Page 62 of Dancing With Delusion

I lift the pictures off the desk. There’s one of a young girl barely even eighteen.

“I wonder if she will last as long as you?” I ask, turning and showing her the picture. Her eyes widen and she sobs harder, her entire body shaking. “I could introduce her to my dungeon,” I add as an afterthought. “Did Victoria tell you about my dungeon?” I whisper close to her ear.

“Your father and Vivian,” she screams, dropping her head to her chest. “Please, just let me go.”

I stiffen at hearing my fears confirmed. “Sorry, Harriet, I hate to do this after you’ve been so . . . accommodating, but I can’t have any loose ends.” She cries out, her chest heaving with each loud sob. “Actually, scrap that, I’m going to find great pleasure in watching you take your last breath.”

Marshall looks up from the folder he found in Harriet’s drawer and nods, indicating he’s got the location. Relief fills me.

I go over to the bag and pull out an Army blade. I stand before her, pulling her head back so we have eye contact. Hers are full of panic while mine are excited because I want to see the life drain from her and know I am responsible for her death.

As I raise the knife, the glint catches her attention and her eyes widen. She tries to scream, but it’s no use. I take the blade and slice carefully along her carotid artery. The blood spirts out of her neck, and her eyes widen farther as she splutters, trying desperately to cling to life.

The crimson fluid soaks through her white shirt, and the metallic odour I love so much fills the air. I let her head drop forward as she takes a final gargled breath, and I stare for a few moments, satisfied that I’m a step closer to saving my krasota.

I wipe the blade on her pencil skirt and drop it into the bag. Grabbing my jacket off the back of the couch, I pull it on and button it up to cover the splatter that adorns my own shirt.

“Call the cleanup crew, Marshall,” I order, my tone back to business, as I go to the small bathroom to wash my hands.

“Already on it, Boss,” he replies.

Tori

Ican hardly keep my eyes open. I’m so weak that everything feels heavy and even the simplest of movements are too hard. I’ve decided this is how I will die. Vladimir hasn’t returned in days, leaving me in the hands of Nik and Vivian, and neither of those bother to feed me, only occasionally dropping me scraps of bread and a few mouthfuls of water. So, maybe Vladimir made his decision and he’s giving me a slow, painful death.

In the quieter times, I picture Dmitry and how he will look holding our child. It crosses my mind that Vladimir may keep me until the baby is born and then kill me and hand my child over to Vivian and Dmitry to raise.

My darker thoughts take me to worse places, like wondering if hell is real and whether that’s where I’ll go for what I did to Marcus. The thought of seeing him again makes me pray there is no afterlife and I’ll just slip away into oblivion.

Nik shifts from his slumber in the corner, and I squint, trying to work out if he’s moving or still sleeping. A minute passes and I hear another sound . . . tapping maybe? Nik must hear it too because he sits quickly, probably afraid Vladimir has returned. The tapping sounds again, and this time, he growls in annoyance. “Jesus, Vivian, why can’t you ever remember your fucking key?” he spits, and I hear him march over to the door and unlock it.

There’s a scuffle, and for a second, I think I hear Marshall’s voice, but my mind’s played that trick one too many times, so I allow my eyes to drift closed again.

“Dmitry?” It’s Nik who says the name, and my eyes open again but still they’re unfocussed. I try and push up to sit slightly, turning my head in the direction of the door, making out three shadows.

“Victoria?” Dmitry’s voice sounds pained as my heart speeds up, praying to God it’s really him. It’s only when I’m pulled against a hard chest and I inhale the scent of his spicy aftershave that I begin to shake uncontrollably.

“Dmitry,” I whisper, gripping his jacket in my weak fist.

“I’m here, my krasota. You’re safe.” I feel his kisses against my hair, and then he pulls back slightly. “Marshall, don’t kill him. That’s my job,” he barks. “Bring some water,” he adds. He cups my face in his hands, and my eyes focus on his worried expression. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, stroking his thumbs over my hollow cheeks.

Marshall appears over his shoulder, smiling with relief. “Told you I’d come for you,” he says.

“Give her the water,” Dmitry tells Marshall as he releases my face and steps back. My hand falls into my lap, and Marshall lifts me to sit against the wall.

He kneels before me and places a bottle to my lips, tipping it slightly so I can sip the water. I grip it, tipping it some more and greedily sucking down the contents. Marshall takes it away. “Not so fast, Tori. Take your time or you’ll vomit.”

I stare past him to see Nik sitting on the wooden chair in the centre of the room. Dmitry is knelt over a bag, rummaging inside. “How long have I been here?” I whisper, my voice raspy.

“Two weeks,” he admits, looking guilty. “We struggled to find your location when we realised you weren’t at the hospital.” Two weeks! I almost sob because the chances of my baby surviving that are slim to none. “Who else is involved?”

“Vivian,” I mutter, “and Vladimir.”

“Anyone else?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen anyone else. Did Dmitry believe you?” I ask, watching as Dmitry tapes Nik’s hands behind the chair.

Marshall glances away, and that tells me what I need to know. “He’s been lost without you, Tori,” he whispers.

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