"It stands on that hill overlooking the village like—oh, like some kind of dark idol." —Salem's Lot

Erica and Boyd are having a good night; they have the house to themselves, they've got popcorn and candy, and they've got a good movie playing on TV. The only way it could get any better would be if Boyd would just accept the fact that Nathan Wallace is a dilf.

"He's not," Boyd's arguing. "He's fucked up."

"Yeah, but I could fix him."

"You couldn't."

"Could."

"Couldn't."

"Could." Then the door bursts open under a thick-soled boot and the mood is ruined. Erica jumps off the couch, shoving Boyd behind her and grabbing the first weapon she can find. It's a half-empty bowl of popcorn, the scariest thing about that is the fact that she spit some gum in it five minutes ago to argue with her boyfriend. "Haven't you assholes ever heard of knocking," Erica snarls. She lifts the bowl, ready to throw it when one of the four goons brings a gun out of the waistband of his pants.

"We tried knocking," the guy says. "You didn't answer. You were too busy watching a dumpster fire of a movie." Erica squawks her outrage and throws the bowl, popcorn flying and a satisfying thunk heard when the cheap plastic collides with a girl's head.

"Eri," Boyd says, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Baby, they've got guns and all we've got are bad attitudes." The girl straightens up, kicking the empty bowl away from her with the same boot that had left scuff marks on Erica's brand new front door.

"I heard your girl had a temper, Boyd," the leader says, a cocky tilt to his lips. He's smirking at them; he pulled a gun on them, insulted the best-worst opera of all time, and now he's smirking at them. Erica lunges for a bag of jewel pops but Boyd stops her. "Christ, she's amazing. Ain't she amazing, Hayden?"

"She's certainly got great aim," Hayden says. She's grinning at the other girl that was still rubbing her forehead. "Think we could recruit her, Theo? I like the spirited ones." The scathing look Erica sends Hayden would have made Coach's loan testical go into hiding for fear of its life. Hayden, however, just winks at her.

"Why are you assholes in my house," Erica asks through gritted teeth. This isn't a normal thing that happens to normal people, this is a thing that happens in action movies starring Bruce Willis.

"We need to borrow your boyfriend," Theo says, shrugging apologetically. "Gotta take him up to Eichen House and sacrifice him." Erica stares at the man in stunned silence and Boyd's the one to break it, raising his hand like he's waiting to get called on in class.

"If you wanna sacrifice someone, there's this dude named Harris at my kids' school—" Erica's elbow collides with his midsection and he doubles over with an oof.

"No," Erica says sternly. "You're gonna pay him that fifty bucks and we're gonna be done with him." She looks back to the goon squad, giving them her best glare. These people would never guess that she's struggling not to pee her pants. "I'm gonna give y'all five seconds to get out before I start throwing shit."

"Do you really think you're in a position to negotiate," Theo asks. Erica grabs a handful of dum-dums and cocks her arm back. "You really are something, Erica. Unfortunately, you're disposable." He levels the gun with her head, racking the slide. "Put the candy down or I'll put a bullet between those pretty eyes of yours."

"Not her head," Hayden says. "She's leverage. Shoot her in the foot."

"Why shoot us at all," Boyd demands. "Why sacrifice me? Is this a cult thing? Are you trying to be the new Manson family?"

"Nah, we're mercenaries," Theo says, conversational, like he's talking about how nice the weather's been lately. "We gotta sacrifice you to get an ancient weapon from that old loony bin three hours from here." That's when it all clicks in Erica's head—he calls the Hale Institute Eichen House because he's not local, which means the ancient weapon is….

"You're talking about the Darkness, aren't you?"

"Sure am." Erica takes a step back, letting Boyd curl his arms tightly around her. She can't go back to that place, she can't. "I suggest you two get to stepping before I shoot you right here and now."

Erica seriously hates her life.

The basement steps are slick with a year's worth of mold and rain damage, so Chris has to keep one hand on the wall for balance. Ahead of him, her feet barely touching the stones at all, is Kate. She walks with a predator's grace, the same way she always has, but she flickers in and out depending on the light—insubstantial, snow on a dead channel.

"How is this possible, Katie?"

"A lot of things are possible in this place," she says, the same husky timbre. She hasn't changed since last year apart from being almost translucent; her tan has disappeared and there are thick gashes that start at her collarbones and disappear beneath the scooped neck of her dress. He thinks of Y-incisions and autopsies.

