Page 16 of Devoured
And suddenly I wasn’t in the shower anymore.
I was in that stone chamber again. Watching Margaret stand perfectly still. Watching the figure with the blade, raise it high. Watching her body split from head to hips, falling open like a zipper unfastened too fast. The sound. The spray. The impossibility of her silence.
I jerked my hand back, gasping.
This is just a shower stall. This is just a stain. My mind is mixing nightmares with reality.
I scrubbed myself until my skin screamed. Let the scalding water burn away everything soft. Let the soap strip away the memory, the smell, the stain. But nothing could erase the feel of those hellfire eyes finding me in the dark or the sense that they were still watching.
When I was done with the shower, I found fresh scrubs waiting on a bench outside. Same pale blue. Same thin fabric that clung to damp skin. I dressed fast, still wet, still shaking, and bolted from the showers.
The hallway stretched in both directions like a maze with no markings. No signs, just endless stone walls. An orderly passed by, arms crossed like a barricade, eyes narrowed like he expected me to run.
I kept my head down.
I followed the only sound that made sense—dishes clattering, voices murmuring somewhere up ahead.
Two corridors later, I found the cafeteria. Wide doors propped open, breakfast smell drifting out—eggs and toast on the edge of burning. Inside were white tables in neat rows under harsh lights that turned everyone’s skin gray. Women sat scattered throughout, some alone, some in small clusters. Orderlies lined the walls with their arms crossed, watching everything.
Nurse Sela stood near the food line with her clipboard, ticking off names as patients shuffled past. She glanced up when I entered, her expression shifting from bored to annoyed.
“You’re late,”she said, like I’d had a choice. “Get in line.”
I joined the queue behind a woman who kept scratching at her neck, leaving red marks. Nobody talked. There was just the scrape of trays, the thunk of ladled food hitting plastic, the shuffle of feet on linoleum.
The woman behind the counter didn’t speak either. Just pointed with one gloved hand.
Oatmeal. Toast. A green apple that looked waxy enough to bounce if dropped. A carton of milk with the date rubbed away by handling. I took my tray and moved to an empty table near the back, instinct pulling me toward a wall. I didn’t know if that was safer, or if it just gave me fewer directions to be surprised from. This was an old habit I had developed from living with Theo—always know your exits, always keep your back protected.
The chairs were bolted. Everything in here seemed fixed in place.
I started with the oatmeal. It tasted like wet cardboard, but I kept eating anyway. On the third bite, something metallic and bent cut into my tongue. I spat into my hand. A staple pin fell out, bent and gray, streaked with red. My tongue found the cut it left and tasted copper. I put the staple on my tray. Seriously, I didn’t even feel mad. Just worn out. Too tired to care about one more shitty thing.
This was it. My whole life now. St. Dymphna until I died. No getting out. Just this place, these people, swallowing staples and counting days until my body quit.
I stared at the staple sitting next to my toast when suddenly, someone touched my shoulder. I jerked away without thinking.
“Sorry.”The voice was male but soft. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I turned to find a man in orderly whites, but everything about him seemed different from the others. Where Tobias had been all predatory bulk, this one was lean, almost careful in how he held himself. Ginger hair fell across his forehead, and behind wire-rimmed glasses, brown eyes held something I’d almost forgotten existed—genuine concern.
“I’m Isaac,”he said, stepping back to give me space. “Dr. Varnar wants to see you now.”
He didn’t say it like a command. More like a request.
I stood, leaving the contaminated breakfast behind. As I pushed back the chair, his gaze flicked to the staple on my tray. His jaw tightened.
“You should report that,”he said quietly. Then, under his breath: “Not that it would help.”
We walked through the corridors, Isaac beside me instead of ahead. He wasn’t herding me like Tobias had—just walking with me.
Near the rec room, I heard humming. Through the doorway, I saw a woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, rocking slightly. She had dark skin and black hair cut in uneven chunks. When she looked up, her face was thin, with big brown eyes and hollow cheeks.
“That’s Marion.”Isaac’s tone warmed, almost protective. “She’s been here about a year. Marion, this is Zahra. She’s new.”
Her head tilted, studying me. Then her eyes lit up with recognition, her mouth curling into a grin that was equal parts friendly and unsettling.
“Oh shit. You’re her.”She scrambled to her feet with movements quick and birdlike. “The firestarter. I saw you on the news. Well, once—TV time’s a fucking luxury here, and we only get twenty minutes on Sundays if we’re good little psychos.”
