Page 51 of Cruel Cravings

I would shrink into the shadows again. I’d make my escape before the nurses ever made it to her room.

The looks of pity they gave her as she told them about the shadow man were an injustice. Just more signs of what a fucked up environment the hospital was. My father wouldn’t have it any other way.

After what I’ve done, Jael’s revulsion and anger toward me is more than deserved.

But she’s also fascinated in a way she doesn’t understand. She hasn’t grasped that we’re more alike than she realizes. The possibility she could have a kindred spirit in a monster like me disturbs her to her core.

Someday.

She’ll get it.

I hear the scrape of furniture in the other room. She’s barricading herself in again. She’s convinced herself I’ll escape and hurt her. Even though I can probably bust out of these chains, I won’t be doing that… yet.

For now, I’ll let her have some agency. She deserves the freedom before I smash through the illusion and make her understand.

There is no escape from me and my obsession.

16.Jael

Another Life - SZA

The morning sun creeps into the bedroom; crisp white light that matches how I feel on the inside. After another night of spiraling, I’ve woken in a state of calm, like I’ve expelled all the toxins that lived inside me.

I had a moment of weakness where I let lines blur and dark desires take over.

But I’m awake now. My time at the cabin has to come to an end.

This cabin was always a temporary refuge. Trouble is closing in from all sides and I have to stay a few steps ahead.

Detective Laurent, Dr. Wolford, now Deputy Dudley.

The tide is rising and I can see myself drowning if I’m not careful.

I sit on the edge of the bed and flick on the small TV mounted to the wall. The local news is on, predictably covering the Cleaver murders. What else is new?

Photographs of the victims flash across the screen like a sports team roster.

Everyone from Maximillion Keys to Celeste Fairchild and Detective Maloney.

Lyra Hendrix.

My heart aches at the photo they’ve used of her. It must be fairly recent. She looks so much different than I remember her, dark eyes shining and her braids hanging around her heart-shaped face. My sister is a couple years older than me, but she’s always been the shorter, curvier one. I was slender and tall even as a girl.

Our mother used it against us.

She told my sister to focus on being a prodigy piano player. She told me to focus using my looks to get ahead in life. I had nothing else to offer…

I switch off the TV and draw in a deep breath.

My sister isn’t dead, and though I’m no closer to finding her, I’ll never stop looking. Giving up isn’t an option.

I redirect my energy into packing. The duffle bag sits on the bed, its zipper opening a gaping hole that swallows my things up. I pack what I’ve brought and stuff in some of Mrs. Klum’s things too, like a few spare changes of clothes. Mr. Klum’s belongings aren’t spared—some of his weapon collection will be coming with me.

Packed and ready to go, I move into the kitchen to make some food. I’m running low on energy after last night’s mess, and if I’m feeling it, Brontë must be too. He’s barely eaten in days. He’s been strapped to that chair since we’ve gotten here.

Beast with superhuman strength or not, fatigue and starvation are taking their toll.

The pantry door creaks as I open it and dig out several cans of soup. A few of them will be going with me on the road. Three of them I set aside for now. One for me, two for Brontë. The kitchen fills with the savory aroma of chicken noodle soup as I dial down the heat on the stove and pour it into bowls.

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