Chapter 4
At midnight, the Cole estate was so still it felt less like a home and more like a tomb, all cold marble and buried sins.
The four of us changed into black athletic sets and slipped in through an abandoned storm drain I remembered from my previous life.
The corroded tunnel ran straight into Shawn's underground wine cellar. It was the same escape route I had stumbled across the last time I tried to run.
"God, this reeks," Melanie muttered, pinching her nose. "You sure this is it?"
"If you don't want to die, keep your voice down," I shot back under my breath.
We hauled ourselves out of the drain, waited out two rotations of armed security, then crept toward the basement entrance of the main house.
The basement door was sealed with a heavy electronic lock.
"Angela, you're up," I said, shooting her a look.
She might play the clueless pretty girl most days, but her hacker ex had taught her how to use a lock breaker.
Her hands trembled as she pulled a phone-sized device from her bag and pressed it against the keypad.
A sharp beep sounded.
Three long minutes later, the indicator light blinked green.
The door eased open. All four of us held our breath and slipped inside.
What waited for us nearly ripped a scream straight out of my throat.
It was a sprawling sterile laboratory.
Glass canisters lined every wall, filled with cloudy liquid. Inside them floated organs.
Eyeballs. Severed hands. Coils of intestines.
And at the center of the room stood a crystal coffin, even larger than the one back at our place.
A web of tubes fed into it, pumping different colored fluids into whatever lay inside.
I forced myself forward, one careful step at a time.
Through the misted glass, I finally saw the body within.
It barely qualified as human.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, tears flooding my eyes before I could stop them.
Half the face was intact. The other half had decayed down to exposed bone.
And on that preserved side, I saw it clearly.
Melanie's brows and eyes.
Angela's nose.
Chloe's lips.
And the outline of my own face.
Behind me, Angela gagged, trying to swallow it down.
Chloe's knees buckled and she hit the floor, pointing at the thing in the coffin, her lips shaking too hard to form a single word.
"What… what the hell is that?" Melanie's voice cracked.
I couldn't look away from the stitched-together horror in front of us. Cold seeped into my bones.
"That's his Snow White," I whispered. "He never went looking for us because he cared.
"He was harvesting the best parts of us to patch up that… corpse.
"Melanie, he wants your skin. Angela, your blood to slow the rot. Chloe, probably your vocal cords. Or your lips. And me…"
I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to steady the frantic pounding. "He wants my heart. Young. Strong. To swap out that mechanical one."
So that was the truth.
We were never replacements. We were never lovers.
We were inventory. Spare parts for his ruined doll.
Then slow applause echoed from the far end of the lab.
The sound ricocheted off steel and glass, hollow and deliberate.
"Impressive. Really impressive." Shawn's voice drifted out of the shadows.
He stepped into the light wearing a white lab coat and gold-rimmed glasses, a scalpel still wet with blood dangling loosely from his fingers.
His smile was as polished and gentle as ever.
His eyes, though, were unhinged, brighter and more fevered than any of ours.
"I was going to let you all enjoy one more night at home," Shawn said.
He moved toward us at an unhurried pace. Behind him, more than a dozen security guards emerged, tranquilizer guns raised and ready.
"But since you're clearly dying to meet your future selves, why put it off?" Shawn said.
He stopped beside the coffin and laid his hand against the crystal lid, stroking it with almost reverent tenderness.
Then he turned to us, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he flashed his unnaturally white teeth.
"Well, since we're all here…" he said casually, his voice cold. "Might as well get started. Tonight, my princess will finally wake up for good."
In that moment, despair swallowed us whole.
"Run!" Melanie screamed, spinning around to head for the door.
A loud thud echoed in the room. Melanie screamed as a tranquilizer dart struck her calf, sending her crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.
"Ah, my leg!" Melanie wailed.
"Don't move," Shawn said with a grin, holding up a scalpel and letting the light glint off its sharp edge. "The sedative hasn't kicked in yet. If you move, it's going to hurt like hell."
Angela was already sobbing uncontrollably, huddled in a corner. She was practically begging for her life. "Mr. Cole, please, I'm begging you. My blood type is all wrong.
"I have HIV. I'm sick. My blood's no good! I swear, I have a disease. You can't use it!"
She was throwing whatever dirt she could on herself, desperate to survive.
Chloe's face was a mess of tears. "Shawn, I watched you grow up. I used to hold you when you were a kid. How could you do this to me?"
Shawn didn't even glance at them. His eyes were locked on me—his obsession clear, his gaze heated.
"Thea. Come here." He gestured to me with a crooked finger. "Your heart's beating faster than the rest.
"Your adrenaline's through the roof. A heart like that's the best one for transplant."
I stood frozen, watching as the bodyguards closed in on us. I glanced over at Melanie, writhing on the ground, and the two women who were falling apart.
Was this really how it was going to end again?
Were we really about to die in the worst way possible, our bodies torn apart and merged with that thing?
No.
I wasn't going out like that.