Page 65 of Sick Bargain

My throat clogs. “Is he okay?”

“He’s very much not okay, but he will be.” Director sighs. “He’s a complicated person. I’ve been working with his doctors for years, and none of them have ever come up with a perfect diagnosis for him. Krypt sees that as a fault because he wants to understand himself, and since his bargain with you, he’s… I think he feels seen and understood for the first time.”

“By me?”

He nods. “Yes, but that also scares him. He’s hidden himself so well that drawing out all his parts takes time. Krypt has two settings when it comes to feelings. Absolute numbness, or complete overwhelm. You overwhelmed him, and when he gets overwhelmed, he’s not a pretty person to be around.”

“He doesn’t want to be around me anyway. He hasn’t…”

“Would you believe that’s for your own good?” he asks. Director stands, and the sympathetic smile on his face breaks me even more. “He asked me to give you this.” He sets an envelope on the bedside table. “Vile House is at your back, Remi. Now and always. You struck a bargain, and we will always see that through. Rest up.” With another smile, he leaves me alone in my room.

I’m terrified to open the envelope. Terrified that it will be a goodbye.

It takes me an hour of pure anxiety to even touch the envelope, and an hour more to open it. When I see the purple calling card, I cry so hard I soak my gown and stain the front of the card.

Please don’t break me, I pray before flipping the card over.

Not even death, Remiel.

22

PLAY, REMIEL

REMIEL

When I finally dress inKyd’s too-bright clothing, I stand at the door of my hospital room and peer into the hall. It’s dark, not a populated area of the asylum, and to be honest, it creeps me out. It’s movie-stereotypical. It reminds me of the asylum season ofAmerican Horror Story. If I had to guess, the weather outside would be stormy and ominous. Tumultuous, like my heartbeat.

I like horror shows, books, and movies, and I grew up in Moros, so it’s not like my life doesn’t resemble one, but it’s never felt more real than right now. Not even the night I ran during initiation or hunted a cult through Vile House.

I step into the hallway and peer into the darkness. I swear something is looking back at me. Squinting, I try to make out the shapes and the sounds, as if squinting helps my hearing, too. The light above me flickers fluorescent, but ten feet down, the shadows eat the shapes.

I blink, unfocusing my eyes. I see it. Something silver and pulsing. Thrashing. Monsters trying to rattle their chains and break free from their confinement. He’s here. He came. Because…

Not even death, Remiel.

Not even death can take me from him.

The calling card is in my pocket because I’m sentimental about it. It might not be verbal proof that I’m important to him, but the sentiment is implied within his four words.

“Do you hate me?” I ask the hallway, my voice timid.

“Worse.”

I swallow, fiddling with the card in my pocket. As much as I wanted to see him over the past few days, a part of me thought it would be tender. That he’d look at me with something deeper than ownership in his eyes. That he’d want to make sure I’m okay.

But now that I’m facing him, even though I can’t see him, fear is the reaction that feels right. Krypt scares me. I’m comfortable being afraid of him. I crave it, even. He told me that if I fell prey to the family curse, he’d end my bloodline. Technically, I died for three minutes, so I broke my bargain with him. I worried him. I scared him. I chased him away by wanting him. I got soft with him when he doesn’t respond to soft.

And I have no idea how he’s going to react to any of it. He’s had three days to process it, but Director implied he stayed away for my own good. My own good mustn’t be the priority anymore.

“What’s worse than hate?” I ask, sweating.

“Indifference,” he says.

Oh. My face falls and my heart sinks. He’s right. At least hatred is a strong emotion. Indifference means nothing, and if he feels nothing for me… my breath comes out shaky, and I stare at the refraction of the flickering light on the laminated tiles. They’re chipped, the stone floor peeking through every crack.

“Why didn’t you just let me die then? Is that really how you feel?” I ask the floor.

“No,” he says, the word so finite it jars me and makes my stomach flutter. “Whose hero were you trying to be, Remiel?”

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