Page 19 of Lethal
This one belongs tous, only us.
“Please! Please stop, I’m sorry that I hurt her! I promise I’ll leave, I’ll disappear. You’ll never have to see me again, no one will, I’ll go and never come back!” The tears shine down his ruddy face, and snot covers his trembling chin. A glimmer of satisfaction fills me seeing him like this, desperate and afraid. Just a small measure of what she’s felt all along while he’s hurt her.
“You think that’s enough, after what you’ve done? After all the pain and suffering you’ve caused?” I reach forward andgrip his shirt, the desire to rip out his throat almost overtaking me, but I need him to suffer more. I can’t let him escape all the harm that he’s caused. “No, you need to pay, you’ll suffer until there’s nothing left of you, and when I’m done, everyone will know exactly what kind of monster you are. You can’t hide your sins.”
“Please, I... I’m sorry,” he cries, his shoulders caving in as his body trembles with sobs. “You’re not sorry for what you did, you’re sorry you got caught. You wouldn’t have stopped hurting her, if I hadn’t discovered what you’ve been doing. I’m going to make you pay in blood,” I snarl as I slap his face, allowing my fingernails to drag along his cheek and mark him.
He thinks a few measly apologetic words will undo all the harm that he’s caused, but fuck that shit. He’s a predator who preyed on her because she was weaker, and no one was paying attention. I’m now watching his every move, and I’m scarier than he is. He won’t get away scot-free without paying for his mistakes, I’ll make damn sure of it. Sins must be paid in blood, and I’m here to collect.
I don’t remember saying yes. I don’t remember stripping off all my clothes in the washroom, until my stark, white, knee-length doctor’s coat was the only thing that concealed me from prying eyes. I don’t recall walking down the stairs, past the flickering lights, and the old, rusted freight elevator, through the frigid corridor that stinks like ammonia, and rotted things noone has ever cleaned properly. But I remember the door,room one-twenty.Steel. A beep of a keycard. Silent.
I stand in front of it, my heart threatening to crawl up my throat, like an entity attempting to escape me. A cold shiver runs down my spine with a warning. A premonition that whatever happens here tonight will change me forever. Perhaps I’m walking right into my own death. The thought doesn’t scare me the way it should. Instead, it almost feels soothing and welcoming.This can all be over, once and for all, all our sins wiped clean, finally.
“No notes, no questions, just the truth,” I whisper into the silent corridor as I raise my hand, my fingers grasping the aged handle. They tremble as I open it, and I almost drop my hand. I nearly turn and run away, the anxiety filling me, a crushing weight so oppressive that I can barely breathe. Instead, I force myself to take a step inside, even though everything within me tells me not to. The room is padded with dingy white fabric on every surface, and the only item within it is a dusty, rusted, old metal desk, with something white draped on its surface. It’s dimly lit, and the light filtering from above is cold and imposing, casting shadows all around the small space. It smells like something terrible died in here years ago, and no one has dared to clean it.Discarded. Abandoned. Waiting.My eyes know I’m alone, but the hairs on my arms rise to the sinister specters that lie in wait, ready to devour me. Souls, I’m sure, of those painfully departed at the hands of Wellard Asylum, forever trapped in this place. Whether they beg to be released, or prefer to trap the souls of others here, remains to be seen.
I take another hesitant step inside, releasing my hold on the door, and it closes behind me with a gut-retching bang, and the lock system engages with a metallic click. My whole body stills, not even daring to take a breath, as my heart threatens to tear out of my chest with fear. “No, fuck!” I try to pry the door openagain, but it doesn’t budge. Something is wrong. Wren and Bash aren’t here, just… silence. A tidal wave of doubt creeps through me. Every horror movie I’ve ever watched races through my mind, and in all of them, I can see myself as the dumb character with no common sense, who dies right at the beginning. Is this a joke, some sort of test where they sought to see how far I would go? I have the answer ready on my trembling lips. I know full well I have hit rock bottom. I would do just about anything they ask of me. The question is, would it be for Cecelia, and the answers I crave, or is it for them? Wren and Bash Norwood, theCarnevil Twins,who are a direct link to my unhinged obsession.