"But why didn't you contact me before now? Why wait a full year and then be all vague about it?" Kate stops, one foot poised over the final step as she glances at Chris over her shoulder. Her brows are drawn together, head tilted slightly to the right, confused.

"What are you talking about? I don't have a way to contact you."

"I got an email—"

"What? Why the fuck would I email you if I could call or text? I don't even have my phone." She scoffs at his obvious stupidity and he feels the familiar stirrings of agitation. "Nah, the house wanted you here for some reason. I don't get it, the stupid place already has me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" So she tells him the story, he gets a detailed list of Kate's entire night from the moment she arrived to the moment she was murdered.

"It all went blurry after I died," she murmurs. "I remember Peter knocking me to the ground and carving me up like a Christmas ham. It hurt so bad, Bubba. It was like lines of fire instead of a scalpel, it burned me inside and out. When I woke up after, I was just cold. Warmth is a memory."

"I'll kill him," Chris growls. Kate continues down the steps and moves out of the way so Chris can follow, laughing low in her throat.

"You can't kill him, Chris. He's already dead. He's deader than I am." She stops in front of an old metal cabinet, resting one gray hand on it. "I'm going to show you what happened to me, I need you to see in order to understand." The cabinet doors open by themselves, a slow groan of rusted metal, and then the pieces of his sister are on display. Her lungs and heart are in perfect condition, resting on shelves while the rest of her—arms, torso, head—have begun to decay.

Chris stumbles backwards, bile rising in his throat. This can't be possible, this corpse couldn't be his baby sister when she's standing right in front of him. But it is and that's the worst part, the knowing. There's a bow and arrow tattooed on the corpse's calf, there's the birthmark on its belly, the scar running diagonally across one shoulder from the jagged end of a beer bottle. It's Kate and it's not at the same time.

"Tell me how to fix this," he begs, dropping to his knees. "Tell me how to get you back, Katie. I can't just leave you here." Tears burn his throat and turn his vision blurry, his dull nails scratching at the concrete until they're ragged and bloody. Kate's heels come into view and then she's crouching beside him, cradling his face in her hands.

"You can't fix everything, sweetheart. All you have to do is make sure Allison grows up to be a better person than either of us. You get out of here and keep that little girl safe from this place. And…. And take me with you. Bury me in the woods." She smiles, soft and innocent like when she was a little girl. "Plant lavender and visit me on full moons."

"And roses..." He sniffles, but he doesn't wipe his tears away. "Roses and lavender for luck." Kate laughs and there's nothing harsh about it, no signs of their hard living.

"That's exactly right. But you gotta move fast before the house decides to keep you." Chris nods and sets to work, finding an old duffle stuffed inside one of the rooms. He carefully transfers Kate's remains into the bag and has the strap hoisted onto his shoulder when he hears muffled sounds coming from upstairs.

"What's that?"

"Nothing good." Kate's gone when Chris turns around, but he senses her presence all the same. He moves quietly up the stairs, crouching low once he makes it to the door. He can see the lobby from this position, can see the group of six people with one of them being held at gunpoint. The lights flicker and then grow brighter, revealing a whole host of things Chris missed when he first came inside.

"Homey, ain't it," a man says, moving away from the group. He's got an athletic build and dark hair that's been carefully styled, the fluorescents making his eyes seem to glow blue. Chris recognizes him from magazine covers and gun conventions, a playboy that moonlights as a mercenary if the price is right. What the fuck is Raeken doing here?

"It's a dump," the hostage says. "I guess it matches your personality, though." Chris isn't going to lie, he likes that girl already. If they make it out of here without getting shot in the head, he'll buy her a drink.

"Don't antagonize the man with a gun to your head, please," the big man next to her pleads. Chris knows these two, they're the only people who walked out of this place alive last year. He did research on them, but it didn't turn up anything of interest. Reyes and Boyd are ordinary people who got lassoed into other people's drama.

He could sneak out through one of the broken windows, drive away and never look back, but what if he picks up the newspaper one day and sees their obituaries? What if they end up dead and stuck in this house just like Kate? Chris isn't a good man by any means, he's morally gray at best, but…. They have kids, he remembers. Two boys, twins, that they adopted soon after they escaped last year. He can't leave those kids to the mercy of the foster system again.

Kate crouches beside him, almost invisible now, a cold line down his right side.

"You can always sneak out," she suggests, but the looks she gives him says that she knows he won't. He doesn't think Kate could turn her back on these people either if she knew they had kids because they both know what happens to parentless children. They have their own scars and therapists to prove that a stable home life is priceless.

If he dies saving these assholes, Braeden's going to kill him.