Page 43 of Highballs & Hexes

As the doorto his cell slammed shut, so did the lid on the coffin of Patrick’s dead heart. If Anu was kind, she’d take him thisvery moment, but he’d discovered the gods and goddesses were capricious fuckers who cared nothing for the lives of humans. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn the deities viewed witches as mortals viewed cockroaches: as bugs to be crushed under their boot.

The screech of unoiled hinges swinging open grated on his raw nerves, and Patrick lifted his lids in time to see Loman’s victims—no,hisvictims—sprint for the exit. A few brave souls stopped long enough to spit in his cell or throw what remained of their food.

A half-eaten croissant skidded to a halt at the heel of his shoe.

Would they be so brave if they knew the door wasn’t locked yet?

He didn’t blame them for their disgust or rage. Hell, if the situation was reversed, he’d likely rip the goddamned door from its hinges and beat his captor with it. Their restraint showed them to be a different caliber of person than the Patrick that existed in his twisted mind.

He was no hero.

Indeed, he’d just stood beside Fi and woke to the fact he was the polar opposite of everything he believed. Everything he wanted to be.Hewas the villain in these people’s story this time around. Not Loman. Not a copycat seeking to recreate what that gobshite had.

Jaysus!

The magnitude of what he’d done was sinking in, and it hurt to discover he was nothing but a sadistic devil, forcing them to revisit the trauma of their past.

Why?Why had he done it? Was it all because he needed the puzzle pieces to fit back in place? It was the only reason that made any sense.

Or it was until the truth worked its way up from the depths of his subconscious.

Patrick gasped and clutched his head.

His alter ego believed they were safer! That they’d heal if he could reconstruct what had happened to help them, make it better. If they’d found a way to escape, wouldn’t they be able to take their personal power back? Regain what was lost? All they needed was the strength of faith. He’d given them all an out, but none had recognized it.

Not even him.

It appeared Tadhg had been close a time or two, but his own demons had kept him imprisoned. Had the man solved Patrick’s unspoken riddle, he’d have been free days ago. Prior to Fi becoming involved. Yet he, along with the others, had preferred to wallow in pain and disillusionment rather than find a solution.

But now the tables had turned.

He was to be the prisoner again. This time for real, and rightfully so.

Fionola skidded to a halt, tugging her brother to a stop when he tried to drag her to freedom. “He wants us to seal him in, Tadhg.”

“Aye, it’s a fucking grand idea!” The other man’s face was ruddy in his outrage, and the light of battle glowed in his blue eyes.

Shutting his, Patrick smacked the back of his head against the cinder-block wall—hard—repeating the gesture a second, third, and fourth time for good measure. If he beat himself bloody, would it stop the endless self-hatred? Stop the negative dialogue in his mind? Possibly end his suffering for good? Perhaps. If he were senseless, he couldn’t harm anyone else with his absurd ideas.

“Stop it!” Fionola cried.“Stop!”

And suddenly she was there, cradling his head against her chest. He wanted to lift his arms and hold her close, but he didn’t have the right. And so he pulled away and returned to bashing his defective brains against the wall.

“Please! Patrick, please don’t,” she sobbed, clutching him against her in an attempt to stop his self-destructive behavior.“Please.”

“Leave him, Fi,” Tadhg barked. “He’s not worth even one of your tears.”

“Go, Tadhg. Get out of here and find his daughter, Dubheasa. She’ll know what to do.”

“Fuck that! I’ll not leave ya with him.”

Patrick shoved her toward her brother with the last of his strength. “Listen to him,” he croaked. “Listen to your brother.”

“No,” she replied, reaching for him again.

He frowned at the blood on her hands.

“You’re bleeding, love. Why are ya bleeding? Did I do that to you?” His horror was great. “Come, I’ll heal ya. Let me heal you.” He extended his arm, but was swamped by a tsunami of dizziness and pitched forward. The sight of her jean-clad knee in front of his face was unexpected and surprising. As he lay there, summoning the strength to sit up, the atmosphere around them altered. Became heavy mere moments before the crackling and popping began.

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