The Grim Room

CHAPTER 11

Photo by Adam Wilson on Unsplash

           

Alison woke with a start, propping herself up on the bed with elbows, cold sweat slithering down her cheeks, tufts of hair sticking to her temple, her eyes wide open and scanning the room. Where the hell was she? Oh, right. She was in Rebecca’s bed—that was why she felt uncomfortable. She shucked the covers off, swinging her legs out.

            Then she felt it again, that uneasy lingering something, the faintest seed of a memory. It contained loose images—vague—of blood, running, pills, screaming, passing traffic: Jesus. She remembered. It all, horrifically, came shooting back: Silver. Smuggler’s Cove. The chase. Oh, God. That sick fuck. Terror drummed through Alison’s body and she felt the desire to throw up. Only she wouldn’t give Silver the pleasure, that freak. Thank God she co…