Page 18 of Antihero
"No. I haven’t lied. Everything I’ve told you is the truth. I’ve just left things out. Which is more than you can say, 'John the accountant'. And whatever you think, Ididn’tknow who youwere. How the hell could I have known that? On that, how the fuck did you figure me out?"
Needler ignores the last part, and points out. “Lying by omission is still lying. You’ve been murdering people," he adds.
"Well, we can't leaveallthe killing to you, Needler."
“I’m reformed.”
“Declan may disagree.”
Ignoring that, he asks, "I can assume you're not done."
I close my mouth.
That chuckle again. Dry, humourless. I want to believe he won’t do it, but I’ve heard enough about Needler to not be confident about that. Maybe it’s time to start crying.
The banging on my door makes us both jump.
"Paige?"The small, male voice comes through. Fuck. James. He likes to pop over when he sees my light on late. He's probably hoping I'll throw him a bang. Not going to happen, but he’s too simple to realise that. I wouldn't consider him harmless, but he does come in handy sometimes. Usually for changing a lightbulb or unclogging my sink. Right now, however, he might just be saving my life.
I meet John's—no, what was Needler’s real name again? Never mind—eyes. I could yell his false name right now, screech out that he’s an asylum resident, and get him taken in. But then he'd rat me out too. Which won’t do. I’ve got important things to be finish up.
In the split second we both take to size each other up—James still outside my door like a stray dog—the corner of my mouth lifts. "Don't forget your shoes, love.”
Then I scream bloody murder.
By the time James has panicked enough to break down my door, my lover, and possibly my would-be murderer, has disappeared out of the window by my bedhead. I make sure to be a gasping, crying mess as James stumbles in.
He’s a skinny guy, probably inbred in keeping with the tradition of a few people on this island, and it takes him a few tries to get the hinges to splinter out. He’s going to hurt tomorrow.
“James! Thank God, untie me! Please,” I sob.
He does, all the while trying to decipher the mess of words I pour at him in no sensical order. Once my hands are free, I shakily point at the window, blubbering something. The moment his back is turned, I kick what’s clearly a man’s jacket under the couch, darting over to do the same to Needler's shoes. James, as a man of simple logic, has actually climbed out of the window himself, so I needn’t have rushed.
I’ve known James since we were both young. His left him behind on this island. Probably when they realised he was going to be more work than they signed up for.
By the time he returns, via the door this time, I’ve wrapped a blanket around myself, since I’m still wearing Needler’s shirt. “I saw him run up towards the moors! Will you check? Please?”
“Okay! I’ll call the cops…”
“No!” I say quickly, gripping his arm, letting my hand linger even though I’d like to snatch it away. When I do, I press my fingers to my forehead as though I’m about to faint. “Please. I’m just so flustered. I can’t bear to have a bunch of people asking questions and going through my home right now.”
James frowns, like he’s trying to work out this new puzzle. “But he tied you to a chair.” There’s a twig caught in his floppy brown hair. His eyes, a vivid blue that seems too bright for the slowness of his mind, crinkle at me with concern.
“He didn’t hurt me. Just a thief, I swear. Please, you’re here, that’s all I need.” James beams at this, and I smile back. “Now, won’t you leave and look for him?”
***
Needler
It’s hard to strangle the woman you just found nirvana inside. But the next chance I get, I'll sure as shit give it a go.
With my only other option being to freeze to death waiting for the morning—shirtless, in nothing but a pair of jeans, with everything else, including my stolen key, still strewn across Paige’s floor—I end up scaling the wall. No easy feat with numb fingers, but luckily the older section of the exterior is run through with deep cracks between the stones. At the top, shivering, and hiding easily from the new patrolling guard, I feel like an extreme version of a teenager sneaking back in after an evening of necking.
I’m too old for this shit. Plus, I should be smarter.
Once I pick the lock to my room, I crawl into the warm bed and fall into a deep sleep filled with dreams of her.
Come morning, the warden and the new security guard wake me up long before I’m ready for the day. I face the warden across his desk. He’s a skinny guy, who looks like he’s been doing this job for about 120 years. The few times I’ve seen him before, he usually looks more tired than concerned. Now isn’t an exception.
