Riley walked as though in a daze. His feet carried him forward, his legs and body moving on auto pilot but his mind was in such a fog that it never even registered to him when he began to ascend the staircase, taking him to the second floor. His heart pounded in sync with the muffled echo of his foot steps. He needed to find Noah. He had needed to talk to him, to help him through the devastation of discovering Lilian's lies.
Riley couldn't begin to understand what Noah was going through. He'd had years to get used to the idea of being raised by strangers, of not having a real family. Years to come to terms with his parent's death but Noah, he'd spent his years living in ignorance, believing the lie that Lilian had so carefully spun around him. Now, to have the truth revealed and the lie come crashing down around him must have been mind blowing and without the time needed to really come to terms with it, just have it thrust upon him like that, well, Riley wouldn't be surprised if the blow had further shattered his already fragile mental state.
Riley could have kicked himself for bringing all of this down on Noah's head. The guilt he felt weighed heavily on his mind and while he did believe that Noah would have wanted to know the truth eventually, Riley couldn't help but think that there could have been a better way to go about it. It would have been far too easy to have put the blame solely on Lilian but Riley couldn't do that. In part, he was to blame as well. Without his overwhelming desire to get to the truth, none of this would have happened. Maybe Noah was right. Maybe Riley was becoming obsessed. He just hoped it wasn't too late to fix this and salvage what was left of Noah's sanity.
Every creak and moan of the old steps felt like the mansion itself warning Riley, urging him to turn back. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his heartbeat quickened. Every instinct he had was telling him to stop as the weight of everything he'd discovered up until this point was threatening to crush him. His resolve was strong though and so he pressed on, ignoring the shouts of warning that echoed through his mind.
Something definitely felt off. The mansion was unnervingly quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to press in on him from all sides, making it hard to breathe. He hesitated midway up, his hand resting on the worn banister, it's wood polished smooth by years of use. The darkness above felt oppressive, as if it were alive, waiting for him to step into it so it could swallow him whole. The dread he felt, staring up at the darkness settled heavily in his chest, growing tighter with every breath he took. It was an unfamiliar kind of fear, one that clawed at his insides and sent icy tendrils of panic crawling up his spine.
His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts--should he go back, or should he press on? The nagging sense of danger was overwhelming him, urging him to flee while he still had the chance. He thought of his unborn child, nestled safely inside him, oblivious to the danger of the world beyond. If Riley continued on this path, would he be putting not only himself at risk but the baby as well? Then came the thought of Noah. He was up there, alone, hurting. He needed Riley. He needed comforting. Riley could feel it, and he knew that he couldn't abandon Noah. Besides, what was he really afraid of anyway? The dark? He wasn't a child anymore and he wasn't one to give in to foolish imaginings.
He swallowed hard, steeling himself against the fear that gnawed at him. He reminded himself that Eleanor Reaney was a friend, of sorts. She would never harm him. Still, he was having a hard time convincing himself that his theory was true. Something had happened, and El was pissed. Her emotions radiated throughout the house as though it were an extension of her and for the first time since encountering the spirit, Riley was really and truly afraid.
Despite his growing concerns, he pushed himself to continue. He had to reach Noah, but each step that he took became more difficult than the last as his legs began to feel heavy, like they were made of lead. He forced himself to move forward and as he did, the shadows around him seemed to grow thicker and darker, as if they were closing in on him, whispering threats of what lay ahead. With each step, the air grew colder.
A fine layer of sweat coated his skin, despite the chill. His pulse quickened and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. The fear he felt was almost suffocating and each creek of the steps sent a jolt of anxiety through his body. His heart pounded, every beat sounded like thunder in his ears, as an old memory from his childhood began to resurface. He'd almost forgotten, it had been so long ago, a life time ago, when monsters were real and his worst enemy was his own imagination.
There had been a couple he'd stayed with when he was very young, barely out of diapers. The couple was older and had no children at home. Their own children were grown and had moved out to start their own families long ago. The couple owned an old farm house though grey and weathered, it had a welcoming feel, from the front porch to the wide hallway. The walls were lined with photographs of children, so obviously loved and cherished. Riley felt at home in that old house and the couple had been kind to him. Everything about the old house had evoked fond memories of a happy childhood, well, almost everything.
How had he forgotten the door, that damn basement door? It had been an ancient, heavy thing, chipped and worn with age, and every time Riley ventured into the kitchen alone, his eyes would be immediately drawn to that old door like a magnet. The sight of it sent his imagination spiraling into dark, terrifying places. He could still remember the adrenaline that would flood his system, his heart racing as he pictured all manner of horrors lurking behind that door--ghosts, monsters, and creatures that existed only in his most darkest of nightmares.
He'd stand frozen, staring at it, waiting for the moment it would creak open on it's own, and then he would run. He'd run faster than he'd ever run in his life, his tiny legs barely able to carry him as he fled to the safety of his bedroom, shaking and close to tears. He'd hated that basement door but most of all, he hated the way it made him feel, small, weak, and alone. That was a feeling he'd become all too familiar with in the years to come though at the time he couldn't have known that. Aside from the feeling of fear he got when near the basement door, he felt safe and loved living in that house. After a year of living there he was moved to another home and never felt the same sense of love and belonging as he had in the old farm house.
Thinking back, he realized that what he felt now, the fear he was feeling was different than before. It evoked the same sense of panic in him but what he felt now wasn't born of childish imaginings of monsters lurking in the shadows. This was real, tangible, and it chilled him to his core. He was no longer a frightened child running from shadows; he was a man, and the danger he sensed was something more terrifying than anything his young and impressionable mind could have dreamed up. The darkness around him seemed to almost come alive, and it seemed to almost be aware of him, as if watching him.
