“Is it truly her?” For a moment, time seemed to stretch as Thomas’s mind raced, grappling with the possibility that Layla could be there, just a few feet away from him. But as the girl turned, giving him a brief, uninterested glance before continuing on her way, relief flooded through Thomas. It wasn’t Layla. The resemblance was uncanny, but it was just a coincidence.
“Just a coincidence,” he murmured to himself, shaking off the uneasy feeling that had settled in his chest. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing his search for the florist shop.
When he finally entered the small, fragrant store, he was greeted by the vibrant colors and sweet scents of flowers in full bloom. The sight was both calming and invigorating, and for a moment, Thomas allowed himself to simply enjoy the peaceful atmosphere. But soon, he found himself faced with a dilemma: should he choose red roses or white ones? His eyes landed on a bouquet of deep crimson roses, their petals lush and velvety—a timeless symbol of love and passion.
He imagined the way they would contrast beautifully against Beatrice’s hair, their bold color a striking reminder of his deep feelings for her. But then, another bouquet caught his eye—white roses, pure and elegant. They symbolized innocence and reverence, qualities that reminded him of Beatrice’s gentle nature and the deep bond of friendship they shared. “What kind of rose should I give to her?” he whispered to himself, his thoughts torn between the two choices.
After a moment of contemplation, Thomas made his decision. It felt like the right choice—a symbol of the purity and sincerity of his intentions. With the bouquet in hand, he approached the counter, where the florist greeted him with a warm smile. “That’s a lovely choice. Is it for someone special?” she asked, her tone light and friendly. Thomas returned the smile, his heart swelling with the thought of Beatrice’s reaction. “Yes, she’s very special indeed.”
After completing his purchase, Thomas stepped back into the busy mall, his heart lighter than before. He couldn’t wait to see the smile on Beatrice’s face when he surprised her with the flowers. The thought of her happiness filled him with anticipation as he made his way toward the mall exit. But before he could leave, a familiar face appeared in the crowd, bringing him to a halt.
“Mrs. Lipps?” Thomas said, surprised.
“Thomas, dear, how are you holding up? And how’s Beatrice doing?” Mrs. Lipps asked, her tone filled with genuine concern. Thomas smiled back at her, grateful for her kindness. “We’re taking it one day at a time. Beatrice is still adjusting after everything that’s happened, but it’s not easy for her. She has a long way to go.”
Mrs. Lipps nodded, her expression softening with empathy. “I’m so glad to hear that she’s back home safe and sound. You both went through so much. When I learned about the butler being a false suspect and that it was actually your classmate who was behind everything, my heart just broke for you both.” Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “It was a tough time, but thanks to the support of people like you and the community, we managed to bring her back safe and sound.”
“And what about Layla? Have they caught her yet?” Mrs. Lipps asked, her voice laced with concern. Thomas felt a pang of bitterness at the mention of Layla’s name, the unresolved feelings still raw in his heart. “Not yet... But the police are doing everything they can to find her. I just hope they catch her soon.” Mrs. Lipps reached out, placing a comforting hand on Thomas’s arm. “I understand, dear. If there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?” “Thank you, Mrs. Lipps. I appreciate that. I hope you have a nice day ahead of you,” Thomas replied, his tone sincere.
Mrs. Lipps gave him a warm smile before they parted ways, and Thomas continued toward the mall exit, the white roses in his hand a reminder of the hope and healing that still lay ahead. As he stepped outside into the fading afternoon light, his heart was filled with a mix of emotions—relief, anticipation, and a lingering sense of unease.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Thomas stood outside the grand Williams mansion, the evening air cool against his skin. He had changed into casual attire, a subtle shift from the school day, to make his visit feel more relaxed and intimate. With the bouquet of red and white roses hidden behind his back, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The memory of the strange encounter at the mall still lingered in the back of his mind, a haunting reminder of the fear that hadn’t entirely left him. But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about Beatrice.
Ding dong! The chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet evening, and Thomas found himself bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, trying to shake off the unease. He reminded himself that it hadn’t been Layla at the mall, just someone who looked like her. But the encounter had been enough to stir the anxieties he was trying so hard to keep buried.
