Page 28 of Lethal
Doctor,
You were so beautiful when you broke. We enjoyed the sounds you made.
One lie undone, one truth exposed, one more left to tell.
Shall we help you remember?
Wren & Bash
P.S. We dreamt of you screaming our names. Tonight, you’ll make our dreams come true. Tick-tock, tick-tock, little toy, we will be waiting.
Room 130, 10pm.
“We dreamt of you screaming our names. Tonight, you’ll make our dreams come true.”What the fuck does that even mean? Do they think I’ll allow a repeat of yesterday to happen? I want to be sick, and I want to scream. Fuck, I want to laugh at the absurdity of their assumptions and demands. Instead, I fold the note once, twice, and shove it into my skirt pocket, like it hasn’t burrowed under my skin and lit a fire within me. I makemy way to my chair, unsteady at first, everything reasonable, and sane, inside of me urging me to run away from this place, and never look back, instead of contemplating going to meet them. Unfortunately for my good sense, there’s steel beneath my bones now. A decision forged in the fire of last night’s sins. Ichosethem. I’ll keep choosing them, but I also won’t forget why I came here, and what was done to my beautiful cousin, Cecelia. What still festers beneath Wellard’s rotting skin.One more lie to tell… or undo.
There’s a knock at my door that pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I direct, placing my hands on the top of my desk, and lacing my fingers to steady my nerves. If this is some other fucked up delivery from the twins, I may actually lose my shit and go on a rampage.
“Miss Vaughan, Doctor Halstead has sent word requesting your presence now in the atrium garden.” A nurse in a dingy blue Wellard uniform pops her head inside my open door. I stare at her expression, trying to determine if she knows anything about why he’s demanding my presence, but her bored, neutral expression gives nothing away.
“Thank you, I will be right there,” I dismiss the nurse, and she closes the door behind her.
My hand instinctively grazes across the top drawer of my desk. I reach inside and grab the little present that Wren and Bash left me, hidden inside the pocket of my ruined jacket. My fingers tighten around the blood-stained metal shiv, and I discreetly hide it from the sight of Halstead’s possible cameras, and slip it into the waistband of my skirt, ensuring my blouse hides its existence. I don’t know why the brothers decided to arm me, but I’m grateful nonetheless. A mischievous smile quirks my lips at the thought of possibly using it on Halstead. I doubt that he would think me capable of such violence, after all, looks can be so deceiving. To Halstead, I’m weak prey, just like mypoor cousin was. He doesn’t know that the darkness inside of me rivals his own, and craves death and ruin. It calls out for the souls of monsters, like a grim reaper, prepared to punish them for their sins.
I depart my office with my head held high, and determination settling across my shoulders like a heavy shawl, protective and warm. I pass the nurse’s station, various curious pairs of eyes sliding over me, and dismissing me. I’ve never been overly friendly to any of them, preferring to keep to myself, and I know what they whisper to each other about me. They think I’m an uptight snob, who believes herself too good to be practicing medicine in Wellard Asylum. If they only knew the real me, and my purpose, would they change their tune? Would they be terrified for their lives? It doesn’t matter anyway, because they mean nothing to me. Not one of them tried to save my cousin, so in my eyes, they are guilty by association.
The sounds of patient screams, behind locked doors, are my company down the hallway, and I get the distinct impression I’m being carefully watched. Twice, I’ve turned around, and an orderly has paced silently behind me, only to disappear from sight when I turn to confront them. My shoes echo down the corridor like gunshots, reminding me how desolate this place is. The cobweb-covered fluorescent lights above flicker a few times, before righting themselves, and it’s enough to steal a breath from my throat. I tell myself I’m not afraid, that I won’t break again, that I’m stronger than when I first entered Wellard’s doors. I can still feel the phantom dried blood under my nails, from last night’s encounter with the orderly, and it doesn’t repulse me. Instead, it feels like it strengthens my resolve. I turn the corner that leads toward the atrium access, where Halstead lurks in the deceptive shadows of this hell, and something shifts behind me. It’s just a whisper, the subtlest hush of air, like a cool breath on the back of my neck, that warns me of danger. Iforce my steps to halt, and I listen, and yet I hear nothing.Just the hum of old vents, and the sharp scent of bleach, and decay, clinging to the tile.
“Paranoid much, Cat?”I whisper to myself. “You’re unraveling.”I move faster, my pulse ticking inside my ears, and I taste blood from where I’ve bitten the interior of my cheek, to prevent the scream that’s lodged in my throat. A large, black rat scurries past me, and its beady eyes stop to watch me, as if it doesn’t sense the danger emanating from me. I flash my teeth, growl deep in my throat, and stomp my feet, until it rushes away back into the shadows. “This whole place is filled with vermin,” I groan. The empty hallway feels longer than usual, like it’s stretching, the closer I get to the atrium door. I fumble for my ID badge, getting it ready to place it against the security reader.Snap.
