The mattress welcomes Lydia like a delicious, giant marshmallow as she flops onto it, utterly exhausted. Running through her head, the last song playing in the car on the way back to the hotel, ‘Mr Sandman’ by Nan Vernon, one of her favourites from Alex’s Christmas gift. Lydia loved this version because of its darker and edgier tones compared to the original. More elegant. More beautiful. She mumbles along with the words as she rolls over and kicks off her high heels, clumsily.
She wonders if Alex is lying on his bed right now thinking about her. Will she be the last thing on his mind before he goes to sleep tonight? The thought makes her giddy, but also scared. She wasn’t kidding up on the roof of the police station; she really isn’t sure whether this is something she can do. Something she’s even capable of.
Outside the window, snow has begun to fall again. Beyond the drifting snowflakes, Lydia thinks she catches sight of something flitting by in the darkness. A bird maybe, or a bat. Some creature whose nature would never be subject to the uncertainty hers now was. Predators don’t go soft.
Her thoughts turn to Gretchen. Did she make it to the staff Christmas party? Probably not, especially after the drama with Shade today. Lydia imagines the doctor looking in on her sleeping children, her pale face vivid in the glow of a night light. She imagines the warden too, starched pyjamas and a stiff nightcap, celebrating his little victory. Would he really follow through on his threat to torture her? It’s just one of the many reasons why her doubts about staying in Decanten a moment longer than necessary, are still eating away at her.
Her heart feels heavy with the weight of the biggest decision she has ever made, maybe will ever make. Alex’s face appears in her mind’s eye, that cheeky grin playing about his lips, those big, brown eyes gazing back at her adoringly, and she feels sleep begin to overtake her.
As it does, in the shadowy corners of her imagination, another figure lurks. A feral creature, a wicked thing with sinister intentions. It is watching her, but she cannot see it clearly. Not yet. Soon.
Just a few miles away, Jason Devere lies on his bed, in his cell, staring up at the window high above. Crisp winter air whistles through the old building and he can taste it on the tip of his tongue, something at once fresh and ancient, light and dark, good and evil. Tomorrow is the day. The final chapter is about to begin.