CHAPTER 2: THE EDGE OF THE NIGHT.

Wind howled through the room.

The curtains flailed violently from the open window, tangled in the cold breath of the early morning. Moonlight flooded the space, revealing chaos—smeared footprints, drops of blood, and the eerie silence left in Amy’s wake.

Jamey rushed to the window first, peering down.

Below, the hotel's high-walled backyard stretched like a prison yard—bare, concrete, and cruel. The only notable landmark was a dented garbage dumpster, its lid cracked open. A single, heavy-duty gate sealed the space off from the city beyond, padlocked and rusted shut.

“She jumped?” the tall man asked, scratching nervously at the patchy beard on his chin.

Jamey studied the drop. Five stories. Concrete below. If she had fallen, she’d be nothing but a broken stain.

“Even if she did,” he said with a sneer, “she won’t make it. She’s leaking like a stuck pig.”

He flicked the last of his cigarette into the darkness. The ember spiraled, vanished.

“She’s still in this hotel. Bleeding. Hiding. And we’ll find her body before sunrise.”

He turned, clapped a hand on the tall man’s shoulder.

“Come on, boys. When her body turns up, we drink till our brains forget this day ever happened.”

The man in glasses remained silent, watching the curtain ripple, eyes unreadable behind his frames. He glanced once more at the bloody floor, then followed the others into the hall. The door creaked shut behind them.

---

Below the chaos, hidden beneath the skin of the hotel, Amy was slipping deeper into the dark.

Her footsteps were uneven—more like a stagger than a walk. Her blood left a splatter pattern behind her on the basement stairs, marking her descent like a countdown.

The basement door creaked open under her trembling hand.

The air hit her like a wave—damp, heavy, and cold, carrying the scent of metal and mold. It was darker here. The flickering bulbs on the ceiling sputtered weakly, casting everything in a jaundiced haze. Cardboard boxes leaned in broken stacks. Bottles clinked faintly where they’d rolled into corners. Shadows gathered like watchers.

Amy limped forward.

Her gown clung to her skin, soaked through. The wound in her abdomen pulsed—every heartbeat felt like a punch to her spine. She collapsed into a corner behind an empty storage shelf, her knees buckling without warning.

Tears streamed down her face.

She curled onto the cold floor, her back pressed to the wall, hands cradling her wounded stomach. Her breathing came in gasps, then softer—like she was trying to disappear into the silence.

Her lips moved, forming a word too soft to hear.

Then… light.

Not from the bulbs—but behind her eyelids. A sudden, vivid warmth. A memory.

The click of a camera. Laughter.

She was on set, her makeup half-done, holding a clipboard and grinning into the lens. The director teased her from behind the camera. “Amy, if you steal my job, at least let me keep the chair!” The crew chuckled. She laughed louder. Freer.

Then another flash—her graduation cap sailing through the air, her parents cheering from the stands. Her mother blowing her kisses. Her father crying behind sunglasses he swore were prescription.

Then the apartment. Her little sanctuary. Film posters taped to the walls. A whiteboard covered in scribbled scene ideas and storyboards. Her voice on the phone, bubbling with relief: “She’s okay. They just let her out this morning. Yeah… Grandma’s home. She’s tired, but she’s smiling again.”

And then, silence on the other end of the call—her best friend just listening as Amy let herself cry, this time from joy.

Another heartbeat. Another flash.

Sunlight pouring through her kitchen window. Her grandmother at the table, folding laundry and humming that old song Amy could never name. A steaming mug of tea. A future unwritten.

And her voice, soft as the breeze through curtains:

“You are a good girl, Amy…”

The words wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Whole. Loved.

It felt so close.

She reached for it.

But her hand met only cold concrete.

Her smile faltered, breath hitching. The light dimmed. Her memories slipped through her f

ingers like ash.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

And the basement fell still.