As he waited on the doorstep, his heart started to race for another reason entirely—prom. It was coming up soon, and Thomas had been thinking about asking Beatrice. But every time he imagined doing it, his words got tangled up, and he couldn’t find the right moment. Now, with the roses in his hand and the quiet of the evening surrounding him, it felt like the perfect time to practice.
“Hey, Beatrice,” he began softly, pretending she was right there in front of him. “I was wondering... Would you do me the honor of going to prom with me?” He shook his head, feeling the words come out too formal. “No, no... That sounds too stiff.” He tried again, clearing his throat. “Beatrice, I know things have been intense lately, but I think prom could be a great way for us to just... have fun together. What do you say?” He smiled at the thought, but it still didn’t feel quite right. Thomas looked down at the roses in his hand and sighed. “I’m overthinking this. Just be yourself, Thomas.”
He took another deep breath and tried one last time, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Beatrice, I’d love it if you went to prom with me. I can’t imagine going with anyone else.” As the words left his mouth, they felt right, honest, and real. A small, proud smile spread across his face. He could picture the way her eyes might light up, the way she might blush just a little, and how she’d smile back at him—maybe even say yes.
Just as he finished his quiet rehearsal, the door to the mansion opened, pulling him out of his thoughts. It was Beatrice; her smile was a beacon of warmth that instantly melted away some of his worries. “Hey, Thomas! You made it,” she greeted him, her voice light and welcoming. “Hi, Beatrice. I... I have something for you,” Thomas replied, his voice tinged with a mix of shyness and excitement. With a sheepish grin, he revealed the bouquet from behind his back. The sight of the flowers made Beatrice’s eyes widen in surprise and delight.
“Oh, Thomas! They’re beautiful! Thank you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. Thomas’s heart swelled at her reaction, and he found himself grinning even more widely. “I’m glad you like them. Should we go inside?” he asked. “Of course! Come in, please,” Beatrice replied, stepping aside to let him enter.
As they made their way upstairs to her bedroom, Thomas couldn’t help but notice how the mansion felt different tonight—warmer, more inviting. When they reached her room, the scent of the flowers mingled with the faint aroma of snacks that had already been laid out on a small table by the television. The screen was on, displaying jingles from advertisements on the television.
Thomas took a seat on the edge of Beatrice’s bed, while she placed the bouquet in a flowerpot on the windowsill, adding a splash of color to the room. “Um, Thomas?” Beatrice’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Yeah?” he responded, turning to her. “While we wait for the show to start, there’s something we need to talk about,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “What’s up?” Thomas asked, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. Beatrice hesitated for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “I can’t shake this feeling—that she’s still out there somewhere.”
“Who? Is it Layla?” Thomas asked, though he already knew the answer. Beatrice nodded, her expression troubled. “Yeah. I just... I keep thinking about it, and it scares me. What if she’s still out there, watching us, waiting for the right moment to strike again?” Thomas reached out and took Beatrice’s hand, his touch gentle yet firm. “I understand your fears, Beatrice, but Detective Phoebe assured us that they’re doing everything they can to find her. You’re safe now, okay? You’re home.”
“But what if they’re wrong? What if she’s just... lurking somewhere, waiting to come back and hurt us again?” Beatrice’s voice trembled with the fear that had been gnawing at her for days. Thomas squeezed her hand, trying to ground her in the present. “I know you’re scared, Beatrice, and I won’t pretend to fully understand what you’re going through. But we can’t let fear control our lives. We have to trust that the authorities are doing their job, and we have to focus on moving forward.” Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just so scared, Thomas. Scared of what might happen... scared of losing you.”
Without a second thought, Thomas pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as if he could shield her from all the darkness in the world. “I’m here, Beatrice. I’ll always be here to protect you. We’ll get through this together, I promise.” Beatrice clung to him, her fear and anxiety slowly easing in the warmth of his embrace. But even as she felt a small measure of comfort, the doubts still lingered at the edge of her mind.
“Thomas... what if something happens? What if she comes back, and we’re not ready?” she whispered against his chest. Thomas pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression serious yet filled with determination. “Then we’ll face it together. We won’t let fear take over. Hard times may come, but they won’t last forever. We’ll come out stronger on the other side, I promise you that.” Beatrice wiped away her tears, a small smile tugging at her lips as she nodded. “Okay, Thomas. I trust you.”
