Page 142 of Nemesis

“Ifwe meet on the other side.”

I stare at him. My fate doesn’t seem concrete. At least—I can’t grasp what he’s saying to me.

He gets a loop of the chain and swings the hook around, gaining momentum. When he releases it, it sails up to the ceiling and over one of the pipes. It comes down to just over his head. He grabs at it, drawing it down to chest level, and nods to himself.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “What did your parents believe? How were you raised?”

I…

“We were agnostic.”

I’m in the corner of the room. There’s a hollow space at my spine, but both my shoulders touch the walls. It made me feel a modicum of safety in the darkness, enough to doze, but that haze of sleep has vanished entirely.

My mouth is dry, but I continue, “I never believed in God or anything like that. Just figured the end would be like sleeping. Maybe a dream or two, but… nothing else. Darkness.”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Rather than facing the prospect of Heaven or Hell… well, I suppose your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to face such a thing, right? After what they get involved in? The Devil always wins.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I protest. “My mom’s side is Catholic. My grandmother tried to take me to church, and it just didn’t stick.”

“So the in-between… Tell me about that.” He’s wrapped the excess chain around a cleat bolted to the wall. “Your Catholic grandma, would she be worried about your soul?”

“She died.” I press back harder against the wall when he stops what he’s doing and comes closer. My hands, at this point, are completely numb. I don’t think my legs have much feeling in them either, after spending too long in this position.

He pulls a syringe from his pocket and squats over me. So close he’s practically sitting on my lap.

“This will just help a little bit with the transition,” he says.

I slam my head forward. It collides with his, and he very nearly falls away. But at the last second, he grabs my shoulder. His fingers dig into my skin. Stars dance in my eyes, and blood drips from his nose. He doesn’t even touch it, just shoves me back to the wall and leans in closer.

“This isn’t it,” he promises. “Not the end of our fun.”

His smile is stained red, and he licks at his lips. I don’t expect him to jam the needle into my neck. He aims for the artery, the injection not meant for muscle. His thumb presses down, injecting who-knows-what into me.

Then it’s gone, and I thrash at the sensation of it sliding free. The coldness it leaves behind.

“Shh,” he whispers. “Give it a second.”

A second is all it takes. Euphoria spreads under my skin, a rush that is indescribable.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Ride the wave.”

Holy shit.

It’s good.

It’s devastatingly good.

He grips my chin, keeping my face aimed at his. “Yes. That’s right.” He reaches behind me and cuts the binding on my wrists. He guides my hands around, leaving them in my lap.

I can’t even move.

My body is floating, all the pain and every worry somehow miles and miles away. My skin is warm, but the concern isn’t there. Not in the slightest. My eyes close of their own accord, and I sink into thoughts of a girl with golden skin.

While I drift, I’m aware of shifting shadows around me. Something cold touches my wrists, and then I’m lifted. It barely registers until my arms are drawn up over my head. My body sags, but my wrists catch me. My shoulders strain, although even that doesn’t hurt.

“How’s this?” he asks.

My lips and tongue and teeth aren’t coordinated enough for words, and he laughs at my attempt. There’s another prick, this time in my arm, and that rush comes back over me. My back arches, and every sensation on my skin seems to double.

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