The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(54)

“Shit.”

“What?” I pushed ahead of him then stopped too. “Oh.”

Unlike the other rooms, this one had been occupied recently. A mattress piled with blankets was pushed up against one wall. There was a gallon water jug and a flashlight on the floor next to the mattress. And a book, laid open to mark a page. I tried to see the title and take in the other stuff in the room—newspapers, food wrappers, a pair of boots—but Enzo pulled me back and whispered that we had to leave, and he didn’t sound happy anymore.

I pulled away from him. “Enzo, it could be Lizzie.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

I moved toward the mattress. Enzo grabbed my shoulder hard enough to hurt.

“Hawthorn, it’s not Lizzie.”

I turned to look at him. His face was pale.

“We spend all this time looking for her, and now that we finally have a real lead, you don’t even want to check it out?”

“Stop it,” Enzo said. “This isn’t pretend. Someone has been squatting in this house. Not Lizzie. Not a werewolf. We need to get the fuck out before whoever it is comes back and finds us here. So let’s go.”

I still hesitated, glancing back at the bedroom. My eyes landed on boots. Men’s boots.

My stomach sank. It was suddenly hard to breathe. I imagined every killer from every horror movie I’d ever seen, waiting downstairs for us with a knife or machete or chainsaw. Probably not a gun. That would be too easy. Our death would be too quick.

“Let’s go,” I agreed in a whisper.

Enzo nodded and started down the hallway. I followed. I wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, but I didn’t.

We were halfway down the stairs when I heard the noise, a creaking sound from somewhere below us. Enzo and I froze. I put my hand over my heart, which felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest.

We waited.

There was nothing but silence.

I opened my mouth to ask Enzo if he thought it was clear when there was another sound. Someone—something—other than us was moving around in the house.

“Enzo.”

“Shhh.”

We listened. There was definitely something in the house with us. Something that was trying to be quiet. Maybe something that was listening for us the same way we were listening for it.

“We can’t stay here forever,” I whispered.

Enzo nodded and slowly began making his way down the stairs. He winced every time a riser creaked.

We hesitated again at the bottom of the steps. The hallway was empty. The front door was still ajar, like we’d left it. We could run for it and be outside in a moment. Unless the something in the house was crouched in one of the shadowy doorways between us and the front door, waiting to grab us as we passed.

I stepped out and looked back toward the kitchen. There was a door at the end of the hallway we hadn’t opened when we were exploring the first floor. It was smaller than the others, more like a coat closet than the doorway to a room. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t a closet. I was especially sure of it when I heard another shuffling sound.

“It’s in the basement.”

Enzo nodded. He made a beeline for the front door. But I stayed. There was something below us, maybe a monster, maybe a man, and maybe even Lizzie Lovett. My imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me. This wasn’t me being weird or wishing for something crazy to happen. There was really something moving around downstairs.

“Hawthorn,” Enzo hissed.

I didn’t take my eyes off the basement door. I wanted to know what was behind it. I needed to know.

“Hawthorn, let’s go!”

Enzo was getting frantic. The footsteps were coming up the basement stairs. I couldn’t look away.

“Hawthorn!”

I could hear a doorknob rattling, a rusty hinge whining as a door swung open.

Or maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, I bolted.

Enzo and I ran down the porch steps and raced across the field toward the trail and my car. I was pretty sure I’d never moved so fast in my life. I wondered if the rush was anything like what my brother had felt while running across a football field to score a touchdown.

Enzo and I got to the broken gate and hurdled over the debris. I dug in my pocket for my car keys. For a brief moment, I wondered if this would be the time my car didn’t start, if all the months of putting off taking it into the shop would finally catch up with me. The thought was scary but also exciting. The whole situation was scary and exciting.

The adrenaline rush gave me clarity. It was as if I were watching myself in a movie instead of actively participating. I was fully in the moment, aware of everything around me at once.

My car started on the first try. I drove, bumping down the dirt road faster than was reasonable in a Volkswagen. Enzo twisted in his seat and watched out the back window.

When I got to the fork in the road, I slowed.

“Is it following us?”

Enzo shook his head.

For a second, we just looked at each other. Then we started laughing. The tension left my body. I stopped the car and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, giggling. I could feel Enzo shaking with laughter next to me.

“What was that?” I asked a little bit later when I caught my breath.

“I don’t know. Maybe we imagined it,” Enzo said.