“Hello?” I whisper, my voice cracking in the too-silent room. A noise catches my attention, and another door opens, one disguised into the padded walls, with no handles to pry it open. A large man steps inside, one I’m not sure I recognize, in an orderly uniform. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, and the shadows cast part of his face in semi-darkness. Have I seen or spoken to him before, when I completed my rounds? I’m not sure, and my mind refuses to cooperate. A blaring alarm is sounding inside my head, and the word‘RUN’is flashing in bright, neon red lights. His dark brown, soulless eyes meet mine, and a vile smile that isn’t human breaks across his ruddy, whiskered face. “Miss Vaughan,” he drawls. “You shouldn’t be down here alone…”
Nothing is threatening about his words, yet the tone implies it. I step away and press my back against the door, but I refuse to take my eyes off him. “Who are you?” I demand, but he doesn’t respond, his beady eyes just watch me intently. I observe in horror as he firmly seals the door shut behind him. My heart slams against my rib cage, knowing there’s no other way out now. I’m trapped, a prisoner in this small, confining room, that reeks of death, with someone who means me harm. My hand reaches for the buttons of my coat, not to take it off,God no,but totighten it, to shield myself, because there’s nothing under it, just as the twins have told me to do, and I’d stupidly agreed.What the hell am I doing? Had they purposely tricked me, and led me to my death?“Don’t come any closer,” I demand, my voice trembling. “I’ll scream.”
A laugh escapes from him, loud and menacing, and the sound causes my stomach to drop and my knees to shake. “That’s the point.” He lunges forward, and I stumble away from the door, hitting the wall. My elbow cracks against the padding, radiating pain up my shoulder as I kick out, screaming, and attempting to fight him off, but he’s so much larger and stronger. “You can’t run from me... You can’t pretend you’re better than me down here. No one’s watching you now.” His hand wraps ruthlessly around my throat, cutting off my airway, and forcing a wheezing gasp to escape my lips. He uses his brute strength to dangle me above the floor, holding me up just by my neck, as my vision begins to darken with the lack of air. His other hand reaches between the bottom parted folds of my doctor’s jacket, up my inner thighs, his fingernails scratching my skin, before his digits slide harshly over my bare folds, cupping me and pinching my clit viciously, until tears slide down my face. “Noooo...” I try to utter, but the word dies on my lips.
“We’re going to have some real fun, slut. I hope you don’t mind it rough.” His cackle penetrates through all my senses, as I attempt to push him away with the last remaining bout of strength I have. My fingernails dig into the flesh of his face and neck, and in that moment, I think of Bash. The way his commanding voice would tell me to fight back, not to succumb to this monster who wants to hurt me. I think of Wren’s voice, thick with riddles and madness, and I hate myself for it, but I want them. I want them to save me.Please. Come now. Come now, come now, please…
My eyes begin to lose focus, my desperation overriding all of my other thoughts. The wall opens once more, and I glimpse over the brute’s shoulder as Bash moves like a shadow across the floor, silent and deadly. He doesn’t shout or hesitate, and his eyes never meet mine, his focus solely on the man attempting to kill me. Bash tackles, and rips the man off of me, hard enough to hear bones crack against the floor. The man screams, as I go tumbling in the other direction, grasping at my neck, and trying desperately to get air into my lungs. I’m on my hands and knees, terrified, trying to get out of the way of the two men exchanging blows on the floor.
The secret door catches my attention, and it’s now ajar, and my self-preservation demands that I try to escape through it. Just as I risk crawling toward it, Wren comes through it, laughing, snarling, a blur of pale, tattooed limbs, and fury and pushes it closed. He looks possessed, teeth bared like something inhuman, and the sound he makes when he grabs the man’s head, and slams his own into it, is terrifying. I collapse to the floor, pressing my back against the padded wall, gasping, torn coat clutched around me as I try to scramble to my knees, and move closer to the twins. “Bash,” I choke. “Stop him. He’s going to kill him...”
“Stay back,” Bash replies, his voice cold and clipped. I can’t tell if he’s speaking to me, Wren, or both of us, but Wren doesn’t stop. Wren’s fists land punch after brutal punch against the orderly’s face. The sound of bone cracking, and wet blood splattering, is loud even as it competes against our harsh breathing, as he crouches beside the fallen man, eyes blazing, and teeth bared. “He touched her,” he hisses, his lip curling in disgust.
“He touched her,my porcelain doll!MINE!What has five fingers and a death wish? HIM!“ His face darts forward, and his teeth bite down hard on the man’s ear, ripping a chunk offlesh off before spitting it out, as if its taste somehow offends him. More blood splatters on the padded walls, creating a horrifying abstract painting. “He touched her, Bash! He bruised her! He wanted her to bleed... her blood belongs to me, tous!Hurt him. Flay him. Cut out his teeth and sew them into his eyes. Rip out his heart and make him cry!”Wren grabs the guard’s hair, and smashes his face into the floor with a child’s delight. He mumbles incoherent things to himself over and over, and I realize the voices are screaming, and in control of him now. Blood sprays along the padded walls and coats his hands, trickling down his arms, and over those puckered, burned scars on his flesh. “Stop,” I choke on the word, my bruised throat making it difficult to utter. “Bash, make... him... stop!”He’s going to kill him for hurting me.Some part of me knows that’s not right, but another part wants to allow him to do just that.Let Wren be our psychotic warrior. That fucker deserves to die for laying his filthy hands on us,my mind demands, but I can’t. I’m still a doctor, one whose oath is to heal, not hurt.
