1
LYDIA
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I SWALLOW HARD when I reach my destination, eyes going up, up, up as my stomach drops down, down, down.
I double-check the address texted to me by an unknown number, hoping it might have transferred incorrectly to the Maps app, but everything lines up, which means I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
And right where I’m supposed to be is apparently a dead-end road on the wrong side of Memphis.
The building in front of me is imposing and dark. It’s three full stories high with gaping windows void of even a hint of light. The block exterior is painted a color so deep it might as well be black and the eerie edge of deterioration makes it seem almost sinister. It’s the kind of place I'd normally cross the street to avoid passing.
Not tonight. Tonight I have to go inside and face the ghosts who haunt it. Nameless, faceless men who speak in whispers and codes, moving in the shadows of night, blurring the lines of good and evil as they take on the monsters of the world.
I hope they can slay one for me.
"Hello?"
The disembodied voice nearly stops my heart and I stumble back, scanning the dimly lit street for the source of the strangely pitched tone.
"Hello?" I hate how shaky my voice is. I've been through too much to show weakness now, so I clear my throat and straighten my spine. "Who's there?"
"Hello?"
I swallow hard when the single word repeats, thready and muddled. My eyes go back to the three-story structure looming over me. The face of it is lined in shadows that seem to move just when I start to blink, shifting around as I try to pin them in place.
Maybe the ghosts here are more literal than I initially thought.
The possibility of finding yet another flaw in the words my father spewed would normally intrigue me, but tonight I have more important things to worry about than the faults in his sermons.
I lift my chin, doing my best to brush off the odd sounding voice, and reach for the keypad fixed to the metal gate standing between me and my sister's safety. I attempt to punch in the code texted to me from the same unknown number that provided this address, but my hand is shaking so much I accidentally screw up and enter the wrong numbers. Dragging in a deep breath, I force myself to calm down yet again as I think of my sister and how much I know she’s suffering.
Myra needs me to get it together. To prove I'm just as horrible as they all say I am.
"Hello?" The slightly screechy voice comes again, stealing any semblance of calm I managed to attain.
"Listen," I grit my teeth and clench my hand into a fist, squeezing tight before stretching my fingers over the illuminated pad of numbers again, "I'm going to need you to stop being creepy for just a second so I can get this open." I slowly push my way through the code, letting out the air burning in my lungs as the lock flicks free. I take one more steadying breath before shoving the gate open and stepping inside what some might consider a courtyard.
If their standards for that sort of thing are very, very low.
It’s barely deep enough to park a small car and completely overgrown. Ivy vines pile around the edges of the fence and foundation, clawing their way up the block and across the gutters. The front porch doesn’t look much better. It’s big, probably the same size as the entire yard, but just as rundown looking. The pillars and plank flooring are faded and peeling, and more than a few of the spindles are missing from the rails.
The place definitely looks haunted as hell.
"Hello?"
This time I ignore the voice. It hasn’t responded to me yet, so there’s no sense continuing to reply. That would be crazy.
I almost laugh because right now everything I’m doing seems crazy.
I’m alone in an industrial park on the outskirts of Memphis at midnight because a sketchy barfly told me the man who lives here can help me.
Can help my sister.
So, after nothing more than a handful of cryptic text messages offering a meeting time, location, and gate code, I’m here hoping to find that help instead of a homicidal maniac.
But maybe a homicidal maniac could be just as useful in this situation.