Thomas returned her smile, relieved to see the tension in her face starting to melt away. They settled back onto the bed, turning their attention to the television as their favorite show began to play. The room filled with the familiar sounds of laughter and light-hearted banter from the characters on screen, a temporary escape from the heavy thoughts that had plagued them.
But as they sat there, Thomas felt a sudden urge to use the bathroom. He chuckled softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “Hey, before the show gets really good, do you mind if I use the bathroom real quick? I’ll be right back.” “Of course—take your time, Thomas,” Beatrice replied with a smile, her voice light and teasing.
He smiled back, giving her a quick squeeze on the hand before standing up. As he made his way downstairs, he passed by Butler Eric, who was tidying up the living room. “Good afternoon, Butler Eric!” Thomas greeted him warmly.
The butler smiled and nodded in return before heading towards the garden outside. Thomas continued on his way, finally reaching the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the quiet of the room a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere upstairs.
He turned on the sink and splashed his face with cold water, hoping to clear the lingering unease from his mind. The coolness was refreshing, momentarily pushing away his worries.
But just as he was about to reach for a towel—
BAM!
A sudden, searing pain shot through his head as something hard struck him from behind. The world spun, and darkness began to close in as he stumbled forward, his hand instinctively reaching out to catch himself on the sink. But it was no use. Thomas’ vision blurred as pain throbbed behind his eyes, the impact from the blow nearly blinding him. He fought to stay upright, but his legs gave way, sending him crashing hard to the cold, tile floor. The world around him spun as he tried to focus, his heart pounding in his chest. When he looked up, a chilling sight froze him in place—the person who had haunted his nightmares, the one who had taken Beatrice away and nearly destroyed both their lives. The embodiment of his deepest fears stood before him, and her twisted smile was as sinister as ever.
“Layla?!” The word escaped his lips, a mix of disbelief and dread. Layla’s lips curled into a chilling smile as she took a step closer, her presence casting a dark shadow over the cramped bathroom. “Hello, Thomas. Long time no see,” she purred, her voice dripping with malice. Thomas’s blood ran cold, the sinister presence of Layla making every nerve in his body scream with a primal fear. He tried to push through the dizziness, the pain in his head making it hard to think clearly. The fear and rage swirled within him, nearly overwhelming him as he struggled to comprehend the reality of what was happening.
“Did you really think you could escape me, Thomas? That you could keep Beatrice safe away from me?” Layla’s voice was a venomous whisper, each word striking him like a dagger. In desperation, Thomas tried to shout for help, “HELP!—” But his cry was cut short as Layla delivered a vicious kick to his head. The pain was excruciating, and his vision darkened further. Layla’s giggle echoed through the empty room, a sound so cold and heartless that it sent shivers down his spine.
“Try to shout for help one more time, and I’ll end you,” she hissed, her smile growing more malicious as she watched him suffer. Thomas glared up at her through the pain, his heart filled with anger and fear. “You... you did all of this? The kidnapping, the torture... all because of your twisted obsession with Beatrice?”
“It’s not just an obsession,” Layla snapped, her voice sharp and filled with bitterness. “It’s because of everything she has and everything I don’t. A healthy family, good grades, wealth, talent, friends—she’s a living angel! And what do I have? Nothing! I only had my dying mother, and when she was taking her final breaths, all I wanted was to be with her, to feel close to her. But you and that detective, you ruined it.”
Her eyes darkened as she continued, “You ruined my chance to be with my mother in her final moments. That’s why I threw a rock at her head—she deserved every bit of it. And you, Thomas, you were nothing but a cockroach who ruined my plans at Whiteshore. I wanted to be buried with my mother beneath the water, where no one could ever find us.” Thomas could barely believe what he was hearing. “You’re... you’re insane,” he muttered, his voice weak.
Layla ignored his words, continuing with her twisted confession. “I urged Paul to help me kidnap Beatrice in exchange for two hundred thousand dollars. It was going well until that idiot messed everything up and got caught. And didn’t you notice Beatrice’s pen at the scene? Paul was supposed to clean up everything!”
