‹ Prequel: Monster
Sequel: From Darkness

Hell Bound

Epilogue

My childhood bedroom was exactly how I remembered it. My mother never went through the process of changing it after Clara and I moved out. Even though Clara was doing pretty well for herself in New York and lived in a penthouse with Tony Stark. We all knew she was pretty much set for life, if not through the relationship, then at least through the gremlin he’d knocked her up with. Not that she’d done it on purpose, of course. But my parents were so excited to be grandparents that they didn’t even remember all the lectures about premarital sex they’d given us as teens.

My mom hadn’t left the room for Clara. She’d left it for me. Even though I moved away to DC and bought my own house, she still knew there might be a time when I needed to come home. She could have easily converted it into a guest room. Exchanged the matching twin-sized beds for one large one, or maybe done away with all the embarrassing teen posters and knickknacks. But she didn’t. Waking up on a twin-sized mattress with polka-dotted sheets was a little jarring at first. When I opened my eyes, I saw the band poster Clara hung over her bed after telling me she would marry the singer.

The second most jarring thing about waking up in my childhood bedroom was that I wasn’t wearing any clothes. I was alone. I sat up and held the neon pink and green comforter to my chest. I never slept naked. At least never in that bed. And I certainly didn’t sleep naked alone. So why the hell was I nude in bed at my parents’ house?

The memory rushed into my head as if my mind was supplying the memory for me. The third most jarring thing about waking up in my childhood bedroom alone and naked is that I hadn’t been when I fell asleep.

Okay, so I was definitely naked, but not alone.

We fooled around like two sneaky teenagers until I couldn’t handle it anymore and yanked his clothes off. We barely fit on the bed, and my mother let us go with a strict rule for him to take Clara’s bed. He never even touched it. He’d slept the whole night with his feet dangling off the edge. He kicked the laundry basket and banged his arm on the wall every time he moved.

The sound of laughter carried up the stairs. The whole house already smelled like cooking food, baking turkey, and maybe homemade rolls. I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept in, but I knew my mom would probably be irritated that I hadn’t come downstairs with Bucky. I climbed out and hurried to find my clothes before anyone could see me through the open curtains.

Then I followed the sound of their voices down the hall to the stairs. Stark was cracking jokes and making my dad laugh with a hearty chuckle. I knew exactly what his face looked like and the way his belly would jiggle when he laughed like that. What I didn’t expect was the chorus of other laughs that followed along. Russell was laughing alongside my dad.

And then my mind supplied an answer to a question I didn’t even ask. He’d come back with me so that we could finally spend a holiday together as a family—no more secrets. My biological father and my adopted father having a good laugh in the living room.

There were other laughs too. An easy-going one that must have been Graham’s. Sam’s was loud and mischievous as if he was already planning the next joke. Steve’s was light but heartfelt and genuine. And the other one. Short and quick but warm. Bucky.

They’d all come home together. To put their differences aside, to be a family. I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked in at the unexpected scene. They were all sitting around the coffee table, going through a box of pictures—Tony and Bucky, right there beside one another. Graham poking fun at Bucky and not getting threatened. Sam and Steve making fun of my childhood photos. Everyone I loved was all there in the same house.

We worked everything out. Everything was perfect.

“Oh, there you are,” Clara said as she stepped out of the kitchen like she was looking for any excuse to escape. “We were wondering when you’d wake up.”

“Sorry. I guess I had a long night.” She glanced in the direction of the living room, looking at Bucky like she was grateful to him. It was almost unsettling.

“Yeah, I bet,” she said. My mother stepped out beside her. She was already in her best clothes and had her hair curled and ready. She wore an apron to keep food off the dress she just couldn’t wait to put on.

“Morning, honey,” she said with a smile. “Could you do me a favor and get the cranberry sauce out of the garage? I forgot to grab it.”

“Yeah, of course. Is it with the other cans?”

“Yep. No one likes it anyway. So we might as well get the cheap stuff.”

She turned back to the kitchen, and I headed for the garage. I took a minute to locate the can, but something felt off about it. I knew what it was, and I knew what the label said, but the words were distorted. I couldn’t seem to focus on them.

I returned to the house, but the oddness seemed to follow. It was quiet when I stepped into the dining room. The TV was off now. There was no laughter. No clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen.

“Mom?” I asked, but no one answered. Bucky was standing in the doorway, blocking the living room from view. “Bucky?” He had his fists clenched at his sides. Blood dripped from his metal fingers onto the floor, creating a pool of scarlet at his feet. The blood was too red. Too shimmery. Panic burst into life inside of me. I jumped forward and shoved him out of the way.

They were all exactly where I’d left them. But there was blood everywhere, and no one was moving. Everyone stared blankly ahead as if they’d been caught mid-laugh when their throats were cut. Clara was the closest to me. She was lying flat on her stomach in a pool of her own blood.

I dropped to the floor, splashing in the puddle. I could hear him approach from behind me. His metal arm started up, and his boots tapped in the trail of blood that soaked the floor. Then his cold metal fingers wrapped around my face, smothering my panic in his palm. He held a knife in his other hand. One of the good ones my mom always saved for special occasions. He twisted it in his fingers and then jerked it back toward my throat.

I choked on air and pulled against the restraints latching me to a table. The girl stepped away from me. I couldn’t make out her features in the dark, but her eyes shimmered crimson from the shadows. She stepped back toward the men who’d brought her to me. Her hair was illuminated by the light behind her, but nothing else stood out to me.

“She’s afraid,” she said. She had a familiar accent. Like my grandmother’s. Sokovian.

“Yes,” the man told her as he gently patted her shoulder in comfort.

“What did you do to me?” I asked, trying to get free of the straps holding me down.

“I showed you your future,” she said. They pulled her away, leading her back out so she could rest. Then I was in the dark, breathing hard, trying to work through the haze she’d left on my mind.

“What did she show you this time?” a voice asked from the shadows. Russell sounded exhausted. Wounded and suffering. It was the kind of voice a person made when they were barely conscious.

“The same thing she shows me every time,” I whispered. “I saw him kill—everyone.”

“It’s not real,” he reminded me.

“I know.”

“Sooner or later—you’re not going to believe that anymore.”
♠ ♠ ♠
To be continued in From Darkness...