Page 26 of Black Heart

“What is it you want me to do? Unsee what I saw? Unhear what I heard?”

“Stop going to work. I won’t make you leave your home, but I will lock you in it if you keep testing me.”

I pull my lips in. My mother would have called my current expression a lemon face, but I still feel like going toe-to-toe with this jerk. “I can’t do that.”

“Then you will die.”

The finality of his words rings in my ears.

I take a deep breath and look back up at the camera. “I’m not afraid of dying. But I’d rather not.”

My Scythe laughs softly.

The speaker hums with static, the green light flicks off, then the voice is gone.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my purse and trudge outside, my heart heavy and my mind spinning.

The lingering echo of his words snakes through my thoughts, an ominous reminder of the duality that defines this man: self-proclaimed protector and deliberate executioner.

I can protect myself. I’ve always been able to.

And he’s not going to execute me.

He’s had plenty of chances, and he’s avoided each one. Starting with my almost being run over by a car. It would have been so easy to let me gosplatunder the tires. All of this could’ve been avoided, like the rewiring of my house, the skin sample from an alleged professional killer, thisfuckingthumb drive wedged permanently in my bra that’s become my death warrant. Maybe I should just give it to him. I’m not sure why he hasn’t grabbed it from me already.

What keeps him here?

As if responding to my thoughts, a gust of wind whispers through the trees as I walk down the gravel path to the lighthouse, their branches scraping against each other like the skeletal hands of lost souls.

I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The lighthouse looms ahead, its once-white paint now faded and peeling. I use my entire body weight to shove open the door, entering the empty circular chamber with an odd sense of doom.

Nothing is out of place since the last time I drummed upenough nerve to explore the barren lighthouse floor. Dirt and debris cover the ground in the same windswept pattern, clicking and chittering every time I open the door and let the breeze in. It’s still lonely and musty in here. The previous lightkeepers’ lives are a permanent mystery since they’ve left nothing behind of themselves.

It’s the smell.

My nose twitches once I realize the subtle shift. A metallic, feral scent, almost like sweat, lingers where it never was before.

Swallowing, I climb the stairs to the top, trying to ignore it.

The top of the abandoned lighthouse, known as the lantern room, is a circular chamber encased in weathered glass panes, many of which are cracked or broken. The room, once housing the beacon, is now empty. I tentatively step through it and outside to the gallery, the exterior circular balcony encircled by a corroded metal widow’s walk offering a panoramic view of the rugged coastline and churning sea below. The wind here is relentless, howling through the cracks and carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. I pull the jar from my purse, clutching it to my chest and looking down at the dark, angry water.

I take a deep breath and unscrew the lid. I hold it out over the edge of the railing and dump the contents into the water below, then toss the empty jar behind it.

As I watch the waves swallow it, I feel a sense of relief and dread. Relief that it’s gone, but because I’m being so reckless and defiant, fear that the Scythe might actually kill me if he corners me up here.

But I was tired of arguing with a surveillance system. Now that his advantage of surprise is gone, I could finally confront him and ask the questions I couldn’t a few days ago.

I turn around to face the lantern room, waiting. Minutespass, and I start to doubt myself. Maybe he won’t come. Perhaps I was wrong about him.

But then I hear a sound.

I whirl, my hair whipping into my face, and see the eerie, glowing mask at the top of the stairs, neon eyes fixed on me.

He’s dressed in all black, his hair tousled by the wind. He takes slow, measured steps toward me, his gaze never leaving mine. I try to fight against the urge to run but fail miserably when my knees go weak. The tension between us is so palpable, a thick current of lightning crackles in the air.

He stops a few feet away, angling his head.

For a moment, we hang in silence, staring at each other, the sound of the wind and crashing waves the only background noise.

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