“How did you find out that Paul was caught?” Thomas managed to ask, trying to keep her talking. Layla’s eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction. “I was with Kelly that day, at the library. We heard gunshots from Obsidian Park, and when I saw the police cars, I knew Paul had been caught. I always knew he would betray me, so I ran. I left Kelly there, abandoned everything, and took Beatrice with me. I had to disappear.”
“And the river... how did you survive the crash?” Thomas asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Oh, that?” Layla chuckled. “When I steered the car toward the river, I jumped out at the last second and hid under the bridge. I watched as you all frantically searched for Beatrice, completely oblivious to me. You thought I was dead, but I was always one step ahead. I changed clothes, hid out in that shack, and kept an eye on the police.”
Thomas felt a mix of anger and fear swelling inside him. Layla had been there, watching them, waiting for her next move. “You’re a monster,” he said, his voice filled with disgust. Layla’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure. “And you’re weak, Thomas. You couldn’t protect her then, and you won’t protect her now. Beatrice was never yours to keep. She belongs to ME.”
With that, she kicked him in the head one more time, the pain radiating through his skull like a thousand needles. Thomas’s vision darkened further, his body growing weaker as consciousness slipped away from him.
“Goodbye, Thomas. It’s been a pleasure knowing you—as a friend, a classmate, and an enemy,” Layla whispered. As she stepped over his body and shut the bathroom door behind her, locking it from the outside, Thomas reached out weakly, trying to stop her. But it was too late. His hand fell limp to the floor, and the world faded into darkness.
...
As the sun dipped below the 1972 horizon, painting the sky in a cascade of warm oranges and soft pinks, teenage Thomas and Beatrice sat side by side on a weathered park bench. The world around them seemed to quiet, the distant hum of the city fading into the background as they both became lost in their thoughts. The serenity of the moment was almost tangible, a perfect stillness that enveloped them as they watched the sun’s final rays slip away, giving way to twilight.
Thomas glanced sideways at Beatrice, noting the way the fading light played across her features, highlighting the soft curve of her smile and the hint of worry in her eyes. He had known her for as long as he could remember, and in all that time, she had become more than just a friend—she was his anchor, the person who understood him better than anyone else. The thought of a future without her in it was something he couldn’t quite bear to consider.
Breaking the silence, Beatrice’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she spoke. “Do you ever think about the future, Thomas? Like what we’ll be doing in ten years?” There was a vulnerability in her tone that made Thomas’s heart tighten. He could tell she wasn’t just asking out of curiosity; there was something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in her words.
Thomas turned his gaze back to the horizon, the colors of the sunset reflecting in his eyes. He had thought about the future—more than he liked to admit. The idea of growing up, of life pulling them in different directions, was something that gnawed at him in the quiet moments when he was alone. “Sometimes,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “I just hope we’re both happy, doing what we love. Maybe we’ll still be best friends, no matter where life takes us.” But even as he said it, a pang of fear settled in his chest. What if life took them so far apart that their bond couldn’t survive? He couldn’t imagine a future where Beatrice wasn’t by his side.
Beatrice nodded, but Thomas could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. The smile that had briefly touched her lips faded, replaced by a shadow of uncertainty. “Yeah, me too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know, sometimes I’m scared I won’t be good enough to achieve my dreams. What if I fail?”
Her words cut through him, and Thomas felt an overwhelming urge to protect her from the self-doubt that clouded her thoughts. Beatrice was everything to him—her dreams, her hopes, they mattered to him more than his own. The thought of her losing faith in herself, of her struggling alone with those fears, was unbearable.
He turned to her fully, his expression serious, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. “You won’t fail, Beatrice. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve always been the one who sees the light when I can’t. And even if things get tough, I’ll always be there to support you. We’ll face it together.” There was an urgency in his words, a deep need for her to understand just how much she meant to him. It wasn’t just about friendship anymore—it was about the unspoken connection they shared, the bond that had grown stronger with every year, every challenge, every moment they had faced together.
Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. She just gazed at him, her heart swelling with the realization of how much he believed in her. His words weren’t just comforting; they were a lifeline, a promise that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t have to face the future alone.
