Page 21 of The Phantom's Vice

I know it’s useless, I know it’s stupid, and that nothing has changed, but I still walk back to that bed, removing the glove of my left hand as I near her sleeping form. Holding my breath, I reach that disgusting, mutilated hand toward her cheek, thedifference between her beauty and my monstrosity so stark that it nearly causes me to gasp.

But it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop if I want to. I have to know for sure.

I watch as my fingertip makes contact with her cheek, and I nearly scream in frustration.Nothing. Fucking NOTHING. Again.

My throat feels hot as I drop my hand from her face, a strange pressure building behind my eyes. I reach under my mask, pressing on the orbs in an attempt to offer some relief. It does nothing, and when I pull my hand out, something shiny coats them.

I tilt my head, noticing how similar the liquid is to Brett’s tears earlier.But… that can’t be. That’s impossible.

I shake my head angrily, letting out a soft scoff as I start to turn in the direction of the door. And that’s when it happens.

ZAP!

I jerk backward, my movements so flurried that I nearly trip and fall to the floor.What in the flying fuck wasthat? I look down at my hand—still ungloved from earlier. Then I look at the bed, where Brett’s arm is still outstretched, her fingers curling in and out in a grabbing motion, as if she’s lookingfor me.

Did she… did she touch me? More importantly, did I feel it?

Inching closer to that waiting hand, I allow her fingers to curl around the mutilated flesh on my palm.

ZAP!

My eyes widen in wonderment as I watch her little fingers twist with mine, the electricity flowing from her body to mine, breathing life into my long dead nerve endings.It feels… it feels…

I feel her.I look down at the hand snugly fit with mine.I really, really feel her.

I frown, unsure what to call the sensation of her hand in mine, yet desperate to give it a name.Euphoricseems far too dull for the feelings it drags out of the dark chasm of my soul.

There’s no doubt about it now.Brett Evangeline will ruin my fucking life.

CHAPTER TEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #5

I’m not sure how to feel about what R-57 told me tonight, though one thing is clear: my assumptions about him couldn't have been more wrong. Despite that horrifying white mask, he’s a kind man. A good man, no matter what that disgusting organization has made him to be. And what they do to those children—My God! I’m nauseous just thinking about it.

From what I gather, the Sanctum has a dedicated team of Reapers assigned to Rook acquisition—a term which just means buying young children and placing them into intensive training regimens.

The boys are sorted based on intelligence, physical capability, and mental endurance. The highest-rankingchildren are placed into Phantom training programs, the middle set into Reapers, and the lowest-scoring ones into the Disposer units.

R-57 said he joined his Reaper program at just six years old. And what was even more shocking was that he was the oldest boy in his unit by a year. I can’t imagine being that young, forced to train for hours in the heat. Forced to learn to forage and make your own meals. To endure horrible injuries, disease, and starvation while a cruel older Mask stands over and laughs at your pain. R-57 claims he got off easy—considering what he befalls the children who go through “Phantom” training—but I know I will have nightmares about his personal stories for years to come.

I was so overcome with sadness after he told me that I pulled him into a hug. It was stupid, but I just couldn’t bear to think of him going through life so cold, so alone.

And the craziest thing? He let me hold him. Even wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back. I know this is stupid, that I should run from him and this case. Go back home and live a quiet, safe life with my daughter. But I just can’t stop.

More than that, I don’t want to

Lemon.It’s the first thing that invades my senses as I wake, and I breathe deep, appreciating the freshscent. A yawn tears from my mouth as I snuggle deep into my pillow, freshly laundered linens mixing heavenly with the smell of lemon cleaner.

Hold the fuck up. When’s the last time I cleaned my apartment?

My eyes spring open at the same time I launch my body toward my nightstand, wrapping my hands around my gun. My back tweaks as I wheel around, shifting the tip of the barrel in an even arc around my bedroom.What did you do now, you sick motherfucker?

Through the drug-addled fog, I begin the process of sweeping my apartment—a near daily occurrence, at this point—but like all the other times, I come up with nothing. No gifts. No creepy notes. With a sigh, I drop the weapon to my side and pad back into the bedroom.

Venom mews from the foot of the bed, licking his chops and flicking his tail lazily.Clearly, only one of us is still concerned by a strange masked man breaking into the apartment.I frown down at my—supposed—best friend, but still run my hand over his back affectionately.

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