House Of Wax : Nick Jones FF ✅

Twenty-Seven. 27

EXT. SINCLAIR HOUSE - IN THE TREES - NIGHT

Nick and Lilian dashed through the woods, their breaths heavy with adrenaline, and took cover behind a massive tree. Nick held his bow tight, an arrow nocked and ready to draw. The silence around them was unsettling. Lilian peered down the empty street, confusion etched on her face. The truck that had been stuck on the rock was gone.

"His truck's gone," Lilian whispered, her voice shaky. "What if he's taken them somewhere?"

Nick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. "We go inside, look for them. If they're not here, we haul ass and get the hell out of here." He scrutinized their surroundings one last time. "Let's go in the back."

Lilian nodded, following Nick's lead as they crept through the dense foliage towards the back of the house. The underbrush scratched at their legs, and the night air was filled with the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves.

BACK OF SINCLAIR HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Staying low and moving silently, Nick and Lilian approached the rear of the neglected house. The only light came from a single porch bulb, which flickered intermittently, casting eerie shadows. Moths danced erratically around it, their wings beating a chaotic rhythm. They moved closer, hearts pounding.

At the steps, Lilian's eyes caught sight of a basket containing a baseball bat, two gloves, and a couple of grimy baseballs. She picked up the bat with her good hand, gripping it tightly as she followed Nick up the creaky wooden stairs. The screen door in front of them was slightly ajar, the inside door wide open.

Nick reached up and gently pulled the screen door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. He froze, listening intently. The silence remained unbroken, and he motioned for Lilian to follow him inside.

Nick and Lilian slipped into the house, crouching low as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. They found themselves in a cluttered study. Dusty shelves were lined with medical diplomas, old photographs of a young married couple, and leather-bound books, all in disarray. Papers were scattered across the floor, and a heavy sense of abandonment hung in the air.

A closed door loomed on the other side of the room. Nick glanced at Lilian and saw the fear in her eyes. She was gripping the baseball bat so tightly that her knuckles were white. He moved closer, cupping her face gently in his hands. Her skin felt cold, and she looked like she was about to break down.

"Stay here," he whispered, his voice firm yet gentle. "I'll check it out and be right back. It's okay." Lilian's eyes pleaded with him. "No way. Don't leave me, please."

Lilian had never been great in confrontations or anything physical. The thought of losing Nick again after finally getting him back was unbearable. Nick sighed, hating that he had to leave her even for a moment, but he knew it was necessary.

"I promise I'll be back. Just stay here and keep watch, okay?"

After a moment of hesitation, Lilian nodded reluctantly. Nick gave her a reassuring smile, then turned towards the door. He opened it cautiously and peered out. The kitchen beyond was old and filthy, but quiet. He stepped into it, moving carefully.

From Lilian's point of view, she watched Nick disappear through another door leading into a hallway. She was now alone in the eerie, dust-covered study. A phone on the desk in the corner caught her eye. She picked it up, hoping for a dial tone, but it was dead.

Her eyes wandered the dimly lit room, taking in the thick layer of dust covering everything. It felt like a place where time had stood still. Something on the bookshelf caught her attention: a display case with two old, pearl-handled revolvers inside. They seemed out of place, relics of a different era, and they added to the unsettling atmosphere.

Lilian's grip tightened on the baseball bat as she tried to steady her nerves, listening intently for any sound that might indicate Nick was in trouble or that someone else was in the house. The minutes felt like hours as she stood there, waiting and hoping for Nick to return safely.

Her eyes found her something to occupy the time. Lilian, slightly hopeful, approached the display case with the old revolvers. She inspected it closely, but the case was locked tight. Frustrated, she tried to pry it open, but it wouldn't budge. Determined, she went back to the desk, searching for something—anything—that might help. She pulled open the top drawer, which was cluttered with strewn papers, photographs, and loose change.

One of the photographs caught her eye. It was a black-and-white image, deeply disturbing, of newborn Siamese twins joined face to face. Lilian's heart raced as she reluctantly lifted the other photos out of the drawer. The next picture showed the twins at about three years old, sitting upright with their hands joined above their heads, their faces still attached. Another photo depicted them around four years old, now separated. One twin appeared completely normal, while the other's face was grotesquely flat and deformed.

Lilian continued through the stack, revealing images of Trudy with her boys. In each picture, Trudy looked even more haggard than she had in the casket, a burning cigarette hanging from her mouth. Lilian hurried through a series of photos, documenting the metamorphosis of the twins' lives. One twin, Bo, appeared to grow up looking normal, while the other, Vincent, had a series of wax facial prosthetics, obvious attempts to make him resemble his brother. These were the ones she had seen hanging in the Sinclair house earlier.

-CUT TO THE DOCTOR's OFFICE: Nick-

Nick opened the door, his bow drawn back, ready for anything. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the empty room. He was about to leave when he noticed tiny shards of light escaping from between the floorboards in the center of the room. Intrigued, he moved closer and saw the light coming from a line cut through the floor. He pulled back a rug, discovering a hidden trapdoor. The humming of a generator could be heard from below.

Nick opened the trapdoor, and the noise grew louder. A ladder descended into a bulb-lit tunnel. "Come on, man. Where are you, Dalton?" He took a deep breath and began to climb down.