“Thank you, Thomas,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “That means everything to me.” And in that moment, as the last light of the day disappeared and the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Thomas knew that whatever the future held, they would find a way to face it together. Because for him, Beatrice wasn’t just a friend—she was the person who made life worth living, the person he would fight for, no matter the cost.
...
Thomas woke up with a jolt, his lungs seizing as he gasped for air, the acrid scent of smoke assaulting his senses. Panic gripped him instantly, his heart pounding in sheer terror as he realized something was terribly wrong. The cold, hard bathroom tiles beneath him were a stark contrast to the oppressive heat in the air. His head was spinning, a lingering effect from the attack that had knocked him out cold. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but the rising temperature in the room and the thick smoke seeping under the door told him it had been too long.
“Beatrice?!” His voice was hoarse and desperate as he struggled to push himself off the floor. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but the fear coursing through his veins overpowered the pain. He staggered to his feet, his balance unsteady as he lurched toward the bathroom door. The handle was hot to the touch, and when he tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge—something was jammed on the other side.
Panic turned to frantic determination as Thomas threw his weight against the door, ramming it with his shoulder, again and again. The wood groaned under the pressure but held firm, refusing to give way. He gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of strength left in his battered body. With a final, desperate push, the door burst open, sending him sprawling onto the floor, elbows first, the impact jarring his bones. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, before the full realization of his surroundings hit him.
The entire mansion was on FIRE.
The flames roared with a terrifying intensity, consuming everything in their path. Heat radiated from all directions, the air thick with smoke and ash. The once grand halls were now a hellish inferno, and the sight of it filled Thomas with a gut-wrenching fear. He scrambled to his feet, dodging a wave of heat that surged towards him as he made a mad dash down the hallway. “BEATRICE?!” he screamed, his voice cracking with fear. “Butler Eric! Mrs. Williams! Mr. Williams?!”
His shouts were met with nothing but the roar of the flames and the groaning of the collapsing structure. He stumbled through the burning corridors, his mind racing with thoughts of the people he loved. Were they still alive? Had they managed to escape? He couldn’t let himself think otherwise. The image of Beatrice, trapped and terrified, propelled him forward even as the smoke burned his lungs and stung his eyes.
As he reached the foyer, the chandelier above gave a loud creak before crashing down in front of him with a deafening bang, sending shards of crystal flying in all directions. Thomas shielded his face with his arm, the heat growing more intense as the fire consumed the chandelier, its flames reaching higher, feeding off the opulent surroundings. He pushed onward, the floor beneath him starting to buckle and crack under the relentless assault of the fire. “HELP!” he pleaded, his voice growing weaker, but no one answered.
His breath was ragged, each inhalation more painful than the last as the smoke filled his lungs. He covered his mouth and nose with his right arm, trying to block out the worst of it. Finally, he spotted the main exit, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. But his path was blocked by a large piece of wood that had fallen in front of the door. The flames hadn’t reached it yet, and with a surge of adrenaline, he grabbed the wood and pushed it aside, grunting with the effort. His body was weak, his strength fading fast, but he knew he couldn’t give up now.
With the obstruction cleared, he yanked open the mansion doors and stumbled outside, the cold air a shocking contrast to the fiery inferno behind him. Smoke and flames billowed out as he collapsed onto the gravel path, gulping in the fresh air like a man starved. He dragged himself to his feet, every muscle aching, and made his way through the garden, where he saw Butler Eric rushing toward the mansion.
“Butler!” Thomas shouted, his voice strained and desperate.
“Oh, Thomas! You got out!” The butler’s relief was palpable, but it was quickly overshadowed by fear. “What happened?!” Thomas could barely form the words, his mind still reeling from the horror inside. “After I was cleaning the interior of the house, I went straight outside to the garden to trim the plants, but when I got there, I smelled smoke coming out of the mansion, and to my surprise that the entire kitchen was on FIRE!” The butler’s voice trembled with panic. “I immediately went to the nearest telephone booth outside and called for help. They’re on their way.”
“That sounds great—did you see anyone else go outside before me?” Thomas’s voice was frantic, every second ticking by making his heart race faster.
