False God | Quinn Hughes & Jack Hughes

Chapter Three

May 24, 2024

The living room felt colder than usual, though it was early summer and the sun streamed through the curtains. Carter sat curled up on the couch, remote in hand, with an old hockey game playing on the screen. She'd watched it three times already, rewinding parts just to see certain plays again, trying to remember the rush of each goal, the electric energy that used to come so easily with every match.

The sound of skates slicing across the ice, the thud of bodies against the boards, the low rumble of the crowd—it was all so familiar, yet so painfully distant now. Her eyes focused on the players as they glided across the rink, their movements sharp and sure. She tried to imagine herself there, on the sidelines with everyone else, her laughter mixing with theirs. But it was hard to picture now, hard to feel anything but the dull ache of isolation that had settled deep within her.

Gradually, her mind drifted, her vision blurring as her thoughts slid backward, into the cold, damp memories of the basement. The memory slipped in slowly, like a shadow creeping over her shoulder, blending into the edges of her thoughts until it sharpened, vivid and inescapable.

The first day in the basement was a haze, almost like a fever dream. Carter awoke with a sharp pain in her side, her head pounding as her eyes strained to make out shapes in the dim, cold light. The faint scent of damp concrete filled her nose, and as she pushed herself up, she felt the roughness of the basement floor scrape against her palms.

She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but her mind was blank—a void where her memory should have been. She remembered going out, her friends' laughter, and then... nothing. She shivered as she forced herself upright, her hands clutching her elbows as she tried to steady her breathing. That's when she heard the sound: slow, hesitant footsteps descending the stairs. Her heart raced, the sound of each step sending a jolt of fear through her.

A figure emerged at the top of the stairs. She could only make out his silhouette—a tall, thin frame that seemed oddly hesitant, almost nervous. He held a tray, balancing it awkwardly as he descended, his head angled down, avoiding her gaze. She watched him warily, her mind frantically trying to make sense of what was happening.

"Wh-why am I here?" she managed to stammer, her voice barely a whisper.

The man didn't answer right away. He set the tray down on an old wooden table along the wall and took a step back, his hands fidgeting at his sides. She caught a glimpse of his face as he looked up briefly, his eyes darting away almost instantly, as if he couldn't bear to make eye contact.

"Eat," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was something strange in the way he spoke—hesitant, almost... shy.

Carter stared at him, her brow furrowing. "What is this? Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling but defiant. "Please, just let me go."

His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he seemed to debate something internally. She saw his jaw tighten, and for a moment, he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then closed it again. He looked away, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"I... I can't," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I just... can't."

She felt a chill run through her as he shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable but refusing to leave. His presence was suffocating, his silence unnerving. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears as she watched him, trying to gauge his intentions. Something about him felt strange, out of place—almost like he didn't know what he was doing.

"Please," she tried again, her voice softening, hoping to reach him somehow. "If you're in trouble, I can help you. Just... please, let me go. I won't tell anyone. I swear."