I rattle around in my bag for my keys to the house, and a strange thought crosses my mind. This is the


    first time I have ever had to use them. star picks me up and brings me home every single time. His car


    isn’t out the front, but then it may be in the garage. I open the front door and walk into the house. It’s just


    after midday. He’s not expecting me for hours. I can hear music on upstairs in his office and I know he’s


    home. I look all around and I notice the door down to the cer is open. I walk over and peer down the


    darkened staircase. I look around the room and then back to the stairs leading down into the basement. I


    want to know what’s down here.


    I hear a creak from above me. star is definitely upstairs.


    Shit, what do I do?


    If I don’t see what’s down there now, I may never know.


    I take the first step down and stop on the step. Do I really want to know? My heart is beating so damn


    fast, I can hardly breath, but I slowly tip toe down the steps and into the basement. It’s dark and there are a


    lot  of  boxes.  My  breathing  is  making  a  funny  sound.  It’s  as  if  it’s  soundproofed  or  something.  I  look


    around in a panic. Over to the far left, a pendant antique light is on and hanging above a long bench thatText property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    runs  along  the  wall.  It’s  got  an  industrial  vibe  down  here.  Tools  and  equipment  are  everywhere,  so


    disorganized  and  different  from  the  rest  of  the  house.  I  frown  in  confusion.  What’s  going  on?  This  is


    weird? I make my way over to the bench and I see it. The rolled canvas is on the workbench. I slowly


    unroll it and see the beautiful oil canvas before I close my eyes in pain.


    It is him.


    I look around behind me and I see a garbage bin with the dismantled frame. Arge chest sits on the


    floor, and I open it to be greeted with numerous canvases rolled up. I open one and recognize it as one of


    the stolen artworks.


    Oh my God. I put my hands over my mouth as my eyes tear up.


    Oh no. star, no. Please let this be a dreadful mistake. There is another chest along side the other


    one and when I open it, it’s filled with women’s clothing and a jewel box. Jewelry and old photographs of


    multiple women. Another small box sits inside it and I open it to find letters and different pieces of paper


    with scribbled notes on them. Whose things are these? Fear starts to speed through me. This doesn’t make


    sense.


    The tears start to run down my face and I angrily swipe them away. What do I do? What do I do? My


    frantic  eyes  look  everywhere  and  I  notice  a  desk  over  in  the  corner.  I  squint  to  try  and  see  properly.


    What’s over there? I walk over to the desk in the semi-dark and flick themp on. My eyes widen.


    At  least  thirty  erged  photographs  are  pinned  onto  the  wall  above  the  desk.  Photographs  of


    tombstones  in  graveyards  with  the  name  Emmaline  on  them  are  everywhere,  each  one  colored  and  in


    ck and white.


    Fear grips me and I step back as my adrenaline starts to pump.


    Holy fuck.


    He has pictures of tombstones with the name that he calls me on them.


    Why does he call me Emmaline?


    Who is he?


    What is he doing?


    Goosebumps  scatter  up  my  spine.  I  am  in  danger.  I  look  to  the  staircase.  I  need  to  get  out  of  here


    without being seen.


    Panic sets in as I realise this room is soundproof. The missing red headed woman from the bares


    to mind. He never called the police that day, there is no way in hell he would bring himself under their


    spotlight and investigation when he is hiding all of this down here.


    He lied to me about that. Why?


    Oh my fucking God.


    He murders women in here. He must do.


    He’s going to kill me.


    Run. Run.


    “Emmaline?” I hear him call from upstairs and my eyes widen.


    Holy fuck!


    He can’t trap me down here.


    As fast as I can I run to the stairs and take them two at a time. No.


    No!


    I burst out of the door and into the lounge as he walks into the room. His face drops when he sees


    where I came from.


    The hysterical tears run down my face. “You stole the art?” I scream.


    His shoulders slump.


    “star. What’s with the tombstones?” I cry.


    He steps toward me and I jump back. “Don’t touch me!” I scream hysterically.


    He stands silently as he watches me.


    “You want to kill me?” I cry.


    His face screws up. “What? No!” he yells.