Keya blinked. Terror seizing her the moment she laid eyes on her apartment, on her workstation, on her bed.

As a knock came on the door followed by "Miss Sapkota?" she knew she had fallen asleep despite trying her best not to.

If I'm back home, it only means—

"Miss Sapkota?" a voice prompted from the other side of that door again.

Keya scanned her home quickly for signs of distress, for signs of death. Was everything in order? Was she about to find a half petrified man in her bed again, screaming at her for mercy or help?

"Miss Sapkota?"

Come on, think. Is anything out of place?

"Miss Sapkota?"

And there it was, the oddities.

Those statues, those goddamn statues the gallery curator said, were 'perfect' for the inaugural opening of the NSW Art Gallery's newest wing. They were in sight. The theme of the whole exhibit now woven around Keya's pieces: Of Gods and Mortals. Her collection was the selling point. Pamphlets and banners were already printed with 'Stone 2 Stone' and half of her central piece, the half she'd finished, on display. Medusa. Flyers were handed out, of which samples lingered about the apartment where they had been dropped off a couple of weeks ago.

The whole thing might have excited her once upon a time, to be the key artist in an exhibition, but Keya didn't recall when her focus shifted from Gods and the Mortals to Medusa and the Men who craved her. It was too late now. There was no time left to start from scratch. The show was opening the following weekend. The statues, if she could even call them statues, would be transferred soon, and she'd finally be free of their haunting shadows.

And they were not at all how she had left them. Covered. Always covered.

Keya scanned the apartment until her eyes landed on the cloth over the sofa and her heart hammered away.

No. Not again.

"Miss Sapkota? Are you all right in there?" the voice sounded impatient now.

No.

Keya shook her head. She inched forward and lifted the corner of the cloth with a trembling hand.

"Keya Sapkota! This is the police. Open the door or we will be forced to open it for you. We just want to talk. We promise." The male voice spoke clearly and calmly over the din of music, and Keya knew he'd break down her steel door if he could.

A frightened pair of eyes met hers when she moved enough of the cloth. And they begged her for mercy.

"Who are you?" she choked on the words, unable to hold his gaze. The guy seemed frozen on the couch. Frozen and scared to death.

You and me both...

"Miss Sapkota?" The banging came again.

"Yes," a feeble sound spluttered out of her, and she let the cloth fall back into place. "Yes. Coming."

Keya cracked the door slightly, enough to look out but hopefully not enough for them to look in.

"Evening, Miss Sapkota," said the tall male detective, his broad shoulders hulking over her and the small woman standing beside him.

"Evening," she managed.

"We've had several complaints about noise from your apartment in recent months, so we appreciate if you minded your neighbours and turned it down." The man reached into his pocket and brought out a phone. "And have you seen this man tonight, by any chance? Someone reported he was last in this building."

He held a cropped photo out to her, of a young man with a sharp chin and kind eyes that crinkled at the corner with just the right kind of mischief, smiling against a bright sunlight, she presumed. Someone she might have liked, once upon a time. A man she'd just seen on her couch a moment ago.

Instead, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've never seen him before tonight."

The woman looked unconvinced. "Are you sure? Please, take another look."

Keya eyed the photo again. The man in the photo was the same guy lying beneath a cloth on her couch. But had she seen him before? Nope. She shook her head, biting down on her lip to keep a whimper in. "I'm sorry..."

"So you weren't at The Viper's Club this evening, Miss?" the guy asked.

"The Viper's?" Keya's brows gathered together, suddenly worried. Of course, that's where she might have gone tonight, where she might have met the guy, and somehow brought him home. Why did men keep doing that? Follow her home. Did these men lack any sense of danger?

"Why? Did I do something there?" she asked, trying to change the topic. Did I—did she—kill someone else in a dark alley behind the club like before?

"You don't remember?" The male officer frowned.

