Page 43 of The Catalyst

Oliver did way worse to Tanner than I’ve ever seen happen in any horror movie, but this wasn’t a movie. This was real. Oliver did all of those things, including cutting off Tanner’s dick and forcing him to eat it. That almost made a few of the guys sick, but not me.

I witnessed Oliver Doyle brutally murder a man and I barely flinched. Some truly demented and depraved part of my soul got off on witnessing the town psychopath in his element. Listening to Tanner’s screams of agony was just a bonus.

I was captivated by Oliver’s savagery and the way he sliced and burned Vaughn’s flesh. I couldn’t look away, and I don’t know what that says about me.

It isn’t until the others leave and I’m left there staring at Nigel that everything sinks in.

He's a killer. He’s the non-canon love child of Batman and The Joker, a vigilante hero who would go to the lengths the green-haired devil would. All of the Bastards are.

This, right here, is the cost of breaking the rules. People who don’t follow the rules must pay with their lives. He brought me along tonight so I would see this and know if I told him the truth, my mom would never be able to hurt me again–if I told anyone what he did to me, this is what he would go through.

I love my mom. She may have become someone I don’t recognize, but I know the woman who raised me. I could never put her in danger, especially when I know how bad the danger is and…the same goes for Nigel.

Nigel doesn’t say a word as I stand rooted to the spot. He doesn’t even seem to notice me as he grabs an entire bottle of bleach from the floor and twists off the cap, dumping the whole bottle over the pool of blood on the floor.

Ronan, Charlie, Oisin and Oliver have already removed Tanner’s body and wrapped him up in a tarp before leaving with it. The only evidence left that anything happened here is being destroyed by Nigel. He stands by as the blood turns lighter and lighter as it mixes with the bleach and trickles down the drain.

My nose burns from the scent of the bleach and I cover my nostrils to stop the burn. I need to go outside and get away from the fumes before something terrible happens.

How often does it come up to tell someone that you are deathly allergic to bleach?

I rush out the open door and fall to my knees, trying to drag as much clean air into my lungs as possible, but it’s already too late. I inhaled the fumes.

The burning of my nose and throat turns into full-on flames as I sputter, clutching at my throat.

My access to breathable air diminishes until there’s nothing left for me to grasp, and the realization hits me. I’m going to fucking die if I can’t get to my EpiPen. I can barely see, and I won’t be able to get to the truck fast enough.

“Beth!” I hear Nigel calling my name as I grip my throat. If I could, I would tear the flesh open just to get a single breath and be able to tell him what I need.

If you can talk, you can breathe.Thanks a lot, Einstein.

That’s what Shawn used to always say about his panic attacks.

I open my mouth to try and force something out, but not even a squeak comes through.

This is it, isn’t it? I’m going to die outside this warehouse at only eighteen. On the bright side, at least Nigel is here with me. I'm not alone.

His fingers graze my cheek as my head spins, and I wonder how many more heartbeats I have left.

Then, I feel the hard prick on my arm, one I know pretty well.

My EpiPen. Nigel figured out what was wrong, and he…savedme.

The way movies portray it is grossly inaccurate. It isn’t instant relief but a slow loosening of the airway. I try to drag in more air, but my throat protests.

Nigel pulls me into his arms, and I hold on tight to him as I focus on his breathing, using it to ground me until I can breathe better.

“I’ve got you, butterfly,” he whispers, and I nearly cry at the burst of emotion in my chest.

“You…figured…” I struggle to push the words out with my raw and inflamed throat. “...it…out.”

“It wasn’t hard. You were turning red and clutching your throat. Good thing I had an EpiPen in the truck.”

He didn’t grab the one out of my bag?

“What did it?” he asks, his voice soft and disarming.

“Bleach,” I rasp as his fingers run through my hair, helping to soothe me.

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