Bash’s heated eyes slide over me, and I follow his glance, seeing how my coat is gaping open and exposing my body to him. I quickly grasp the material, my fingers clinging to it, as if it could somehow protect me from what has already happened or, worse, what could still happen. The fabric doesn’t have any magical abilities. It won’t save me from two deranged, sadistic serial killers, any more than the disgusting, violent orderly, but it’s all I have.
Bash pries his eyes away from me, with a final heated look, and crawls over to Wren, taking his enraged face between his hands and whispering something I can’t hear, in a tranquil, strong voice, and then somehow, Wren lets go, his demeanor calming. He turns away from the bleeding, unconscious orderly, grinning. Blood coats his cheeks, chin, and teeth, and his blue-gray eyes, filled with utter madness, meet mine. He claps hisblood-stained hands, like a small child who has enjoyed an epic experience. The thought that all of this is some sort of sick game to him, that he can’t understand the ramifications of his actions, blares through my mind, but I immediately dismiss it. He knows he holds the power of life and death in his hands. He enjoys the violence. It’s ingrained into him; it’s who he is. No amount of therapy and drugs will ever change that.
I open and close my mouth, without the benefit of sound. My body shivers over and over with both adrenaline, and fear, and yet... I’m not running. Why the hell am I not running? Why am I not trying to leave through that open door, and locking the monsters in here together?Where are you going to go, Cat? You belong here just as much as they do.
Bash makes his way over to me then, almost as if he can sense the words speeding through my mind. Silent. Measured. Beautiful, and horrifying. A red-stained knight defending his queen.Is that what I am now?He kneels before me, his fingers caressing my chin, and forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re safe now,” he says. “He can’t touch you again.”I’ll never be safe again.I know it, even as he endeavors to convince me otherwise.
My breath exhales in ragged bursts, sharp in my ears. I can’t feel my legs, can’t feel anything but the throb of terror, still working its way out of my spine. I realize my lip is bleeding, the taste of rich copper on my tongue, but I don’t remember how it happened. Bash reaches out and brushes his thumb across it. Slow. Reverent. Possessive. A shudder runs through me, and I swallow my pained gasp as I let him. My core tightens, with both fear and arousal, as I meet his intense eyes, and in their depths, I witness the monster that lies in wait, ready and willing to end me.
Behind him, Wren looms, shifting side to side on his feet, a dark presence awaiting his turn to touch me. “Pretty little doctor in her clean white coat, now painted red, nowhere to run, nowords to quote…” His voice is softer now, sweet and strange, as if he fears to spook me further.They’re monsters and killers, they’re not afraid of anything, and they don’t care how you feel. Don’t romanticize what is happening here,I warn myself, yet I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief at their presence.
I should pull away from Bash’s touch, and make some attempt to save myself, but instead, I lean in, breathing in his masculine scent. My eyes meet Bash’s, and surprise fills me at what I glimpse staring back at me. His calm, composed face is unreadable, except for the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He watches me, with a hunger that staves off the chill in the air, and lights a fire within me. I force myself to break the connection, and stare at Wren over Bash’s shoulder. He’s wild-eyed and trembling, his fingers covered in the orderly’s blood, moving in a rhythmic, chaotic movement against his chest.
I force my glance on the man who’d tried to...no, no, I can’t,I can’t allow myself to vocalize it into words, not even to myself. I flinch at the thought, my mind trying to protect itself, and shutting down. My skin, however, remembers the weight of his body, the press of his hand around my throat. The smell of his arid sweat in my nostrils.If they hadn’t come…
“You’re not crying,” Wren says, his voice too loud and sudden. I glance up in his direction, and he’s pacing and twitching, as if he’s filled with too much energy.Is he about to have one of his episodes, and if he does, will I be safe here?
“You’re not crying,” he repeats with agitation. “You should be… he hurt you. Hetouchedyou. You didn’t call for me. You didn’t scream my name. Why didn’t you scream my name,porcelain dolly?”
“Wren!” Bash shouts as he stares up at his brother, his shoulders flexing, as if he’s preparing to restrain him.
“No,” Wren snaps, whirling. “She was going to let it happen. She was going to allow him to touch what ismine, and now she just sitsthere... like apretty broken doll.”
“I didn’t,” I breathe unsteadily. “I didn’tletanything happen, Wren. He came in here and attacked me.“ But somehow my words sound hollow and weak, because somewhere beneath the panic and the shame, another feeling has crept in.Relief. Not because they saved me, but because it was them. Because it was Wren and Bash who saw me come apart.I loathe myself for that, for my irrational weakness when it comes to them.
