Page 10 of Lethal
If Bash ever tells Halstead what he suspects… If Halstead were to really know I was here under false pretenses… he wouldbury me next, and ensure no one ever finds out, just like what he did to Cecelia. Fuck, I’m putting myself at so much risk, and for what? I can’t bring Cecelia back from the dead.Truth.The truth needs to be brought into the light. I owe it to my cousin.
I stare down at the file again, an emotion I don’t want to admit rising within me. TheCarnevil Brothers’crimes, the flesh-eating, the ritualistic mutilation, and the performances at that wretched circus, should make me sick. It should have driven me out of this room, out of this asylum, screaming, without a backward look. But instead… instead, my eyes linger on their photos. My heart pounds loudly inside my chest cavity, not with fear, but with something hotter, darker, and more menacing. Something I can’t name yet. Something sinful and forbidden, something I know I shouldn’t want, but am finding it more difficult to deny.They’re not the only ones unraveling. They are not the only ones filled with dark desires.
I stand and turn off the lamp, my decision cementing itself inside of me. If Bash wants to play games, then I’ll play his game, at least long enough to get what I want out of him, and then I’ll tie a noose around his neck, so he can never divulge my secrets to anyone. In the dark, the shadows whisper with glee at my choice, ready to be bystanders to this tournament of wills.
Careful, Caterina. The monsters are watching, and they like what they see.
Poor, old Wellard Asylum is crumbling, bit by sinister bit. It can’t hold its breath without coughing up decaying dust. Its rot is spreading faster and faster, without any way to contain it. I lie on my age-stained, lumpy mattress, on the cot that barely holds my large, six-foot-one frame, and stare up at the pockmarked ceiling, and the flies that surround the one overhead light fixture in the room. The rusty bedframe coils groan loudly every time I shift, and right now, their sound is competing with Wren’s humming under his breath, while hebusily sketches something obscene on the wall with a broken, bright blue crayon. His knees bounce to a rhythm only he can hear. If I had to guess, it’s probably the screams of long-gone victims.
I watch with mild disgust as Wren reaches out and captures a large beetle from the wall, as it tries to scramble from his predatory existence. He stares at it, his lips moving silently, as if one of the voices that occupy his head is having a full conversation with the insect. “Treat,you’ll have to do for now,“ he mumbles before biting into the bug, and the crunch of its shell fills our confined space. The minute he’s done chewing, he’s right back to his distorted humming. I wish he wouldn’t do that. He’s getting worse the longer we’re forced to remain here, and his cravings for flesh are morphing into other unsavory things.
Regardless of my brother’s appalling habit, I’m basking in excitement that I can barely contain. The type that used to lead to us capturing one of our victims, and enjoying their company until we broke them of mind, body, and soul. My mind has been going over every single facial expression that crossed my little toy’s face, when I uttered my challenge. I lean against the cold metal bed frame, arms stretched behind my head, smiling to no one in particular. I’m sure that right now, I look like I fit right into this mental institution, and perhaps the truth is I do, but not as an inhabitant, no, as its fucking king.
“She shook, Wren,” I utter softly, not at all fazed that he’s lost in the voices in his head. “Her lips parted. Just a fraction, and her eyes,fuck, those cold, dark eyes, they widened just enough for me to confirm that I’m right, brother.“ I swallow the groan that desperately wants to escape at how stunning the doctor is when she is frightened. I need a taste of that fear, to allow it to marinate and fill her so completely, that it overwhelms her, and makes her reckless. Yes, she’s impetuous, and filled witha false sense of bravery, but it’s a thing of beauty to watch. I wonder how far I would need to push her, for her to fall off that emotional and professional cliff she holds so tightly to?
“Did she cry?” Wren asks absentmindedly, the humming having stopped while I was lost in my thoughts, but his back is still to me.
I lift my head and squint at his newest creation on the wall. It bears a disturbing resemblance to a certain doctor we know, but with angry cockroaches spilling en masse from her mouth, and if I’m not mistaken, a massive, demonic spider is fucking her gaping pussy. He’s such a creative genius, and it’s truly a shame he doesn’t get to share his talents with the world. “No,” I whisper. “But she wanted to.”
She’s cracking, brother. Just a few more sharp taps, and she’ll split wide open for us. Then, we can feast to our heart’s content.
“She dreams of you now,” Wren giggles, the sound tightening my chest, and making him sound like a younger version of himself. “Of your hands, your teeth, maybe of us both, our cocks, and the things we could do to her. I want to make her scream, Bash. I’ll bet she has the prettiest tears.” I can tell the thought makes him happy, that he wants her to dream of us. If left to his devices alone, she probably wouldn’t last long, but I know I can pull Wren back from the abyss when I need to. For my little toy, I may be willing to do almost anything, including going against my nature, and even his.
“I gave her a taste of our power,” I reply, teeth flashing. “Now she wants to know how far I’ll go.”
Wren’s movements suddenly pause, as he turns toward the door, nose twitching. “She’s coming,” he sings, his hands clapping with excitement, like a small child.
“She wouldn’t,” I utter with conviction, wondering if my brother is losing it more than usual.
