Page 68 of Devious Delusions

“Think, Delilah. You know me. No one knew me like you did. You took my innocent soul and made it yours. Just. Think.”

I shake my head and my back hits the wall as he leans down, tipping my jaw up on the back of his gloved knuckles.

“Think, Delilah,” he implores.

I can’t. There’s no recollection of some creep following me or wearing masks and chasing me. His frustration rises as he lets go of my neck to tap his knuckles against the wall as though it will recall what he needs. My own pulses at my temples and I continue shaking my head while he softly knocks against the wall again.

“Remember me, koukla mou,” he begs.

Slowly lifting my hand, I try to remove his mask, but he abruptly pulls his head back. My fingers touch air and remain suspended as I attempt to give him what he wants.

“Let me see you. You don’t have to be scared.”

Pulling his head back, he stares at me, then a laugh rumbles through his chest, dripping in condescension. He switches personas and grabs my face, his fingers pushing into my teeth through my cheek so hard that I’ll feel them days from now. My wrists are next, and he holds them in one hand before slamming them against the wall above my head.

“Oh, koukla mou,” he croons as he leans into me, “I know you want my mouth, but your taunts won’t work again.”

He forces his knee between my legs and pushes up until I’m standing on my toes. I wince at the pressure, but he doesn’t soften and presses further into me as my fingers tingle from how hard he’s holding my wrists.

“You see,” he looks down the length of my body pinned to the wall, “your cunt is poisonous and I refuse to be your puppet again.”

I gasp as he presses me harder into the wall before he unwraps his hands from around me and turns, throwing me over his shoulder. “We’re playing my game now.”

He keeps walking and I stand against the wall, allowing it to hold me up. There’s no needle, or plastic wrapped around my face. He just walks away, uncaring.

And I watch him.

I watch his shoulders tense with each step until he walks out of the door and his steps crunch against the gravel away from my house. They get further and further away until there’s only silence.

30

DELILAH

For the first time in my life, the piano doesn’t quiet my thoughts. It makes them more dramatic with the deep notes in the background. I’ve searched every inch of the house, and I can’t find anything to place the masks, the socks, or anything that the freak, Ghost, has made out to be significant.

He’s a little bitch, throwing a tantrum because I can’t remember him. Inconsiderate prick. I’ve clearly had a lot to deal with mentally so I should be given some leeway.

Instead, he stands on the periphery of the property, refusing to engage with me. If I go outside, he’ll walk away. If I taunt him and do what he said by walking through the house naked, he’ll just watch. Nothing I do gets him to approach me or tell me anything.

Even now he doesn’t as I sit taller, ignoring the chill against my bare skin as I play without looking away from him. He’s found me sooner than he usually does when I’m in the studio Asher built. The dark sky doesn’t diminish Ghost’s figure. It makes him stand out as the moon shines down on the open driveway. He’s still dressed in all black, but he’s wearing themodified plague doctor mask and the beak curls down instead of straight ahead.

My fingers slow against the ivory keys, and he begins to sway like it’s controlling him. I stopped watching any audience I had at ten years old. I realized that my parents only wanted me to play the piano so they could be praised for how wellIdid.

Now, I watch. I can’t take my eyes off my single-member audience as he rocks, unsteady on his feet. One arm is limp at his side, and I miss the note as the ground directly beneath him gets darker. The moon reflects off it when all the other stones are dull due to the dry weather.

It takes a moment but then I see it. There’s something dripping from his hand. He’s not wearing a glove, but his fingers are dark, and I abruptly stand, uncaring about the piece I was playing.

The drips are continuous, and a pool begins to collect beside his feet. He’s still swaying, and I leave the room in a rush, forgetting that I’m naked. My steps thunder down the stairs and I pull the front door open with more force than necessary.

He doesn’t turn at the sound of my steps, he just sways with that horrible dripping like it requires all of his energy to stand. The mask is still covering his face, but I was right about the glove because his left hand is free of a covering and something wet races down his palm.

The dripping.

It’s blood.

My bare feet sink into the stones as I rush forward, and I sound hysterical to my own ears. “Ghost? Why are you bleeding?”

He doesn’t move or stop me from touching him as I grab his sleeve and slowly lift his arm. His gloved hand comes up as he cups my cheek, and his fingers glide over my skin as he traces the edge of my lips with his thumb like he always does. But hisvoice is lower, more emotional, and there’s less violence in it as he begs, “You’re all I have, Delilah. Please don’t leave me again.”

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