Gray's Shadow (Kings of Hell MC 4)

Gray scowled but followed Shadow upstairs, staring at Fane from behind his back. Fane had almost reached the second floor at this point, and he no longer seemed like a threat. Frustrated by the lack of reaction, he acted erratically, scowling and hissing at them while the frosty sensation gradually melted from Gray.

Then, the image in front of them stilled before falling to the floor in a cloud of dust.

Shadow turned back to Gray with a smile. “It was just an illusion. I can smell the ruby better up here. Let’s be careful.” He led the way faster now, and the wooden stairs squeaked under his weight, but Gray worried that they weren’t out of the woods yet. The cool sensation that receded when Fane lost his power was back, getting frostier with their every step.

A drop of ice cold water fell to his forehead, followed by another. Gray shuddered and stepped aside, briefly switching on his flashlight and pointing the beam at a wet spot on the ceiling above.

“Let’s be fast,” he said, pushing past Shadow on the way upstairs. The cold of the drops somehow spread over the back of his scalp, and then down his shoulders, making them stiff and freezing, as if he’d been standing in the snow for hours. But he knew it was just unease. There was literally nothing here that could physically harm them. A long as they paid attention to the quality of the wood under their feet, they would be fine.

The soothing sound of Shadow’s footsteps behind him was all the reassurance Gray needed. By the time he stepped into the second floor, the earlier unease was gone. Here too everything had been left eerily untouched. The carpet in the hallway seemed dusty, and there were cobwebs in the corners, but other than that everything remained in place. At least until Gray’s flashlight revealed damp stains shaped like foot tracks.

For the briefest moment, Gray stood still, breathing in and out as he convinced himself that Fane’s ghost operated on illusions. He wanted to scare them away from his domain by any means necessary. Some creepiness was to be expected.

When he stepped on the carpet, his foot sank in with a damp sound.

“It’s all soggy,” he whispered, sending vapor into the air as he followed the trail down the dark corridor, but further words got stuck in his throat when a weak voice had Gray follow the wet tracks all the way to a half-open door.

“Gabe? Is that you?” it asked, using a name Gray used to be called before his hair had changed color.

The chill that went down Gray’s spine was no illusion. He knew that voice. Rich and smooth, it remained a mirror of his own despite the raspy quality it had gained from years of smoking.

He couldn’t breathe at a normal rate, his lungs expanding only halfway when Gray pushed the door open and entered a simple bathroom with white tiles. With curtains obscuring the small window, it was the color of thick rain. Directly across from the door was a sink, and a small mirror, which showed Gray’s own face. In the weak light, the reflection was blurry, as if someone had smeared clay all over it.

Gray could no longer sense Shadow’s presence beside him, as if he’d somehow entered a different dimension where he was the only person left alive, the only source of sound in a vacuum.

“Hello?” he whispered, moving his gaze to the tub, which was partially hidden behind a shower curtain that seemed obscenely colorful in the hospital-like space. The same voice answered, rendering him motionless again.

"Anyone? Gabe? I'm so cold. Please, take me away from here…”

Gray stepped toward the tub on legs made of glass, and shoved at something that tried to pull him back. He didn’t need to know what it was, because what awaited him here was so much more important. So many nights, he’d lost sleep wishing for a chance to speak to Mike. Something he’d so many times both hoped for and dreaded.

When he pulled on the curtain with a trembling hand, the twisted leg was the first thing he saw. Submerged in blood-tinted water, Mike’s body shook, making the surface constantly tremble.

His limbs rested at angles so unnatural it made Gray nauseous, but he couldn’t look away, not when Mike’s hazel eyes met his. The scars on his face were still fresh, still bleeding, and when he shifted to sit in the tub, Gray spotted a gash at the back of his skull.

“You see all that water? My blood was so warm it melted the snow,” Mike said to the deathly silence.

Gray covered his lips, unable to turn his eyes away from the horrendous sight. Guilt had been anchored in his heart since the day Mike died, and now it would keep him grounded here. “I... I’m sorry. Can I do something for you?” he asked through the tightness choking his throat.