The sound of keys jingling, a low murmuring of voices, heavy boots, and a sharp clack of her heels, make their way to us through the door. My heart rate races as I sit up on my bed, my feet now planted on the ground, ready for anything that might happen. The door creaks as it’s unlocked and swings open, and then, the impossible is before me. My little brave toy, the woman who occupies all of my waking and sleeping thoughts, walks through the metal threshold of our cage.Fuck, she’s stunning.Perfection wrapped up in a package I long to tear apart.
She stops abruptly, her eyes scanning the small room that Wren and I share. Her back is ramrod straight, and her head is held high. As if she’s trying to convince herself she is safe, and can handle the situation she’s putting herself in, but I see the slight tremble in her arms and legs. My little toy is afraid of us. She knows that we’re dangerous predators, ones with a taste for her. “Smells like sunshine, Bash,” Wren groans, as he drops his broken crayon on the top of his bed and makes a move to get up.
“Stay, Wren,” I order, and for once, he listens, even if he makes a childish, annoyed face at me.
Two large guards flank her just inside the doorway. Tweedledum and Tweedledee, as Wren likes to refer to them. One looks highly uncomfortable, and petrified, as he shifts his large frame, and his fingers reach toward a taser, which I can clearly see outlined in his side pocket. The other looks resolved, bored even, and I know from experience he enjoys violence, and inflicting pain, as much as the patients of Wellard do. I wonder if mylittle toyhas bribed them to participate in whatever is about to happen here. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised. I didn’t think she had it in her.
“You can restrain them both, and remove that one from the room,” she states, her voice brittle and cold as she nods in Wren’s direction. “I need privacy with the other one.” Her dark,chocolate eyes refuse to meet mine, and it causes a smirk to cross my lips.
“Oh,doctor,“ I murmur, rising to my feet. “How improper.”
The guards don’t hesitate to move within the small room, cuffs are brought out of their pockets, and both Wren and I readily produce our arms, so they can restrain us. The bite of metal meets my wrists mere seconds later, followed by my ankles, and a chain is wrapped around my waist, too. They don’t hesitate to attach my wrists to the chain at my waist; after all, they know what I’m capable of. I don’t bother to fight any of it. I want this. I want to see how far our doctor is willing to go. I lick my lips, hunger assailing me as I watch her shift uncomfortably, taking in our small room, and our meager possessions.
Wren cackles as they drag him to the opposite corner, humming something about hearts in jars, and bloody mouths. They shackle him with the same restraints, and force him from the room, but not before he makes obnoxious kissing motions at her, which have her flinching, and taking a step away from him. “Have fun, brother, and leave some of her alive for me.”
Then we are alone, well, alone enough, I guess. I notice that she doesn’t close the door to our room, leaving it partially ajar, as she takes in the details of the space we spend most of our time in. A frown mars her face, at the crumbling condition of our cots, and the small, worn sink and toilet in the farthest part of the room. She steps forward, her heels clicking on the neglected floor. The only other sounds inhabiting the suddenly silent space are of her breathing, too shallow, as if her chest is tight, and drawing air is a chore. Her eyes meet mine, and I glimpse the fire burning within them.Ravenous. Wary. Determined. Mine.
Anticipation and tension hum throughout the room, hers and mine. The space feels suddenly warmer, and even smaller, as if all our emotions are taking up valuable space. I keep myself perfectly still, not daring to break the spell between us. “What doyou know about her?” she questions, her voice sharp and edgy, with no sign of weakness.No greeting. No pretense. Straight to it.Good, she’s learning. How brave my little toy is becoming. I wonder, if I suddenly lunged at her, would she scream and try to run from me? Maybe, but then again, she might turn and fight me too, and wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Tell her nothing. Tell her everything. Make her beg. Make her break.I tilt my head, my smile curving like a blade. I run my tongue across my bottom lip, and watch as her eyes track the movement. A part of me wants to bait her, to determine how far from grace, and her professionalism, she’s willing to stray, to get what she wants. Yes, I need to test her, to see if she’ll leave behind her false saint persona, and grasp the sinner one with both hands. She came here for a reason, daring to tempt the monsters that inhabit this room, and it’s only fair I get a taste of her.
“I know what they did to her,” I reply. I take a seat on the edge of my bed, but refuse to withdraw my eyes from hers. I don’t want to miss a single reaction of hers. I need to observe it all, so I can dissect her, and determine what makes her tick. Then I can use her fears and desperation against her, to get what I want. “To the girl who used to share your smile. She screamed often in the dark, but no one came.”
She flinches visibly, as if I’ve slapped her, and I can almost see the wheels turning inside her mind. She’s not sure if she believes me. I guess I can’t really blame her. I am a psychopathic serial killer, who lured his victims with lies, murdered them, and then consumed them. Everyone needs a hobby though. I shouldn’t be blamed for my choices.
“Cecelia,” I add softly, and wait for her reaction, and she doesn’t disappoint me.Oh, little toy, I’ll have to teach you how to better conceal your responses, otherwise, the other monsterswill tear you apart. We can’t have that, now that you belong to me and Wren.
“I want details, and you will give them to me, so help me, god.” Her hands curl into tight fists, as she finally meets my stare head-on, without backing down. There’s an underlying furious rage, a bite to her tone. I find it endearing, almost as much as her demands, and her assumption that she’s still in control here. The truth is she never was, and as long as I feel like playing with her, she never will be.