Keya could hear the doubt in his tone. She imagined what he really wanted to ask was, "Why are you lying? We know what you're up to?"—or she wished they did, know what she was up to, she, Medusa.

I have to put a stop to this somehow. End it.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been quite myself lately. I don't"—she shot them both a pleading look.

Please. You have to help me. Barge in here. Find the guy. Save him. Arrest me... cuff me and lock me up in your cell so she—but instead of all this, she said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you. I've never seen that boy before in my life."

She could see the male bristle beside his partner, who, for some reason, kept staring at her.

You know something, don't you? You know it's me?! Please... help me. Help me stop her... before she kills again... I can't do this anymore... I can't—

"Could we take a look inside? Make sure everything is all right, Miss Sapkota?" The woman gripped her belt, perhaps itching to reach for her gun—to end her misery.

If only I was that lucky...

Keya shook her head, digging her finger into her palm to keep from confessing it all right then and there, but she couldn't. They were stirring inside, fighting to pull her back in, perhaps for the last time. She could almost hear their whispers, 'Let us take care of them,' and there was no way Keya was going to let them hurt someone else again. Not if she could help it.

So, instead of confessing or losing her wits and her consciousness so the monsters inside her could harm the police, Keya said, "Everything's okay. If you don't mind, I'm a bit tired."

"If you see him." The woman handed her a card. "Even saw who he was with at the club... Please call me."

As Keya took the card from her, The Viper's Club stamp grinned at her from her trembling, calloused hand. When her fingers brushed the woman's, she lingered there a moment, screaming on the inside.

Please. Help me.

Then she slowly closed the door and bolted herself in.

I can't let them leave again tonight. I can't...

She rushed to find her phone from the handbag, one of Stella's Medusa must have stolen, and immediately dialled her friend.

"Please, pick up, Stell. Please pick up. I need your help."

But the phone went unanswered.

Keya dialled again and again and again.

No answer.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Keya screamed, and it was the strangled whimper from the sofa that gave her a better idea.

She removed the cloth from the boy's face with her heart hammering away like a jackhammer. "You must have a phone? Please, we need help. You need help. Do you have a phone?"

The boy stared at her, unblinking. A soft whimper escaped him again.

"I'm sorry." Keya patted down his pockets, but they were empty. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't me you met at the club. It wasn't me... it was her... I'm sorry."

The boy whimpered again, and her heart cried with him.

"Your phone's not here." Panic drove her to pace. "Your phone's not here, and my friend's not picking up... I could call the cops back, confess... but they won't let me... they are fighting me even now... to take over..."

She paused to take the boy in. "Does anyone know you're here? You're with her?"

Another whimper escaped his throat.

"You must be thirsty." She ran to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, then tilted it gently onto his lips.

"Mmmummm," the words finally fell from his still lips.

"Mum?" Keya felt relief. "Your mum knows you left with her? Oh, thank god. Good. Good. Let them come. Let them come... but we gotta do something now... You and I don't have much time..."

Keya could feel the hysteria setting in, a panic state she usually went into when things became unbearable, like when Ama died.

"I gotta... I gotta do something..." She paced the floor. "I don't have much time... I gotta do something now... something unmistakable... something—" Her work bench and that half completed bust beneath the other cloth caught her eye.

Yes, that could work. That could. It had to.

Keya suddenly ran to her bench and unearthed the bust that gave her nightmare a face. Medusa. Or at least half her face. Even the snakes for hair seemed as if they were ready to strike her now.

But the other half, it was untouched. Just clay.

Not anymore!

"I have to... I have to... save them... I have to make them see what I've become..."

Keya tore away the cling wrap, rolled up her sleeve and feverishly dove into the last piece she'd ever make, even if her life depended on it.

WC: 26, 542

A/N: You've seen this scene from Reina's POV, but what did you think Keya is doing with that half-finished bust? How would it help her?

What did you make of that close call? Reina was right there!

Next up: Reina.