The pounding came again—three hammer-strikes against the door, each one shuddering through the wood and straight into my ribs. My breath snagged in my throat. The woman's voice slithered through the gap beneath the door, frayed with panic: "Please let me in!"
This wasn't right.
10 PM. No deliveries. No guests. My parents weren't home, and their warnings coiled like barbed wire in my gut: Don't open the door. Not for anyone. But the terror in her voice was a hook in my chest, dragging me forward. The floorboards groaned under my weight as I crept closer, my pulse a frantic drumbeat against my collarbone.
"Are you okay?" I called out, my voice paper-thin.
"Can I come in?" she begged, the words wet and shaking. "Someone's following me."
The air smelled like rain and something sharper—iron, maybe. Blood. My fingers hovered over the deadbolt. Every instinct screamed at me to step back, but the raw fear in her voice was a live wire down my spine.
I turned the knob.
The door burst open before I could pull it all the way, and she surged inside—a whirlwind of tangled dark hair and wild eyes. The stench of damp earth and sweat hit me as she shoved past, her shoulder clipping mine. Cold night air rushed in, raising goosebumps on my arms as I slammed the door shut behind her.
She pressed herself against the wall like she wanted to melt into it, her breath coming in ragged, animal gasps. Her gaze darted to the windows, then back to me, pupils blown wide. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone.
"It's okay," I lied. "No one's getting in now."
But my parents didn't answer. The call rang into silence, and the cold weight of abandonment settled in my gut. They'd really left me here. Fifteen. Alone. With a stranger who looked like she'd stared into the mouth of hell.
"Just—just breathe," I said, more to steady myself than her.
Her head snapped toward me. "Who are you calling?" she hissed, her voice a blade. "You're with him, aren't you?"
The accusation sent me stumbling back. "What? No!" I thrust my phone at her, the screen glaring bright between us. "See? I was calling my mom!"
The contact name flashed: Highest Command.
Her breath hitched. "Who is 'Highest Command'?" Her voice splintered as she crumpled to the floor, arms locked around her knees like a child bracing for impact. "You're one of them."
My stomach dropped. Shit. "It's just a dumb joke," I babbled, hands raised. "She controls everything—the house, my curfew—it doesn't mean anything!"
But her eyes stayed locked on me, black with terror. The air between us curdled. I needed her to believe me. Needed anything to make this make sense.
"Call the police," I blurted.
Her face crumpled. "I lost my phone… running from him." A sob tore out of her, raw and guttural.
"Take mine." I shoved it toward her.
Our fingers brushed—both trembling so badly the phone slipped. It hit the floor with a crack, the screen shattering into a web of black.
Silence.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The woman folded in on herself, her sobs silent now, her whole body shuddering like a dying animal. My stomach lurched. This wasn't fear. This was horror. If it was just some creep outside, why wasn't she relieved? Why wasn't she safe?
"Stay here," I whispered, though it sounded more like a prayer.
I turned toward the door—
And froze.
The voice came again, identical, syllable for syllable:
"Please let me in!"
Ice flooded my veins. My pulse roared in my ears.
Because the woman was still behind me.
Crying.
So who the hell was knocking?
And worse—what was inside with me?