Page 11 of Black Castle

She doesn’t move.

“I just wanted—” she takes in a sharp breath, her nails digging into her palm. “I just wanted to apologize. It can’t fix anything, but I just needed him to know that I’m truly sorry.” Then she chuckles, drily. “But I guess if I was truly sorry, the saint thing to do is to go back and tell the truth to the entire school?” She bites her lip, her toe kicking at invisible dust. “And I am not brave enough to do that.”

“It’s okay.” Kenji’s words aren’t at all dismissive. They hold regret and understanding. A quiet acceptance that she needs to hear.

“He’ll come around,” he says.

Vivienne stares at the door for a moment longer.

He won’t come around.

It is over.

The chapter between Ian Griswyk and Vivienne Marchand have ended. There will be no them on the next page.

There will be no sequel.

Soon, they will vanish behind time.

Chapter Four

Vivienne

The dark is alive.

It is breathing, pressing against Vivienne’s skin, curling deep into her lungs like smoke.

Her heartbeat slams against her ribs, uneven, frantic, while she gropes blindly for the door. And as she claws, scratches, and pounds at the coarse, broken wood, her fingers shake, her knuckles breaking open. But she can’t even feel the pain. Only the fear. The fear of being locked alone in the dark.

“Please.” Her voice is hoarse and cracked from screaming. “Please, I’m in here. Let me out, please.”

Nothing. No one hears her.

The closet becomes smaller and smaller, suffocating, the air growing thicker and more stale. Each breath becomes a struggle, while the darkness wrapped around her throat tightens.

Hunger pangs causes her to whimper as she huddles in the small room’s corner, hand on her aching stomach.

She closes her eyes, but it doesn’t make any difference. The darkness is ever present.

She is just beginning to drift off to sleep when the sound of footsteps and rustling near the door startles her.

She jumps, her body slamming against the door, her knuckles rapping frantically.

“I’m in here!” she screams. “Please let me out!”

The footsteps suddenly stop, the silence heavier than it was before. Then she hears it, loud and boisterous—laughter. It’s high-pitched…cruel.

She stumbles back, her hand cupping her mouth as loud sobs echo past her lips. Her body presses against the wall, her shoulders shaking as their laughter scratches against her skull.

The air is almost out. The walls are closing in. And the laughter continues to echo inside her head.

Then a loud blaring noise resonates in the room, before a force lifts her up, hauling her across the room, clawing a sharp shrill from her throat.

Then her eyes snap open.

She is sitting up on her bed, body tangled in sweat-damped sheets.

Her pulse pounds against her throat as she looks around, her fingers curled into the sheet. For a moment, the darkness still presses against her skin. The phantom sensation of being trapped inside there—the abandoned locker room back at Paul Sabatier Elementary, the student’s laughter echoing in her head.

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