Page 30 of Mourning Wings
Downstairs, theWhitmoresare busy with preparations for the party.Ipass through the foyer, catching fragments of their conversation with a woman scribbling notes.Mr.Whitmore’svoice is low but sharp as he says something that sends a shiver through me.
“Makesure the basement is ready.Andmake sure no one goes down there, do you understand?”
Ididn’t even know this place had a basement.Ishake off the uneasy feeling creeping up my spine.It’snone of my business.Still, the way he said it sticks with me asMrs.Deeringleads us outside.
Dinnerat the guest house is a quiet affair.Theboys retreat to their rooms afterward whileMrs.Deeringfusses over the dishes.Ihead to my temporary bedroom, unpacking my sketchbook and reaching for my pencil, only to realize it’s missing.Groaning,Iretrace my steps in my head, realizingImust’ve dropped it back at the mansion.
Fora moment,Idebate whether to sneak out and retrieve it.Itseems risky, butIhate leaving things unfinished.IfIhurry, no one will even noticeI’mgone.
Slippingout the back door,Idart into the woods.Themansion looms ahead, imposing and dark.AsIapproach, something catches my eye—a man wearing a white mask, slipping out of a doorI’venever seen before.
Curiositytakes over and, instead of heading to the main entrance,Icreep toward the mysterious door and slip inside just before it closes.
Anarrow set of stairs spirals down into darkness, andIdescend slowly, each step making my heart pound louder.Atthe bottom,Ifind myself in a room filled with monitors—dozens of screens showing different parts of the house.Mystomach twists asIstep closer, watching the guests mingling and drinking.Anotherscreen grabs my attention—it features a large room with a stage in the middle, surrounded by chairs.
Maskedfigures drag a woman onto the stage, her body weak as she struggles.Igasp, my blood running cold as they tie her to a chair.Whatthe hell is this?
Istep back, panic seizing my chest.Ineed to help her.Irace down the corridor and see double doors at the end of the hall.Thatmust be where she is.Withouthesitation,Isprint toward them, flinging them open.
Mybody tenses when the masked man on the stage jerks the woman’s head back by her hair.Hermouth falls open as she gasps for air, her eyes wide and glazed with terror.Blooddrips down her face from the gash on her head.Ican’t breathe—Ican’t even blink.Myheart hammers in my chest asIwatch in horror, rooted to the spot.Mylegs scream at me to move, butI’mfrozen, staring as the man pulls out a knife.He’sgoing to kill her.
Dosomething!
Adrenalinesurges through me, snapping me out of my stupor.Ilet out a strangled scream, rushing forward. “No!Stop!”Idon’t even know whatI’mdoing—Ijust knowIcan’t watch this woman die.Icharge toward the stage, but beforeIcan reach him, someone grabs me from behind, yanking me back with brutal force.Mybody jerks andIthrash against the strong arms holding me. “Letme go!”Iscream, kicking and twisting as hard asIcan.Theman’s grip tightens, butI’mfrantic.
Theman on stage sneers at me from behind his mask, his hand still twisted in the woman’s hair.Shewhimpers, her voice faint and broken. “No, please…”Herwords are cut off as the knife presses to her throat.
Myscream rips through the room asIthrow my foot back with every ounce of strengthIhave, aiming for my captor’s groin.Iconnect hard, and the man behind me grunts in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to get away.
Istumble forward, dodging the hands reaching for me.Maskedmen close in on all sides, butI’mtoo fast.Iduck under one man’s arm and dart toward the door.Myheart pounds in my ears asIpush through, slamming it behind me.
Outside, the air is cool and sharp, andIgulp in a deep breath, my chest heaving.Ican’t stop running.Ihear footsteps behind me, heavy and fast.They’recoming.
Ibreak into a sprint, my feet pounding the ground asIrace toward the trees.Mylungs burn, my legs screaming with every step, butIdon’t dare look back.Ijust need to reach the woods, whereIcan disappear into the shadows and find a way out.
Outof nowhere, a force slams into my back, andIgo flying, crashing into the ground hard.Theimpact knocks the wind out of me, and for a moment,Ican’t move.Myface presses into the dirt, filling my mouth asIgasp for air.
Handsgrip my shoulders, flipping me over.Myhead spins asIblink at the figure above me, my heart sinking into my stomach.
It’sMr.Whitmore.
He’snot wearing a mask, but the cold, empty look in his eyes is worse than anythingIcould’ve imagined.Helooks down at me, his lips curling into something like a smirk. “Youshouldn’t have seen that,” he says, his voice calm—almosttoocalm.
Iopen my mouth to scream again, to beg, to say something, but beforeIcan,Ifeel a sharp sting in my neck.
“No—”Igasp, but it’s too late.Thedrug floods my veins, and my limbs go numb.Myvision blurs asIstruggle to keep my eyes open, but the darkness is too strong, pulling me under.
Thelast thingIhear isMr.Whitmore’svoice. “Younever should’ve come here,Camila.”
Iwakeup to blinding light, the kind that burns through my eyelids and makes me wince.Slowly,Iforce my eyes open, but the room around me swims in and out of focus.
WhereamI?
Itry to piece it together, but allIget is fragments.It’slike someone ripped out entire chunks of my memory, leaving me hollow.Myname…What’smy name?
Ilook down at my body.Myarms are tangled in tubes.IVlines snake out from my hands, pumpingGodknows what into my veins.Myheart starts to hammer in my chest, my breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.WhyamIhooked up to all this?Panicgrips me like a vice.
“Hello?”Myvoice is hoarse, weak, likeIhaven’t used it in days.Iclear my throat and try again, louder this time. “Isanyone there?”