Find Me Alastar

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. Alastar 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 cellar 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. Alastar 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 that

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. A large 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. Alastar, 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 the lamp on. My eyes widen.

At least thirty enlarged 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

black 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 bar comes

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?NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

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.

“Alastar. 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.