“No, I just came from the telephone booth when I saw you!” the butler replied. “Were Mr. and Mrs. Williams inside the building earlier, before it started to burn?” “They were inside their room earlier, Thomas. Beatrice was inside too,” the butler admitted, his voice filled with dread. Thomas’s heart plummeted, a cold, terrifying realization settling over him. “Oh no–” Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and bolted back towards the burning mansion. “Thomas, no!” The butler grabbed his arm, his grip tight with concern.
“No, let go of me!” Thomas wrenched his arm free, his eyes wild with desperation. “Are you out of your mind?! The firetruck is going to arrive any minute! I can’t risk losing your life like this!” “Butler, Beatrice is in there. Someone has to help her– help Mr. and Mrs. Williams!” His voice was filled with a raw, unyielding determination. He couldn’t leave them, couldn’t leave her. He shoved the butler’s hand away and sprinted back toward the mansion, his lungs burning with each breath, the heat growing more intense with every step.
The butler, torn between duty and the instinct to protect, stood frozen in shock, unable to stop him. The wail of approaching sirens filled the air, the telltale WEE WOO of the fire truck growing louder as it neared the scene. People began to gather at the mansion gates, their eyes wide with horror as they watched the young man run toward the flames.
Thomas reached the front porch, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Just as he was about to step inside...
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the air as the first floor of the house blew up in a massive burst of flames. The force of the blast sent Thomas flying backward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. His vision blurred as the world around him spun into chaos, the sound of the explosion ringing in his ears.
He tried to move, to force his body to respond, but the pain was too much, and the sight before him too horrific. The mansion—the place that held so many memories, so much life—was now a blazing inferno, the flames consuming everything in their path. The thought of Beatrice, trapped inside, filled him with a grief so profound it felt as if his heart might shatter.
And as the fire truck finally pulled up, sirens blaring and firefighters rushing to the scene, all Thomas could do was lie there, helpless, as the fire raged on, threatening to take everything he loved. The afternoon was shattered by a deafening explosion, the sound ripping through the air as the Williams Mansion erupted into a blazing inferno. Flames roared to life, consuming the grand structure with terrifying speed, and the sky above was illuminated with a hellish glow. The once-majestic mansion was now an amalgamation of despair, its walls collapsing under the onslaught of the fire. Shadows danced on the horrified faces of those gathered outside, their expressions twisted in shock and fear. Among them stood Thomas, his eyes wide with disbelief and terror as he watched the place he had just fled from crumble into an abyss of flames.
Thomas’s world had collapsed into a suffocating silence, a void where the only thing he could hear was the echo of three terrible truths pounding in his mind: “Beatrice is gone. Mr. and Mrs. Williams are gone. The entire mansion is gone.” The weight of those words pressed down on him like an anvil, each one a heavy blow that drove the breath from his lungs. Everything else—the shouts of the firefighters, the roaring flames, the distant wail of sirens—was drowned out by the relentless ringing in his ears. It was as if the world had folded in on itself, leaving him trapped in a bubble of despair where nothing else existed but his grief.
The firefighters rushed past him, their boots pounding against the pavement, the water from their hoses hissing as it struck the flames. He saw them, the blur of their movements, but it was as if they were miles away. They were fighting a battle that he had already lost. They sprayed water onto the inferno, trying to tame the flames that had swallowed everything he loved, while others, clad in protective gear, disappeared into the burning building, braving the deadly heat in a last-ditch effort to save something—anything—before it was too late.
For a moment, Thomas was frozen, rooted to the spot as his mind struggled to process the horror unfolding before him. The heat from the fire was intense, searing his skin even from a distance, but the cold dread that gripped his heart was far more overwhelming. The flames had swallowed the mansion whole, and with it, Beatrice and her family. The thought struck him like a physical blow, and he could still hear their screams echoing in his mind, even as the world around him seemed to fade into a muted blur.
His chest tightened, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. His breath came in rapid, shallow gasps, each one more painful than the last. The edges of his vision darkened as panic gripped him, threatening to pull him under. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as if he could somehow force his mind to think, to move, to do something—anything—but his body refused to respond. He was trapped, paralyzed by the sheer terror of what he had just witnessed.
The world around him had become an incomprehensible blur of smoke, fire, and chaos. He didn’t have the strength to process it, to make sense of the horror that had unfolded so suddenly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The day had started so normally, so peacefully. How had it all gone so wrong?
