Holden

Holden's dreams of Becca were as vivid as his false memories.

The storm, the cabin, the quilt atop the bed. The smell of her deodorant and shampoo. The way they kissed in the middle of the room, her hands trailing beneath his soaking shirt and up his stomach. Rain splattered against the window as the wind gusted through the trees just outside, rushing as fast as the blood through his body. He shut his eyes and opened his mouth to feel Becca's tongue flick against his. As it would. As it had always done.

"Holden."

His eyes snapped open.

Becca was no longer kissing him. She was gone, as was the storm and the rest of the afternoon light. In the darkness, two lit candles sat atop crooked end tables on either side of the cabin's small room. The only other light streamed from the cracked bathroom door, shining across watered-down puddles of blood.

"Holden, help."

The voice came from the bathroom—feminine, but not Becca's. But he knew the voice. He'd heard it on one too many audio files.

The shower turned on. Holden stepped forward, roaches scurrying across the floor and hiding in the cracks between the boards. He pushed open the bathroom door as a woman peeled off her blood-soaked shirt. Crimson smeared her pale skin and stained her bra. Even her dark hair was drenched, pink water streaming in rivulets from the ends of her locks.

Dr. Siena Dupont.

"Clean everything up. Everything." She started unbuttoning her pants. "Start a fire. We'll need to burn our clothes." She looked at him, her expression morphing into anger. "She's going to find us! Why are you just standing there?"

He felt it then. No, smelled it. A thick iron tang threaded a cloying stench.

He looked down at himself. At the blood.

Holden woke to a gorgeous naked woman sleeping on top of him.

It wasn't a terrible way to come to, minus the awful juxtaposition between his hard-on and his heart still pounding in terror. He supposed he'd take what he could get.

Carefully, he rolled to the side until Chelsea slid off him and onto her pillow. She murmured something in her sleep, and he tucked the covers around her and sat up, pushing the hair from his eyes and checking his phone on the nightstand.

Angel:my dude. dr Duponts next recording just unlocked

Holden texted back: Unlocked?

Angel: Yeah. like I cab listen to it now

Angel: can*

Angel: freaky af

Angel: when u coming in

Holden got out of bed, typing as he padded to the bathroom. It's 730. I just woke up. Why are you at work so early?

Angel: ex being royal pita. no sleep. Figured id come in early.

sorry (Message Sent)

Angel: don't need ur pity just get ur ass over here

He wouldn't be caught dead at work before nine, especially because it was the middle of finals and the ticket queue was high. He wasn't about to answer panicked professor emails off the clock.

He messaged back: let me shower

When he was in the bathroom, he turned on the shower and brushed his teeth as the water heated up. He and Chelsea had been dating for a month now, way too early for him to have a spare toothbrush at her place, but by the eighth time spending the night, Holden figured formalities were out the door and quickly got used to the casual nature of it all. She was great. So was the sex. Maybe it would turn into more than that, but for now, Chelsea was a palate cleanser. Normally he'd feel like an asshole for thinking such a thing, but she'd essentially told him the same after the first time they'd slept together.

Disappointments stung less when Chelsea distracted him, like the email he'd received from Dr. Chari a few weeks ago.

I've discovered I don't do well with dusting off old skeletons. Now that we know Dr. Dupont is okay, I will no longer be sharing the details of my Deadswitch studies with you or your friend. I appreciate you understanding, Holden. Returning to these memories is placing too much of an emotional burden on me at this point in my life.

I wish you well,

Maidei

Between the email and CalTech contacting him about Dr. Dupont, his interest in the mystery had dwindled to almost nothing. Angel had begged him to let her keep the files, even though CalTech had requested their deletion.

Holden didn't know why he'd let her have them; maybe because the files were a good distraction from her divorce, and he felt sorry for her.

He hadn't thought about Dr. Dupont and her research trip for a couple of weeks. It was quite the coincidence that her next audio file had unlocked right after he dreamt of her.

And that dream... What the fuck was that all about?

He didn't leave himself time to ponder as he showered and changed. Chelsea was awake when he reentered her bedroom, wrapped in a white sheet as she lounged in the morning light.

She smiled languidly at him. "Early day?"

"Finals week," he said. "A few more days of this and summer will be dead." He leaned forward to kiss her and grabbed his backpack from the side of the bed.

"Don't work too hard, Holden Sharpe," she called after him as he left her room. "I need a destressor tonight."

"Listen to this," Angel said as Holden walked into the office. She stood by the desktop, holding out a pair of headphones like she'd been anticipating him walking through the door ever since she texted him.

He scoffed, walking toward her and dropping his bag. "I told you, I'm no longer invested in this."

"Listen, you little hipster bitch, I'll tell you when something is no longer cool."

Holden barked a laugh. "Do you need me to go get you a coffee?"

Angel wilted and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, rough night. My cranky threshold is thin."

He took the headphones from her. "If I listen, will that placate you enough to make it through your shift without another outburst?"

She smiled and started the recording. "No promises."

Holden waited. "It's not playing."

"Patience," Angel said.

The recording was a half hour, and for the first part, it was like he was listening in on a painfully boring butt-dial with a weird thudding in the background until Dr. Dupont started calling for Dr. Yarrow. Holden leaned forward and began to actually pay attention. "What the hell is going on?"

"Keep listening," Angel said.

Holden did. He listened to the noise of almost nothing for minutes until a strange voice broke the silence.

"You shouldn't be here."

Holden pressed his fingers against the right headphone.

"You aren't strong enough ... It will fight to keep you here. Drag you deeper. You can't let it. PROMISE ME."

"Who is that?" Holden asked. "Isaac? Or that other guy who's with them?"

"Emmett. And I don't know." Angel bounced on her toes as she hovered over him. This was exciting for her. "Do you hear her whimpering, though? She's freaked out."

And running. Dr. Dupont's footsteps thundered as she crashed into things. At the end, the recording filled with chittering before Dupont screamed. Holden ripped the headphones from his ears.

"Wild, right?" Angel grinned like a maniac.

"What happened to her?"

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. But whoever it was who spoke, he definitely scared her." She tilted her head as she thought. "Actually, his voice sort of sounded like it belonged to your distant possessed cousin, or something."

Holden raised his eyebrows. "My distant possessed cousin?"

"Same deep baritone."

"So, I sound possessed."

Angel rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, why do I always have to spell things out for you? When I say you have a deep baritone voice, I'm using romance novel words, Holden. It's sexy. And no, that is not an invitation to hit on me."

Holden deadpanned.

Angel nodded toward the computer monitor. "But that guy? Creepy, not sexy. If it was Emmett or Isaac, I don't know why they'd try to scare her, or why she'd be so afraid of them."

Or why she screamed. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. CalTech already has these files. They know what happened to Isaac. And Dr. Dupont... she's fine."

Angel groaned. "But aren't you dying to know what happened on their trip? Don't you care?"

Did he care enough to keep digging? There was something about these uncorrupting recordings that made him feel like he was on some hidden-camera reality show meant to scare him. And now, Dr. Dupont had invaded a false memory that had been vividly seared into his brain for almost a year. The night in the cabin with Becca had always played in his head like an uncut film. Now, a woman he didn't even know had sullied it.

He hated that this bothered him. He and Becca were over. And Dr. Dupont was unaware of Holden's existence. There was no reason for that ever to change.

"I guess I don't really care," Holden said. "Not anymore."