My heart is rapid firing in my chest, making it painfully difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. Every inhalation sounds like it echoes through the house, and I fear the sound of my breathing will penetrate the walls and doors. Mamá will be furious if she finds me sneaking around, and there is no telling what her anger will force her to do.
I descend the steps so slowly, so silently, I nearly screech when the antique grandfather clock chimes. I bite my lip so hard, I draw blood, and I fumble down a step, catching my fall before I can make too much noise. I curse under my breath, mouthing my pain as I grab on to my ankle, hoping silently in a pathetic attempt to remain quiet.
In my desperation to escape the floor where Mamá slumbers, I twisted my foot awkwardly, and now my ankle throbs with each step I take. I try to put weight on it, but it protests, a stabbing pain shooting so violently through my leg, I limp the rest of the way down the steps.
By the time I reach the bottom stair, I am breathless from trying to be quiet. It is hard to breathe, to think, to even see clearly. My mind is a rush of thoughts, my heart racing from too many emotions, my body sore. I have to believe Malik’s plan will work, but I am not sure he accurately anticipated just how weak I have become.
I stare at the front door. It is only a few feet away. I could run. That would mean leaving Will behind but saving myself. The realist in me reminds me I have yet to see him. I should fear the worst, but I will never know if he is gone unless I search the entire house. If it were me trapped in this house, I would hope for rescue. That would be all I’d have to hang on to, so I cannot leave without him.
I peer up the dark staircase, hopeful I have not woken Mamá. There is no light, no sound, just an emptiness that leads to our bedrooms and altar room. I did not bother checking them. Mamá would never trust Will enough to give him his own room to stay in.
I take one long, slow inhalation to strengthen myself, and I tear my gaze away from upstairs, intent on searching the rest of the house as speedily as I can.
Already, my ankle is feeling better, so I am confident I did not truly injure it. But this experience served its purpose. It reminded me I am not invincible anymore. I need to be careful if I plan to survive.
The main level consists of the kitchen and living areas, with no real place to hide a prisoner. I do not expect human visitors, but the house has windows. If Mamá is going to keep Will captive and protect her secrets from prying eyes, she would have to keep him safe, secure. That does not leave many options.
I limp down the hall, walking past the living room and toward the kitchen. Quietly, I open the hall closet, wincing as the door creaks a little too loudly. I freeze, waiting for signs that I have woken Mamá, but the floorboards never squeak.
With shaking hands, I walk into the closet, fumbling for the light switch as I close the door behind me. I am engulfed in darkness, using my fingers to feel the rough edges of the walls.
By the time I feel the familiar bulge of the switch, I worry I have spent too much time in here. That is the beauty of the night. It never feels like it lasts as long as the day. One minute in complete darkness can feel like an eternity. So by the time I find the switch, I am certain it is almost daylight.
I must find Will quickly.
I turn on the light, shielding my eyes as it stings. I squeeze my lids closed tightly, and water pools behind my lids. It takes several seconds for me to adjust to the brightness, and with each passing moment, my anxiety triples.
When I can finally open my eyes, I sift through the dozens of hanging clothes, pushing them to the sides to carve out a small pathway to what lies beyond.
Behind the rows of dusty jackets never worn and bought only for this purpose, there is a door. I open it, the hinges freshly greased to create a silent entrance. My heart sinks in my chest, because I know what this must mean. At some point, Will was most definitely kept down here, and Mamá must have visited him. I pray he is okay.
The depths below are dark, dank. As soon as I step forward, the musty air wafts toward me. I scrunch my nose and slowly descend the stone steps. To steady myself, I keep my hand on the rail, lightly grazing the wood until I reach the bottom step.
When I reach for the cord to turn on the light, my arms are shaking. Before I yank it toward me to turn on the light, I offer a silent prayer, begging to find Will alive, safe. Because if he is not here, I fear I will never find him.
I stare into the darkness, listening intently. The light from the closet above only brightens the room to the bottom step. From there, the room is pitch black. No one even knows this room exists. Papá said it was to keep us safe. He said we could hide here if there were ever an attack we could not fight. But after his death, Mamá changed it. She turned it into something dark, something heinous. It is no longer for us. It is for them.
I turn on the light, illuminating the small space. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in the scene before me. Will is across the room, curled into a ball on the floor. His clothes are dirty and bloodstained. His skin is pale and taut. His eyes are swollen, his lips trembling. Lying on the dirt floor, he shivers. His breath escapes in ragged puffs, and bursts of air create clouds of dust. He breathes it in and coughs, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
I rush to his side, ignoring the dulling pain in my ankle, and I fall to my knees. I position myself beneath him, resting his head on my lap. I brush his hair from his eyes, and my fingers are caught in tangles.
I whisper his name so many times, I lose count. I do not know how long I sit here, and I do not know if he is even aware of my presence, but I promise him, over and over again, that I will never leave him again. I explain the plan, whispering words of hope, but he never wakes.
Enough time passes for the sun to rise. I know this even though I do not see it, do not sense it. I never returned to my room last night, and I hear the panicked footsteps of Mamá searching for me. Eventually, she will find me down here, and maybe when she sees me with Will, she will understand why I came so willingly. But I do not care.
I hear shouting coming from upstairs, but the words are too muffled. I assume she calls for me, but I ignore her.
“Ava?” Will whispers.
His eyes flutter open, and I smile down at him. I nearly scream with delight that he has found the strength to wake. I remain calm, staying silent, fearing Mamá will rush down if she hears us.
“Will…” I say softly. I brush the dirt from his cheek with my thumb.
I have sat cross-legged almost the entire night, and my legs protest. My muscles burn from lack of movement, but I do not dare move now. Will is using my lap as a pillow, and his condition seems to worsen with each passing hour. I wonder if Mamá has even fed him since she tossed him down here. How can she be so cruel? To refuse him light, food, water, a bath.
“You came back?” he asks in disbelief.
I nod, eyes welling. “I never should have left.”
He frowns and turns away from me. Grunting loudly, he manages to push himself up, refusing aid when I offer it. He scoots back until he is flush against the stone wall. Exhausted and struggling to breathe, he finally looks at me.
“You should not have come back,” he admits.
“They should not have left without you,” I say.
I am still upset with the vampires’ decision to leave him, but I understand why they did. Malik was worried about Jasik, Hikari about Jeremiah. We were wounded and outnumbered. I cannot stay angry with them, but I can hate their decisions.