The Dead Room

67

The gunshot had startled the woman. Her head shot up and she started coughing up blood.

Darby moved next to her. ‘You’re safe. They’re all dead.’

The woman trembled against her restraints. Blood trickled down her chin. She was trying to speak.

‘Say that again?’ Darby moved her ear close to the woman’s lips.

‘Kevin… ah… ah…’

‘Reynolds?’

‘Yes.’

‘I cuffed him downstairs. He can’t hurt you.’

‘Babies,’ she wheezed.

‘What babies?’

‘Sons… ah… Michael. Carter.’

‘They’re here? In the house?’

‘Hiding. Michael…. ah… hid brother. Safe.’

‘Where are they hiding?’

‘Dead… ah… room.’

Dead room? She must have meant bedroom.

‘Safe,’ the woman said. ‘Hiding underneath… ah… bed.’

‘I’ll go get them.’ Darby opened the door.

‘Ma-Ma-Ma-Michael!’ Russo’s scream was a wet, crackling wheeze. ‘Come… ah… out.’

Darby ran across the dark hallway.

‘Come. Ah… ah… safe. Okay.’

Darby stepped up to the door with the broken lock. Almost pitch black in there; the light-blocking shades had been drawn. She searched the wall and found the light switch.

Dried blood screamed from the walls. Pools of it covered the carpets and valance.

‘Bed,’ Russo wheezed. ‘Un… ah… Un… der… ah… neath.’

Darby got down on her hands and knees and gripped the valance. Dust blew into her face as she leaned forward and looked underneath the bed.

Nobody was there.