The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(36)

Shadows pool in the corners. The plastic hanging from the ceiling rustles in phantom wind. Every second that ticks past pounds at the inside of my skull. I want Brooklyn to get away from here. I should be trying to mess Riley up—every moment we waste could be the moment Brooklyn finds an open window or a door without a lock on it.

But as much as I want this to be over and for Brooklyn to be safe, I still don’t know what she’s capable of. She could be hiding around every corner, waiting on the other side of every wall. She could be anywhere.

A floorboard groans. I jump and spin around, but it’s just Grace. She slips down the stairs without a word.

Riley lifts the worn black backpack from the floor where I dropped it. She pulls it open and removes the butcher knife. Her bare feet are practically silent as she moves down the hallway, her back to the wall to keep the floorboards from creaking. I picture the rows of nails wedged into the window frames. There’s no way Brooklyn could pull them out of the wood before we reach the first floor. I have to stall Riley.

“Hurry,” Riley hisses. She starts down the stairs, and when she reaches the landing, she pauses and cocks her head.

I hear it, too—laughing. At first it’s faint, but then it bubbles into a giggle and cuts off abruptly. I turn to look for Alexis, but the hallway behind me is empty. She must’ve already gone into another room.

“Check on Lexie,” Riley says. The top of her head disappears from view as she makes her way to the first floor.

I drag my feet down the hall until I’m standing in front of the window at the end of the hall, next to the cloudy sheet of plastic hanging from the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I see something dart across the floor, and I spin around. A knotted rope hangs from the ceiling, casting a shadow that sweeps over the floor as it sways back and forth, back and forth. I reach out to steady it, then tilt my head, following the rope to a door directly above me. The attic.

The plastic sheet rustles, even though there’s no wind.

“Brooklyn?” I turn, listening for breathing, but I only hear my own heart hammering in my chest. The blurry shadows between the plastic and the unfinished wall look large enough to be a person. I step closer, my sneakers squeaking against the floor. I lift a shaking hand and wrap my fingers around the plastic.

Someone laughs. I turn so quickly I lose my balance and stumble into the window behind me. The pane shudders, and for a second I’m certain it’ll crack. But it holds. The glass feels cold against my bare arms.

There’s silence in the empty hallway, then the laughter rises again. It’s breathless at first. Then gasping—hysterical. It’s coming from the bedroom across from me. I creep forward and push open the door.

Alexis is alone in the empty room, her wide, vacant eyes fixed on some point on the wall in front of her. She balances on the sides of her feet, curling her bare toes inward, like claws. Blood stains the skin along the bottoms of her feet.

Giggling quietly to herself, she twists a long strand of blond hair around her finger. Tighter and tighter she winds it, until her fingertip turns blue.

Then she yanks—pulling the hair right out of her head.

I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands to muffle the sound. Alexis turns her head slowly, like she just realized I was there.

“Don’t you think it’s funny?” She spreads her fingers and the lock flutters out of her hand, landing on a pile of hair at her feet. Curly strands cover the floor like tiny blond question marks.

“What’s funny, Alexis?” I swallow, forcing my eyes away from the hair.

“We’re all going to die here,” she says in a raspy voice. “We’re going to die screaming.”

A chill runs down my spine. The door behind me slams open and hits the wall with a crack. I take a deep breath as I turn around, so I don’t look as terrified as I feel.

Riley stands in the hallway, one hand curled around the doorframe while the other rests next to her leg, clutching the butcher knife. Brown crusty blood clings to the hems of her jeans. She glances at the hair piled beside Alexis’s bare feet but says nothing.

“Find Brooklyn yet?” Alexis asks. Riley taps the knife against her leg.

“She’s not downstairs.” Riley lowers her hand from the doorframe and steps into the hallway to glance out the window. “Grace thinks—”

A ceiling beam groans above us.

“What was that?” I whisper.

“She’s on the roof.” Alexis puts a cold hand on my arm. Blond hair clings to her fingertips. “How did she get on the roof?”

The attic door falls open with a crack. Riley jumps and her knife clatters to the floor, its handle sliding beneath the plastic sheet behind her.

I swear under my breath and stumble into Alexis. She releases a string of half-crazy giggles and winds another bunch of blond hair around her finger. The attic door swings back and forth, its hinges creaking.

“No one’s there,” Riley gasps, relief flooding her face. She kneels, fumbling along the floor with shaking hands. She stares at the dark hole in the ceiling that leads to the attic while she gropes for the knife. I watch the door, too, picturing Brooklyn dropping down on us. Every hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure appear behind the plastic sheet covering the walls.

Before I can react, Brooklyn tears the sheet from the ceiling and brings it down over Riley’s face. Riley screams, and Brooklyn tightens the plastic around her head, pulling her to the floor. She pins Riley’s arm to the floor with her shoulder and tightens the plastic around her face.