That wasn’t in my head, fuck, something is here with me.I spin around too late as a shadow detaches from the wall, moving quickly and efficiently. A blunt force slams into my stomach, folding me in half. All the air flees my lungs as I try to scream, but a gloved and massive hand clamps over my lips, and a sour taste fills my mouth. The large figure doesn’t speak, and for a brief moment, I wonder if it’s Wren or Bash, but the shadow remains silent. Something cold and sharp presses against the back of my neck.A needle,my mind supplies with panic. I thrash, kicking and clawing at my attacker. My nails find flesh, and I hear a grunt, but he doesn’t stop. His grip tightens further, and my legs buckle, as the needle pierces my flesh.
In a matter of seconds, my vision angles sideways, and the corridor tilts, becoming dimmed.No. No. No.The man lowers me to the ground like a rag doll, one arm under my shoulders, almost gently, almost… reverently. As if he’s trying not to hurt me, and again, I wonder if it might be Bash. His face is still hidden in the semi-darkness, but I catch a glint of his badge,half-tucked under his coat, as my eyes threaten to close. A white Wellard ID, with no name imprinted on it, just the red mark above the corner of the card, marking him as part ofHalstead’s inner circle.
“You wandered too far, Miss Vaughan,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me, his voice soft but stern. “Now we’ll see how deep your strength truly runs.” My lips move, but no sound comes out. He taps my cheek twice, mocking me, as he hefts my body in his arms as if I weigh nothing, and I hear the faint beep of the door unlocking.
“Let’s find out who you really are,Doctor.”Then, the world drowns in gloom, and my eyes close against my will.Bash! Wren! Please save me!
It feels like the walls are closing in, and the room seems to shrink smaller and smaller by the minute. The air is wrong, insufferably thick, yet still carrying a deadly chill. It’s too quiet, and it makes me miss the sounds of the patients above us in the other levels of the asylum, screaming in agony. There are no footsteps, no card reader beeping, no scent of fear, guilt, or silk-clad skin.She’s late, she’s never late. She knows the consequences of disappointing us.
Wren hums softly in the corner, head tilted back, rocking slightly on the dusty floor, his eyes glazed with a kind of unholy madness that should frighten me, yet doesn’t. I don’t know which of his voices has control of him at the moment, but regardless, it’s never good when he’s in this state. A part of me wants to lock him in this room, and disappear with my little toy, so I can have her all to myself, and keep her safe from him. But I know the truth: I never will, and she wouldn’t be any safer alone with me. The Carnevil twins are a pair, and one cannot be present without the other.
“Doctor Birdie flew the coop, and left her twins without their soup. Naughty bird with a bloody beak, we’ll clip her wings, then make her squeak...”
“Stop it,” I snap, my agitation rising, and the desire to slam his head into the wall almost overriding my meager control. He doesn’t, of course, the psycho prick. He only hums louder, his grin wide and glassy. He’s antsy, with too much energy, and he’s purposely picking a fight with me, hoping that we’ll erupt into violence, just like when we were kids, and the unknown and fear plagued us. I know that he feels jealousy toward the doctor. He fears that she will come between us, and if I’m honest, I fear it too.
I stand, pacing the abandoned treatment room in tight, measured strides.Twelve steps, turn. Twelve steps back.I’ve counted them so many times that the walls breathe with the rhythm.Fuck, where is she?She said she chose us. She looked me in the eye andbledfor us. She left that room wrapped in my arms, and coated in our marks. She wouldn’t have changed her mind. She couldn’t have lied straight to my face, could she?
“Pretty puppet’s gone to dance, in Halstead’s house without a single chance…”
“Wren!” I growl, feeling my eye beginning to twitch. He stops singing as his head snaps toward me, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat, like a child caught mid-theft.
“She’s not coming,” he whispers, a tremble in his tone now. “She changed her mind, brother. She remembered what we are when she woke up, because you let her go.Monsters,Bash, she knows we’re monsters. She hates us, she hates me. She only wants you!”
“No,” I reply, sharper than I mean to. “No, she didn’t. She’s one of us now, and she doesn’t hate you.” The words leave my lips to reassure my brother, but in the pit of my stomach, a boulder is sinking.She’s mine. She belongs to me. She can’t hide from me. I will always find her. Her mind is a playground, and I refuse to lose our games.
Wren shrinks a little but keeps watching me, still swaying and clutching the edge of his shirt, like he used to do when he was a frightened child, as if he’s trying to climb inside his own skin, and hide from the real monsters that used to hurt us. “She let us cut her, Bash,” he murmurs in a meek voice. “She liked it, didn’t she?”
“She didn’t run,” I reply, quieter now, trying to reassure myself as much as him. “If she was going to, she would’ve done it before we carved our names in blood.”
