muttered urgently, crossing over to you in a few short strides. You’d expected him to inspect you for injuries like he had last time, but instead he wrapped you up in a hug so tight it knocked the wind out of you. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you let out a short gasp, but Ethan didn’t seem to care. He held you to his chest as if you were the most important thing in the world.
Slowly, you lifted your arms until you were returning his embrace. Just adrenaline running high, that was all it was. Nothing more. Ethan’s shuddery, ragged breaths were just inches from your ear as you fell into his embrace, closing your eyes, not even caring that your clothes would be ruined.
“I thought,” he gasped, “I thought you were going to let him-”
“It was just my quick thinking.” you responded, voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m sorry-”
“No!” Ethan pulled back, eyes staring fixedly at yours. “No no no, don’t apologize, that was… brilliant.” Your stomach erupted with butterflies as he gave you the most dazzling smile. “You’re a genius.”
‘Brilliant, huh?’ No one had ever called you that before. It felt nice. You hoped your blush wasn’t obvious as you smiled bashfully, trying to ignore the exhilarating feeling in your chest. “We should get out of here. He might come back.”
“I hope not.” Ethan said curtly, gripping your hand and pulling you along behind him up the stairs.
You made it back to the main hall in record time. Dog’s-head tiles clanking in your hands, you hurriedly put them in place on the front door while Ethan stood guard behind you, gun at the ready. When the first wave of humid air from the country night outside hit your face, you thought you were going to cry.
You’d escaped.
Across the darkened yard, past thick weeds and more piles of garbage, was a small trailer with warm, yellow windows. Ethan took his place in front of you, tense for action as he gripped your hand. You’d long since stopped protesting, instead using the opportunity to enjoy being protected for once.
It was a really, really nice feeling.
Your companion kicked open the door to the trailer and, upon finding it was empty, shut the door behind you both and locked it. All the tension ebbed from his shoulders as he turned to look at you, your smile warm on his lips.
“Look, I- I know it’s been a long night, and we need to get out of here. But I just need to tell you… I think-”
The phone beside the bed rang with a metallic trill, making you both jump. Ethan scowled. “Hang on.” He stomped over to the phone and answered it curtly as you watched his shoulders with nervous anticipation.
“... so what is it you need me to do?”
He spoke quietly into the receiver. The tone of his voice made it evident that he was seething.
“Look, I just want to get out of here. I don’t know if I can-”
Suddenly, he froze. You watched his muscles tense and your heart jumped.
“... she is?”
“... okay. I understand. I will.”
Then he hung up the phone, letting out a long, low gust of air.
When he turned to look at you, his eyes were distant and cloudy. He looked… haunted.
“Ethan, what is it? What did she say?” You asked softly, approaching him and taking his hand. You braced yourself for bad news.
His eyes sought yours slowly, unspeakable emotions swimming behind them.
“It’s Mia.” He squeezed your hand.
“She’s alive.”