Page 84 of Like A Moth To A Flame

Fighting to catch my breath, I tossed the journal onto the passenger’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. I needed out of here, but I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to go back to that house and wait for the next time he came for me.

With shaking fingers, I pulled my phone out of the glove compartment and flicked it on. Still no answer from Barrett. I knew he was busy, but this was urgent.

Slamming the car into reverse, I whipped out of the lot and gunned it down the street in the opposite direction from my dad’s house. I needed Barrett, and I needed him now.

The roads blurred past me as I sped towards his house. Panic clawed at my chest, and I fought for every breath. Questions swirled in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last. Had Carl Lee been lying to me this whole time? Was he involved in whatever was happening to me? Worse, was he my stalker?

What about Sheriff Banner?

I pulled into the driveway and practically leaped out of the car. The building loomed in front of me, all clapboard siding and glass in the fading light. In the distance, I could hear the barking and baying of his bloodhounds, screaming their discomfort at a new guest on their land. I burst through the doors, panting and gasping in the living room. I listened for any sign of him, but after a few minutes, there was nothing.

“Barrett!” I called out, scanning the room frantically. Falling quiet, a precarious sort of silence came back to slap me in the face.

He wasn’t here. How could he not be here?

A painful ache hit me right in the gut and I nearly doubled over. Sitting right there on the coffee table, his plain black phone case glared up at me like a beacon.

His phone was here, and he wasn’t. Something was wrong.

I knew I had to think fast. The fear that clawed its way up my throat threatened to suffocate me. My mind raced through possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

With trembling hands, I grabbed Barrett’s phone, hoping to find some clue, some message that could lead me to him, but the screenremained dark and unresponsive. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave, crashing against my resolve.

I could hear the bloodhounds outside, their howls growing louder and more insistent. They sensed my fear, my desperation. The more their otherworldly howls echoed in the failing light, the more I felt an icy cold finger touch my spine, and I shivered.

Why were they still barking? This wasn’t normal.

Normally, they barked to alert of a newcomer. Then, when that newcomer was out of sight, they went back to being silent. They had been barking when I pulled up, and now they were still barking.

Spinning on my heel, I rushed out the door and jumped the length of the steps, landing in the dirt. My ankle bent beneath me, twisting painfully, but I ignored it, sprinting across the yard towards the dog run, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs so fast that it hurt.

The hound’s barks reached a fever pitch as I approached the dog run. As I approached the chain link, I could see the massive forms of the dogs outlined against the darkening sky, their eyes glowing like hot coals in the shadows. The acrid scent of fear hung heavy in the air as I skidded to a stop in front of the enclosure, my heart pounding in my chest. I could smell hay and wood, with the underlying tang of iron.

Blood. I smelled blood.

As I reached the chain-link fence, a chilling realization struck me. The gate was wide open, swinging gently in the evening breeze, but the dogs remained inside, shying away from the door and slinking back into the shadows. Fear clenched my chest likea vise as I stepped inside. I was greeted by the dogs, as usual, six full-grown and numerous smaller ones. They sniffed my hands eagerly, their whiplike tails lashing out around them as they wiggled their happiness.

“Barrett!” I called out again, my voice barely above a whisper, but there was no response.

As I scanned the enclosure, my blood turned to ice in my veins.

There, lying crumpled on the ground, was Barrett’s jacket—torn and stained with blood. As I reached out to grab it, a movement ahead of me caught my eye and I gasped as I looked up, wide eyes finding a low shadow slumped against the far wall of the pen.

“Barrett?!”

I ran to him, dropping to my knees in the thick straw. In the shadows, I could see that he was alive, if only barely.

His normally vibrant blue eyes were half-closed, his face contorted in pain. Blood oozed from a wound on his temple, matting his dark hair against his skin. Panic surged within me as I gently touched his shoulder, trying to rouse him.

“Barrett, can you hear me?” I whispered frantically.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned weakly. His hand moved to touch the wound on his head, and I could see the pain etched in his features.

“We need to get you out of here,” I said urgently. I reached down, tucking my hands beneath his arms in an attempt to help him up, but he yelped in pain and I jerked away. “I’m calling 911.”

“You c-can’t. Don’t call them.”

His shaking hand reached out, knocking my phone from my hands. It spun through the shadows, landing at my feet with a dull thump that felt like a knife in my chest.

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