Page 67 of Hell Breaks Loose

The shadow behind my reflection in the mirror wavers.

“No one ever said you weren’t.”

Since I woke up in the hospital weeks ago, they assail me. Guide me.

Six voices. Seven specters.

Ghosts of the men and women I had killed. Ghosts of the former rulers of Sanctum Harbor.

And of course, the silent one. The one who makes me smash my fist into the mirror, spattering the wall and the sink with blood and glass.

“Fuck you, Damon.”

Fuck you for taking what was mine. For holding out on me.

For making me play the pawn. He had to have known who I was. The herald. Their puppet. Their voice for the song and dance that was the Ball, social events.

Shaking off the dripping crimson into the sink, I take a breath, reveling in the agony.

Pain clears the haze, focuses me, quiets the noise.

“Now. Patch yourself up and get to work, tool,” I mutter, snickering at my own private little joke.

Heading down to an old car that one of our agents provided, I drive off into the dark, leaving the small, dingy little apartment I keep in Severance behind. Hopefully, for the last time.

After the dam exploded in Sanctum, I knew I would be needed. That the time had come.

I kept up appearances for long enough, licked my wounds.

Hellena’s trio of man-whores came to check on me prior to the catastrophe, so I had to wait. I had to make sure they thought I was still comatose. An easy enough ruse with the help of a nurse close to the cause.

It’s astounding to me how many of them there are.

The people who know about the Seven. The Sinful. Who believe in the old ways and work constantly in secret to further the agenda of our leaders.

Truly amazing, the scope of that web. And it’s all at my fingertips. At least the contacts from the four members I had eliminated.

Like a spider, I waited, taking the time in that bed to heal. Because despite the fact that the gunshot was not meant to kill me, it was also supposed to be a flesh wound. Something that I could use to draw Hellena back into the fold.

A traumatic event to bring us together.

Instead, it nearly killed me.

That’s what I get for trusting Devonde. Good riddance.

Then to top things off, Hellena never showed up, never came to see me, the little bitch. After everything I did to raise her and keep her safe, she hid her head in the sand. Or just forgot about me.

Cast aside from one small betrayal.

It was a bit short-sighted of me in retrospect, to push her so hard, so soon.

The car swerves a bit as I flash back to that night, the Sinner’s Ball. It marked the start of this unraveling. And I have been scraping up the pieces since.

No more.

I’m almost back to Sanctum when I see the signs of the flood. Cars leaving town in the dead of night. There are so many fewer of them now than when I first left the hospital.

Glistening pools of water alongside the road here and there.

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