Chapter 4
Alison
Cold wind knifed through the broken window, cutting like a razor. I peeled the bloody rag off my shoulder—the wound had scabbed over into a dark, crusty mess.
Damn, that bullet had found its mark.
The basement of the abandoned research facility was crammed with moldy file boxes. Candlelight danced across the walls. I grabbed a box at random—labeled Aurora Project—1995—Classified.
My pulse hammered as I broke the seal. Madison, what the hell did you stumble onto?
I flipped through the pages, and with each one, ice spread through my veins.
"1995. Village Massacre... Seventeen Inuit children subjected to hypothermia experiments..."
My hands began to tremble.
"1998. Twelve pregnant women—vivisection procedures... Fetal brain tissue successfully harvested..."
"2003. Homeless Shelter Initiative... Thirty-four test subjects. Survival rate: 5%..."
Bile rose in my throat. These sick bastards had been at this for twenty years!
I kept reading—and there it was: Madison Black. But she wasn't the first victim. Hundreds of nameless souls had died before her.
"Madison, you weren't their first. But I swear to God you'll be their last." I whispered to the flickering flame.
In another box, I found photos of an infant. That was... that was my nephew. What had he looked like alive? What kind of monster had they turned him into?
"My little nephew... what did those animals do to you?"
Fury blazed in my chest, but I forced myself to think straight. I'd already tried the direct approach—nearly got myself killed.
Madison always said brains beat brawn. Time I finally listened.
I found a cracked whiteboard and started plotting my revenge. Thompson, Grant, Caitlin... every last one of these bastards would pay.
But first, I needed to find their pressure points.
Thompson's psych profile made me grin. Alcoholic. Superstitious as hell. Severe hydrophobia. Jackpot.
"They've got guns and manpower. But I've got their nightmares. Their guilt." I scrawled each target's weakness across the board.
Studying Thompson's file, the perfect plan crystallized. "Thompson's terrified of water... I'll make him drown in his own fear."
Aurora Bay was crawling with ghost stories about vengeful spirits. Time to make those legends flesh and blood.
Night one: I broke into Thompson's house. The paranoid bastard hadn't even bothered with decent locks.
I scattered lake seaweed across his nightstand, along with chunks of ice from the morgue's freezer. On his bathroom mirror, I smeared two words in my own blood: You're next.
Crouched in his closet, I heard his blood-curdling scream.
"What the fuck is this? Seaweed? She drowned in that lake..." His voice cracked with terror.
His wife stirred, irritated. "You're hammered again. There's no seaweed."
I bit back a laugh. This was just the warm-up.
Night two: I spiked his bourbon with embalming fluid I'd lifted from the funeral home. That stench—like rotting corpses—would haunt his dreams forever.
Night three was my masterpiece. I arranged Madison's photo and the baby's ultrasound in his bathtub, surrounded by a ring of black candles. When Thompson stumbled into the bathroom, his scream could've woken the dead.
"Madison! Jesus Christ, she's back—with the baby!"
That broke him completely.
The scene at Murphy's Tavern was better than I'd dared hope. Thompson was raving like a lunatic, drunk off his ass and scared shitless.
"Her ghost came back! Madison's hunting me!" His voice echoed through the bar.
Grant and Caitlin went white as sheets. I lurked in the shadows, watching them squirm—and felt pure satisfaction.
Grant leaned close to Caitlin, hissing. "He's lost it. He'll drag us all down."
Caitlin's eyes turned predatory. "Suicide by guilt-ridden drunk. Happens all the time."
Thompson's terror reached its breaking point. He bolted from the bar, heading straight for the frozen lake.
I followed, wanting a front-row seat for the finale.
At the lake's edge, Thompson collapsed on the ice, howling at the moon. "Madison... forgive me..."
Then he jumped.
The black water swallowed him whole. Silence.
I stood on the shore, watching the ice close over him like a grave. A familiar rush of satisfaction flooded through me.
Killing still felt this damn good.
I remembered now. Ten years ago at school, watching those classmates writhe in agony—it had felt exactly like this.
I'd been playing pretend for so long. Pretending to be normal, pretending to be kind, pretending to follow Madison's advice about being good. Because I couldn't bear to disappoint her, couldn't stand to see that look in her eyes.
But Madison was gone now. No one left to disappoint.
I could finally be myself again.
The Alison Black that even the psych ward doctors had nightmares about.
Three days later, I was holed up in an abandoned warehouse, licking my wounds. My shoulder was finally on the mend.
My phone buzzed—text from an unknown number:
[I have your sister's baby. Want to save him? Research station, 9 PM tonight. —Caitlin]
I nearly dropped the phone. The baby was Madison's dying wish made flesh. Trap or not, I had to go.
She had sacrificed everything for me. Now it was my turn to do the same for her child.
Research station. 9 PM tonight.
I checked my weapons, gearing up for what might be my last stand. Whatever trap Caitlin had waiting, I was bringing that baby home.
He was Madison's final gift to this world. My last shot at redemption.
Night fell, and the northern lights painted the sky electric green. Tonight, either I died—or they did.
No middle ground.