Page 75 of Delivered to the Devil

The idea sends a sharp spear of pain, worse than any my broken body can conjure, through my chest.

“Please don’t go,” I beg, somehow mustering the strength to clutch the leather of his jacket.

“Shh,” he soothes, pulling a thick blanket over my body, followed by a comforter. “Everything will be okay. You’re safe now.”

I have no idea what he’s saying. His nonsensical words attempt to soothe me, and I almost hate him for lying to me for the first time when he’s about to leave me.

But I can’t muster the will to hate him—not when I’m about to lose him—so I just stare up at him, wishing I could make out the color of his eyes, knowing it’s the last time I’ll see them.

“Don’t leave me,” I croak. I want him with me at the end. I can’t bear to lose him before I go.

“You’re free now,” he says, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead. “You’re free,” he repeats in a whisper.

I shake my head. All I know is I don’t want to be free, because that means I won’t be with him anymore. Suddenly, I don’t want to die anymore. I just want to stay with him, even if it meansenduring more of this agony. “Please,” I whimper as he wraps his hands around my face.

“You’re going home,” he says and snuffs out my next plea with an achingly soft kiss on my lips. And that’s when I realize what he’s saying.

He’s not sending me away to a hole in the ground in the woods. He’s sending me home. Giving me what I’ve been desperately hoping for since I ended up in this nightmare. The one thing I no longer want.

I shake my head furiously and try to find the words to explain. But all that comes out is a weak, “Don’t leave me.”

He doesn’t listen. He gives me one last kiss before pulling away. Then there’s a tiny prick in my neck, and everything goes black.

CHAPTER 38

“After”

by Ihsahn

Rebecca

A faint beeping is the first thing I register. It’s steady and constant. Like Janos’s heartbeat. But nowhere near as reassuring. The next thing I notice is the sterile smell. Not the type that permeates a newly cleaned home. This is more clinical.

I carefully move my hands against the comforter. It’s flat and thin, covered in stiff sheets. Nothing like the fluffy comforter and silky soft sheets I’m used to. Releasing the foreign material, I wrap my hands around each other. That’s when I notice something at the back of my hand. Tape and plastic? I wince as I push at it and it pulls at my skin.

Opening my eyes, I see a small plastic device connecting a tube to a needle. I know that I know the term for it, but it’s buried deep in my mind, covered in a thick fog.

The next thing I register is the yellow bedspread. It’s all wrong. Almost nauseating. It doesn’t get any better when I notice that the walls are the same color, and the curtains over the wide windows are a pale green.

Then I spot the armchair. Brown, sad, and lonely, pushed into a corner. And worst of all, empty.

Everything is wrong, but I can’t say why. It’s a gut feeling. All I know is that the curtains should be pink, the bedspread white and soft, and a pair of gray eyes should be staring at me from the armchair.

IV, I suddenly remember. The tube in my hand is called an IV.

I’m in a hospital.

Craning my neck to look around, I confirm it. Iamin a hospital. The wall above me is full of sockets and buttons, and the empty bed a few feet from mine is definitely a hospital bed.

How the hell did I get here?

And how can I move without feeling like fire is licking my skin?

My body still aches, but it’s only a dull throbbing, and when I lightly press a finger to my stomach, I don’t feel like screaming.

I inspect a bit further, pushing the comforter aside and sliding my hands over the hospital gown to feel what’s beneath it. My torso is still covered in bandages, only now it’s roller gauze instead of patches. I frown at the sight of a tube sticking out from beneath the gown. A feeding tube?

How ironic. Janos threatened to give me one because I wouldn’t let him feed me, and now I have one because Ican’teat.

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