He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t prepared for the world to be ripped out from under him. None of them deserved this. Not Beatrice, not her parents, not anyone. It was all so wrong, so unbearably wrong. His mind churned, trying to grasp onto something, anything that could make this nightmare make sense, but all he found was more pain, more confusion, more helplessness.
Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder, the touch startling amid his numbness. It was firm, steady, and for a moment, it was the only thing that felt real in the chaos.
“Thomas! Thomas, look at me!” A voice cut through the haze of his panic, sharp and urgent. Detective Phoebe was suddenly beside him, her hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him as if to jolt him back to reality. Her eyes locked onto his, filled with concern and determination. But her voice seemed distant, barely penetrating the fog that clouded his mind.
“B-Beatrice... they’re inside...” Thomas’s voice trembled, the words catching in his throat. He could barely speak, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a vice. “I... I couldn’t...”
Detective Phoebe’s grip tightened, her voice steady but commanding. “Thomas, listen to me! You have to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Focus on my voice.” Her words were an anchor, something for him to hold onto as the world around him spiraled out of control. But all Thomas could see were the flames, the fire consuming everything he held dear. Each time he closed his eyes, Beatrice’s face flashed before him—her laughter, her kindness, the way she had always been there for him. The thought of losing her was too much to bear.
His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his body shaking with sobs that tore from his chest. The grief, the fear, the helplessness—it all crashed over him like a tidal wave, dragging him down into the depths of despair. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he could do was cling to the hope that somehow, miraculously, Beatrice would survive this nightmare.
“Thomas, focus!” The detective’s voice was more urgent now, her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “Breathe with me. In... out... that’s it, slowly. You’re okay. We’re going to get through this.” She breathed with him, slow and deliberate, her calm, steady presence a lifeline amidst the chaos. Bit by bit, her voice began to cut through the fog of his panic, grounding him in the present. Thomas tried to match her breathing, drawing in air through his nose, releasing it through his mouth, each breath a painful effort to reclaim control.
The world began to come back into focus, the flames still raging, but Detective Phoebe’s voice was an anchor, something real and solid in a world gone mad. “I... I can’t lose her, detective,” Thomas whispered, his voice still shaking but more controlled now. “I can’t.”
Detective Phoebe’s expression softened, but her voice remained firm. “We won’t give up. We don’t know anything for sure yet. We need to stay strong for Beatrice and her family. They need us.”
With the detective’s help, Thomas struggled back to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. The panic hadn’t completely subsided; it lingered at the edges of his mind, a constant, gnawing fear that threatened to overwhelm him again. But he could breathe now, and he could think, and that was enough. He looked around at the chaos—the firemen working tirelessly to contain the blaze, the concerned faces of the onlookers, the distant wail of sirens in the night. There was still a chance, a glimmer of hope that Beatrice and her family could be saved. He had to hold on to that hope, for her sake and his own.
Detective Phoebe placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him once more. “We’re in this together, Thomas. We won’t stop until we find them.”
Thomas nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to push the fear down, to bury it deep where it couldn’t paralyze him. The night was far from over, and the fight to save Beatrice and her family had only just begun. He had to stay strong, had to keep moving forward.
Thomas let out a weary sigh, every breath a struggle against the weight of the night’s horrors. He pushed himself to his feet, his body heavy with exhaustion and pain, before staggering toward the mansion gates. Detective Phoebe, ever vigilant, was there to catch him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders, guiding him forward with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the chaos surrounding them.
“It will all be over soon, Thomas, okay?” Phoebe’s voice was soft, meant to comfort, but Thomas could only manage a hollow nod in response. The words were empty promises, impossible to believe when the world he knew had just been consumed by flames. His eyes, dull and unfocused, scanned the crowd that had gathered, each face a reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded. He couldn’t bear their pity, their judgment. He lowered his head, trying to hide from their stares, but the weight of their gazes pressed down on him, suffocating.
An ambulance pulled up, its lights cutting through the smoke-filled air, a brief reminder that there was still a world beyond his grief. Phoebe led him to the waiting vehicle, her grip firm yet reassuring as she opened the door. Inside, a nurse stood ready, her expression professional but kind. “Please get him recovered. He’s badly injured,” Phoebe instructed, her voice carrying the weight of authority and concern. The nurse nodded, immediately moving to assist, guiding Thomas into the ambulance with a practiced hand.
