Page 155 of Rage

“Was it jealousy?” the detective asks, pulling my thoughts away from the water.

“Jealousy?” I ask. Does this man think so poorly of me? I shake my head in disbelief and look back out to the water. Could I swim five miles? The bay is fierce with wind and rain. I swallow thickly.

“Don’t do it,” he says, sensing I’ve made up my mind. “You’ll die.”

“I have to try,” I say, looking into his eyes.

“It’s not worth your life.”

“Perhaps not.” But I’m not just fighting arrest and persecution: I’m fighting for Casper’s life. I fall into the water. It’s not too cold in early fall, but it is fierce. The rope is still twisted around my feet. When I kick, I make little progress and quickly fall to the shallow bottom next to the boat. My fingers tug at it as my lungs burn. Finally, I free my ankles and kick off the ground. A rock cuts the bottom of my foot open.

When I breach the surface, I gulp in air before a wave goes over my head. It’s a struggle to breathe in violent waters. I’m forced to take air according to its schedule, not mine. The waves move so fiercely, I’d lose track of the direction I’m moving if not for the detective yelling for me.

Five miles. I have to make it five miles. My clothes weigh me down. My arms still feel weak from rowing the boat away from the island, but I persist, one arm over the other again and again. My legs kick, more to keep me from being pulled under than to make progress.

When I breathe, a wave comes too fast, and I inhale briny water into my lungs. It’s so dark, I can’t see anything in this fog and rain. The island has no lights, since I didn’t leave Casper any and he won’t strike a match. I’m not even sure if he’d accept me back. He might kill me the moment I pull myself onto the shore. I almost hope he does. It becomes my delirious wish as I push myself further into the bay, trying to simultaneously cough water from my lungs and inhale air.

Yes, I want to make it to shore and for him to kill me with his own hands. That would be justice for Professor Bram and for Casper. I’ve wronged them both. I’ve also wronged the men whose bodies I stole from, this entire damned city by bringing a killer who hunted them back to life. I’m a monster like my creation. The detective doesn’t even know all the crimes I’ve committed, and he never will.

One arm in front of the other, but instead of moving forward, I feel as if all I’m doing is keeping my head afloat. I go under for a moment and thrash in a panic, fearful I’ll never see air again. When I make my way back up, I cough and gasp.

“Casper!” I yell. The wind swallows my desperate cry. “Casper!”

Five miles… I haven’t even made it one. My monster will not kill me because the bay will. I’m drowning, I realize. I’ve been slowly drowning since I leapt from the boat. I don’t try to turn around and make my way back. I keep moving, desperate to get closer to Casper. One arm in front of the other, breathing when the wave passes, but the waves stop passing, or maybe I’ve sunk down too far.

The detective was right. Jumping in meant my death. It makes no sense, but I see Casper standing on the end of the dock, his sad, defeated posture as he watches me die.

Chapter Nine

Casper

In the morning, the orange sun rises from the water, eating away the fog.

Samantha has come back to me. Her body is draped across the rocks, her grayed eyes watching the clear sky. I pick up her lifeless body from the shore and take her inside. I brush the hair from her face and trace her pale lips with my thumb before kissing her. I press my tongue in her mouth and hold her in my arms.

Someone is to blame here. For hours, I think it’s me, that I drove her away and she drowned trying to escape who I am. The boat must have hit a rock while she was panicking and sunk.

But then, the boat finds its way to my shore the same way she did. I walk out onto the dock and grab the rope, twisting it around a wooden pole. There’s nothing wrong with it. Could she have fallen out? No, that makes little sense.

Someone is to blame for why all her kisses are now cold. That someone will pay for what they’ve done. They all will—all the moving dots I’ve seen on the other shore. Their existence means nothing to me. There was only one life that mattered, and they stole it. Everything in my life was cursed except for her. Now, sheis gone. She moored me to life and morality. All the light in my soul is dead.

That night, I lay with her in bed, pressing kisses to her cold skin. I’ve given up on fighting the darkness.

I miss her warmth. I miss her nails in my back and heels digging into my ass. I miss the flush to her skin and her breath hitting me as I thrust into her. I keep her body under blankets, trying to keep it warm as I fuck her—groaning and panting while she remains silent. The impossibility of my existence is second only to the impossibility of how much I love her. It’s unreasonable and senseless.

I am cunning, charming, intelligent, and strong. Samantha wanted the best parts but was shallow in her choices. A pretty devil, a deranged scientist, a large strong body… She had no clue what she was really making. She saw the outside, but the inside is what matters. And right now, I will use everything I am to seek vengeance for what's happened to her.

When dawn comes, I leave her on the island. Now, her abomination will do what she feared most: be free. I’m sorry, Samantha. Your memory isn’t enough to keep me from my corruption. However, your memory is enough for me to slaughter as many people as I can.

Perhaps Samantha was always meant to make me accept my wickedness instead of evading it. It makes more sense that way.

Samantha wasn’t perfect, but she was my everything. I don’t know how to bring her back, the same way she didn’t know how to bring back a single man and instead made an entirely new one. I don’t want a new woman; I want Samantha.

I row to shore, finding a small, sandy beach to pull the boat up on. I look up the cliff and see the university. As I try to find a way up, I come across a little building. There are lots of men around it, all wearing matching clothes.

“Stop!” they shout, and I stand still, looking over them. Their eyes bug when they see the size of me. My shirt hangs loosely open; it was always too small to button. The scars on my chest are visible for their inspection.

“Don’t I know you?” one asks. This one is dressed differently. He has on a dark suit and a round hat on his head. There’s a gold shield pinned to his coat. A detective, I realize. The rest are street cops. I dealt with them a lot in one of my past lives.

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