Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

“Another story tells of a ballerina dancing on the twelfth-floor balcony, too,” she continued. “They could see her from the windows higher up. The light rain, shining as it reflects the city lights, dancing with her as she twirls and leaps in the air. Stories added up over the years, sightings and questions… A girl who never checked in and never checks out, hiding by day and dancing by night.” And then her voice dropped to a whisper, making the hair on my arms stand up. “Always alone, always hiding.”

It couldn’t be true, but I kind of wanted to believe it was. It was like a treasure hunt, wasn’t it? A girl, concealed from the world, hiding. Right under everyone’s nose.

“Why are you telling me this story?”

“Because she’s still there,” she replied. “Hiding on the secret floor. Alone. At least that’s what I like to believe. Secrets and mysteries make life fun, don’t they?”

I smiled to myself, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees again. “Yeah.”

Her fingers came up to the screen, and I finally saw a piece of her. Her slender hand, fingertips, and short nails.

“I like your secrets.” She sounded breathless. “And who are you really hurting by keeping them? Right?”

The wind and water surrounded me, and I realized that’s where the scent had come from. I’d smelled her as soon as I stepped into the confessional. She was already here.

“Do you listen to other peoples’ confessions often?” I asked, somewhat amused.

“Sometimes.”

Her reply was so quick, I couldn’t help but admire her. I liked that she felt so at ease being honest, and I kind of hoped it was because of me.

“I lie, too,” she offered.

“To whom?”

“To my family,” she said. “I lie to them all the time.”

“What do you lie to them about?”

“Anything I need to keep them happy. I tell them I’m fine when I’m not. I see my mother, and I’m not supposed to. I lie about my struggle to be loyal.”

“Is it important to keep the truth from them?”

“As necessary as their desire to know my every step, yes.” Her fingers drifted down the screen, her nails scraping it barely. “They still see me as a child. Incapable.”

“You sound like you might be,” I mused. “Young, I mean.”

A scoff escaped her lips, challenging me. “I was ancient at six. Can you hear the sound of that?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure her out. Her voice, everything she said, who she was… Ancient at six. She’d grown up too soon. That’s what she’d meant.

Leaning back again, I watched her dark form shift on the other side of the screen. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want to stop talking, either. Not just yet.

She said she couldn’t talk to me if I saw her. Did I know her then?

“We’re only ever good, because there are consequences,” I told her. “Take those away, and everyone shows their true self. Kind of like taking off a mask.”

“Or putting one on,” she replied. “After all, there’s freedom in hiding, isn’t there?”

Yeah, I guess—

“Do you like the feel of a mask?” she chirped, changing the subject.

It was kind of out of the blue, and my heart skipped a beat. “Why would you ask me that?”

She knew who I was, didn’t she? She knew it was Devil’s Night.

“I like the feel of one,” she said. “Like this screen and the darkness. They’re kind of like masks, aren’t they?”