[The composure Cheryl fought hard to regain dissipates the longer Quentin spends searching for the keys, and by the time he returns to the living room, it's hanging on by a sliver. Her glassy eyes grow the size of dinner plates when he approaches the door with the metal ring, keys jingling as he walks.
She's about to reply when something in the front yard bangs and crashes to the driveway. Her eyes shoot back up to Quentin, then to the keys dangling in his hand.
"Get me out of here!"
It takes Quentin a few tries, a few keys. Cheryl eyes each one he goes through a little hungrier, a little more eager; the face of a starving young woman who's gone days without eating or drinking. Every so often her gaze nervously darts to the front door, keeping time with the feet dragging their way across the old, decaying porch.
When Quentin fits the final key into the lock and turns, the bar releases with a click. The chains go slack. They fall away when Cheryl pushes against the door a final time, and it bangs against the floor as the one in the living room tumbles open.]
QUENTIN, NO!
[Backlit by the porch lights, Ash looks even more washed out, bathed in a harsh white glow that makes the blood caking his shirt stand out. His already grey face gets a little paler when he spots Quentin at the trapdoor—
—Right as a pair of hands seize Quentin by the ankles and yank him backwards.
Ash's feet bang against the floor and he screams like he's the one who fell as runs to Quentin, just in time to watch him disappear into the hole before the cellar door flips itself back down with a sound like thunder. He's still screaming his name and trying to pry the door back open as Quentin is plunged into fetid darkness, tumbling belly-down the stairs at an unnatural speed.]
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She's about to reply when something in the front yard bangs and crashes to the driveway. Her eyes shoot back up to Quentin, then to the keys dangling in his hand.
"Get me out of here!"
It takes Quentin a few tries, a few keys. Cheryl eyes each one he goes through a little hungrier, a little more eager; the face of a starving young woman who's gone days without eating or drinking. Every so often her gaze nervously darts to the front door, keeping time with the feet dragging their way across the old, decaying porch.
When Quentin fits the final key into the lock and turns, the bar releases with a click. The chains go slack. They fall away when Cheryl pushes against the door a final time, and it bangs against the floor as the one in the living room tumbles open.]
QUENTIN, NO!
[Backlit by the porch lights, Ash looks even more washed out, bathed in a harsh white glow that makes the blood caking his shirt stand out. His already grey face gets a little paler when he spots Quentin at the trapdoor—
—Right as a pair of hands seize Quentin by the ankles and yank him backwards.
Ash's feet bang against the floor and he screams like he's the one who fell as runs to Quentin, just in time to watch him disappear into the hole before the cellar door flips itself back down with a sound like thunder. He's still screaming his name and trying to pry the door back open as Quentin is plunged into fetid darkness, tumbling belly-down the stairs at an unnatural speed.]