Thomas slumped onto the seat, his body too tired to resist. Detective Phoebe sat beside him, her eyes never leaving his face, her concern deepening with every passing second. “Oh, look at yourself, Thomas,” she murmured, reaching for a small mirror and holding it out to him. Hesitantly, Thomas took it, his fingers trembling as he brought the mirror to his face.
The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. A black eye, swollen and discolored, dominated one side of his face, while bruises and cuts marred the rest of his skin. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were stained with soot and blood. He looked like a man who had been through hell—and in many ways, he had. The nurse began tending to his wounds, her hands moving swiftly as she applied first aid, but Thomas barely felt the sting. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the nightmare that had become his reality.
Detective Phoebe watched him closely, her brow furrowed with worry. “Can you please tell me what in the world happened in that mansion?” she asked, her tone gentle yet probing. But Thomas remained silent, the horror of the night replaying in his mind in a relentless loop. His thoughts were jumbled, incoherent, as he tried to make sense of it all. “Please guide me in this one.” Detective Phoebe’s plea hung in the air, a desperate request for answers.
Finally, Thomas spoke, his voice cold and detached, “I thought you were finding her.” Detective Phoebe’s face tightened, realizing the direction this was going. “We are trying our best to locate Layla. Why? What’s happened?” But even as she asked, a terrible realization began to dawn on her, her eyes widening in fear.
Thomas’s voice was shaky as he continued, the events of the afternoon spilling out in fragmented sentences. “We just got reports earlier this morning of a sighting of her on Road 30. We checked it out... we found a newspaper article about Beatrice being found on the ground with tire tracks running over it.” His voice wavered, his emotions threatening to break through the cold facade. “I was supposed to spend time with Beatrice inside that mansion after class today. Butler Eric was there, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were there. I brought flowers for her... she was happy when she received them. But I wasn’t expecting it all to turn out like this. She was scared... scared that Layla was still out there, waiting for the right time to strike. And she did.”
His words came faster now, driven by the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “Layla hit me in the head... confirmed it was her all along. She told me she jumped out of that car, hid under the bridge when the crash happened. She was with Kelly at the library when they noticed Paul was caught. So she hid... in the wooden shack... with Beatrice.”
Detective Phoebe’s face paled as she listened, her mind racing to piece together the implications of Thomas’s story. “That’s terrifying,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. But Thomas’s voice trailed off, and he fell into a heavy silence. His mind was a whirlwind of fragmented memories and terror, but then—something clicked. A realization so horrifying it sent a fresh wave of panic through his already shattered psyche.
“Oh no,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“What is it?” Phoebe asked, her own anxiety spiking at the sight of Thomas’s growing dread. He struggled to speak, the words catching in his throat. “She... she mentioned something earlier... said she had a plan, and this was all part of it...” His eyes widened in terror as the pieces fell into place, the unthinkable becoming a reality. “Beatrice isn’t inside that mansion anymore.” Detective Phoebe’s heart sank at the implication. “What do you mean, Thomas? Where is she?”
“She has her now.” The words came out in a stutter, each one laced with fear. “Layla... she has her again.” His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he tried to suppress the rising tide of panic. His mind raced with images of Beatrice, alone and frightened, at the mercy of Layla’s twisted plans.
“No, no, no... This can’t be happening.” His voice was barely a whisper now, choked with desperation. “Damn it, Layla! Why her?! Why Beatrice?!” He could feel his sanity slipping, the weight of his guilt and fear threatening to crush him completely. He had failed to protect her once, and now the nightmare was repeating itself. The thought was unbearable, a cold, sharp pain that pierced his heart.
Detective Phoebe felt a chill run down her spine as Thomas recounted his last memories before blacking out. His voice was shaky, tinged with the horror of knowing that Beatrice was out there somewhere, alone with the monster who had terrorized them both. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but they revealed a picture that Detective Phoebe wished she could unsee—a twisted plan formed by Layla, the unpredictable mind behind the chaos that had engulfed their lives.
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