Flicking the switch, bright fluorescent lights turn on, each one hanging by electrical cords that hide into the ceiling and hover over the long staircase leading to the basement.
The walls are white, which goes with the white heated tile stairs.
“Follow me. And close the door behind you.”
I let go of her hand. The staircase is narrow, and my boots pound against each step as I make my way down. As I reach the bottom, I flip another switch, which lights up the entire space. The floor is the same white tile, that also lines the walls.
Makes it easier to clean.
The space is one thousand square feet, a fraction of the size of my place. When my dad started building this place for me, he put this space in specifically for me and my needs. It is directly under the garage, which can be accessed via another staircase on the other side of the room. This way nothing tracks inside my house. The cleanup crew, when needed, comes in and out through the garage entrance, along with my playthings, victims some may say.
It can easily fit two people comfortably tied up on a chair or table—or hanging with their limbs tied to the ceiling, depending on my mood.
Like Blackwood, cabinets line the area which home my preferred tools. A couple drains are on the floor and a sink is connected. Right now, as it’s not in use, two embalming tables are laid out in the middle. Hanging from all four corners are restraints, each equipped with a rack. When activated, they will pull at the tied-up limbs, stretching them out until I either stop it or they pop out of their sockets and tear off the bodies.
It’s something I had at my dad’s place and fucking loved. I needed it here.
When not in use, they can be raised to the ceiling, so they are out of the way for other fun activities.
A television hangs in one of the corners, CCTV for my security outside. Should someone come by while I am busy, I can see who it is and decide if they are worth stopping my fun for.
This space has yet to be used, and I am itching to break it in. The part of my brain which homes urges and desires, the limbic system, is on fire with need.
I can fucking taste it in my mouth, smell the copper in my nose, and see the pathetic fucker laying lifelessly on the table as their blood drains out of them.
Tomorrow.
I’ll feel fully satisfied again—tomorrow.
Turning around, I look at Rain. Her mouth is closed but her eyes are wide open.
“What do you think?”
Stepping forward, she brushes her hand against the stainless-steel table, taking it all in.
A small whisper leaves her mouth, “It’s perfect.”
Her body jumps as a loud buzz goes off in the quiet space. “What was that?”
Walking over to one of the cabinets, I find the television remote and turn it on.
The doorbell.
Staring back at us is an older man with slightly slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, circle wire-framed eyeglasses, wearing a navy-blue suit and a white dress shirt with no tie. A white pocket square sticks out of his breast pocket, and his facial features strongly resemble mine: a strong jawline, thick brows, and the same impatient look I get when I am kept waiting.
“You’re about to get all the answers to your questions, little bat. Dad’s here.”
“Nathaniel Sinclair.”
Elijah greets his dad as he opens the large front door. He is standing under the overhead porch lighting, his features familiar but more posh, upper-class, and less rugged than the ones I’m used to.
I wonder how similar they really are?
Standing off to the side, I’m unsure of how this reunion will go. E has never been open about his family life outside of his mom and my dad. I’ve known him to text his dad, he has never said a bad thing about him truthfully, but I have no idea if they are close or what terms they were on when E left Colorado.
His dad’s hands are in his trouser pockets, wearing a navy-blue suit, and a white shirt with dark brown dress shoes, heraises his brow at Elijah. “Something’s changed, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. New piercing?”
Elijah blows out a breath of annoyance, which I am sure is accompanied with an eye roll. I begin to feel a smirk forming on my face, I’ve never seen anyone joke with E before. I like it.