CHAPTER 8: Little Secret

     In the ventilation duct, I slow my run as I approach the next the grate, hearing voices. I can’t quite make out the words with the air conditioning reverberating through the tunnel, but Miranda is talking. I peer cautiously through the slot.

     She's dressed all in black, a nightgown that doesn't cover her lace panties, stockings, high heel ankle boots with large belt straps instead of laces, and thick rubber soles with a tread. Over her eyes, a transparent visor. It’s not an outfit one normally wears around the kitchen, I think.

     Her body is facing in my direction. She lifts one leg up behind her and peers at her sole. A spreads warmly across her lips. She taps the visor near her temple and a small light goes from green to red. She stretches and sighs before leaving the kitchen.

       A feeling of dread worms around in my stomach. I know even this won’t be enough to convince the others. They’ll still think I’m crazy. I hope that I am, but I think I know better. I need to bring back proof. Or at least see every detail with my own eyes.

     Actually I need to prove this to myself. I couldn’t live with this doubt. If I let this sit and I leave with Naomi in four days, I know it will haunt me. I turn back in the vent and make my way towards the next room opening. After a long run, I can see Miranda in an office chair, her legs extending under a desk as I peer cautiously through the vent. She’s still wearing her boots, crossed at the ankles, and behind them computer cords dangle under the desk. The room is small, with the same hardwood floor as the rest of the house. It’s full of papers and office supplies.

     I squeeze my way through the metal grate. She’s watching her computer screen, but I can’t see it from this angle. I slip down to the floor and make my way quickly along the wall towards her.

        Entering the shadow of the desk, timidly I pass her ankles. I can already smell the familiar acrid mixture of leather, dust, and human insides. As I come around her soles, my head swims at the sight. I can make out lumps of red wet meat plastered into the tread of her boots. I swallow hard and close my eyes, stomach churning. After a few deep breaths, I force myself look again.

       There’s something on her boot. A light shining in the dark. I walk towards it, unable to look away. The sole looms over me and I can feel the aura of damp death before me. The bright thing, it’s... then I see the head. Oh God.

     Martin’s head is more or less intact, wedged into the boot tread, gaping at me open mouthed. The flesh around his neck has been ruptured and leads down the trench of the boot tread into a solid red paste of compressed viscera. His eyes are deformed, somehow not in the right place on his head. I lean closer, barely a foot away from him now. In the dark, I make out a clear visor that holds back his eyeballs, having burst from their sockets. Somehow my arm, trembling, extends to the visor, and I wipe away a spatter of blood. Underneath, the shining thing I followed is a flashing green light.

       It’s a visor. Just like the one Miranda was wearing. She gave one to the poor bastard as well.

       But then I remember suddenly when she turned hers off, the light going from green to red. This one is still green, which means it's still recording...

       The blood drains from my face as I realize the peril I’m in, but for some reason, my mind blanking in terror, I raise a hand and cautiously wave it in front of the visor.

       Laughter booms out and for one dreadful second I think it’s coming from the disembodied head in front of me and I fall backwards in alarm, but no, it’s Miranda. The boot moves, she uncrosses her ankles and swings at me. I roll out of the way and it passes over me. I get up and start running, but then it slams into me from the side and I'm sent sprawling. Before I can recover there’s a heavy weight on my back and all the air is pressed out of me. Then I’m sliding across the floor under her boot as she drags me out into the open. The skin scrapes off my body until my arm gets caught underneath me and suddenly I'm rolling, pain erupting through me.

     Then, the weight lifts and I'm drenched in light. I try to get up to run but something's wrong, and I fall on my face. I can't feel my arm... then I see it several yards away, sitting on the floor all fucked up and crunched. There’s some bone sticking out of the socket, and I look down at the ragged bloody stump on my shoulder, wiggling strangely.

     Miranda laughs overhead. “I CAUGHT YOU ON MY SCREEN,” she says. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING SNEAKING AROUND MY FEET? DID YOU LIKE WHAT YOU FOUND? I BET YOU DIDN’T.”

       She’s still sitting on her wheeled office chair, bent down and looming over me, one sole lifted and resting on the heel. It’s the same gory one as before. She’s filming me right now using Martin's head.

     “WAS HE A FRIEND OF YOURS? WHERE DID YOU ESCAPE FROM?” I just stare up at the little green light. I can’t seem to focus on anything else. I feel surreal, I want to fade into unconsciousness, but something in me is fighting that urge.       “WELL IT DOESN’T MATTER NOW. YOU’VE FOUND MY LITTLE SECRET,” she says, and turns her ankle so the camera can catch her other foot as she lightly grinds my severed arm into a stain under her it. The shoe-cam turns back to me and I blink. “AND THAT MEANS I’M GOING TO HAVE TO KILL YOU NOW.”

       There’s a pause and I find myself rolling over and trying to crawl away weakly.

     “NOTHING TO SAY?” Miranda says, and stands up. She lifts her boot up over me and holds it up there. “YOU LOOK LIKE A LITTLE INCHWORM. DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO GET AWAY? ARE YOU GOING TO WARN YOUR OTHER FRIENDS?” She laughs.

     I stop, turn over. Martin stares down at me. You were wrong.

       Miranda’s head is turned, watching her computer screen image to make sure everything is in focus.

       “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SNEAK AROUND MY HOUSE. GOODBYE,” she says and lowers her foot slowly, precisely. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see that head again. I wait and I wait with my eyes screwed shut, and then I feel the shoe pressing on me again, feel my ribs all snap. There’s a pause and I wonder how long I will be forced to endure this, but then there's only another second as I crunch and burst in one go.