Page 49 of A Dance With Devils
I giggle, as I’m running, hand grabbing hold of the bannister the moment I eventually find it and legs powering me up the huge sweeping cascade of steps. I don’t even know why I’m giggling. Perhaps I’m going a bit mad in this place. Who knows? Or cares? All I need to do is get this little bargain I’ve struck over and done with and then I can go home. At least, as Whit said, I’ve got a bit of respite here. If that’s what these strange antics could be described as. And Malachi is hot. Freaky hot, but hot nonetheless.
My body banks right for the first door I see, fingers reaching for the doorknob.
“Gray’s room,” calls behind me from the bottom of the stairs. “I really wouldn’t, little Alice.”
Maybe not then.
I keep moving, eyes glancing at any door that might look useful, and eventually turn into the last one on the left. A puff of air comes back at me the moment I push the door inwards, stale old air filtering back at me. I stare, take in the opulent room that looks like it’s as stuck in time as the room downstairs was. I freeze to the spot at the look of it, automatically jumping to the conclusion that I’ve managed to arrive in his grandfather’s bedroom. Or suite considering all the doors off it.
“Interesting choice,” Malachi murmurs.
I spin and stare at him, unsure what to do. Old seems to mean sad for him, but it also seems to mean honesty rather than games. “It’s lovely.”
“Mmm. My grandmother had good taste.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“What?”
“The room? Sad, happy, indifferent?” I watch him look around it, my own feelings trying to tune into him like I did earlier somehow. Nothing really comes. It’s like the feelings have ebbed away somehow, changed. “I can’t quite feel you like I did. Not as much anyway. And this is about feelings, Malachi. Being honest.”
He moves to the large, ornately carved bed draped in gold and black satin and tosses a small pouch on it. “You’ll need more pills for that. They’re wearing off. There’s only one that doesn’t.”
I look at the pouch, uncomfortable with taking any more of them at all. Things turned strange when I took them. Everything distorted and became a cloud of falsehood and … panic, I think. I don’t really know what it all became, mainly because I can’t remember much of it but I ran, I know that much. I ran and I was scared. I can feel that inside me still, just like I can still feel traces of him with me while it happened.
“What happens if wedon’ttake them?”
He looks at his bandaged wrists. Stares at the seeping blood for minutes as if it means something other than just the obvious slice beneath it. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I’m still an asshole without them. Worse probably. Don’t take the red ones, little Alice. They’re not for you.”
A few more minutes watching him calmly stare out the window and I head for a door on the left, hoping it’s a bathroom. It is. And not only is it a bathroom, it’s the most lavish bathroom I’ve ever seen. Huge swathes of marble line the walls, black lines cutting through the dark green colour. I reach my hand into the oversized shower, turning the knob round and round until a flow of dark brown water starts coming out of it.
It eventually clears and steam begins filling the room. That’s good enough for me. I lock the door quickly and discard this underwear, not entirely sure what the hell I’m going to wear afterwards but not caring about that yet. I need to be clean. Revived even. Maybe then I can see light at the end of the tunnel, find a way of helping in the hope of clearing this conscience that still bites in.
My head shakes as I get in the torrent of pummelling water, hands sluicing the hot water over every inch of me and my hair. It isn’t until I’m almost done that I realise I’m not alone. I jump at the sensation, eyes opening quickly, and I find him standing at the other end of the cubicle fully dressed. Water soaks his clothes and skin. Even his boots are still on his feet, those completely drenched, too.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, trying to cover myself.
“Watching.”
“Fully dressed? And how did you even get in?”
He holds up a thin letter opener, the silver knife-like instrument glinting under the lights. My eyes flash to the bandage on his wrist, and then back to the face that seems as if he’s miles away rather than here watching me. “Misspent youth,” he says. “Misspent fucking life.”
He’s blank again. Quiet. I move slowly, gently, my fingers reaching for the silver in his hand until I’ve got it in my grasp. Not again. I’m not watching it again. Can’t. Visions of lank, dark brown hair fill my thoughts, my mother’s eyes staring as blankly as his are now.
“Malachi?” Eyelashes blink slowly, the water on his brow dripping downwards to the crease of the frown he’s wearing. “Can I have this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I move closer, body weaving until it’s got his attention. My other hand brushes over his chest, fingers firm on the water soaked ridges of his body, until I’m within a hair’s breadth of him.
“What do you need?” He blinks again, the hand holding the letter opener dropping down to the side of us. “Anything? What can I help you with?”
“You’re not scared of me,” he murmurs. What does that mean? “Pretty little Alice with her rainbows of colours. Live, little Alice. No more running. You’re safe now. Stay. Here will protect you.”His whole body suddenly drops down to the shower floor, the crashing sound making me jump and go down with him. My fingers sweep through his hair and then tug it so I can see his eyes. They’re fixed on the side wall of glass, almost as if he’s dead. My hand scatters over his frame, up to his neck just as quickly to search for a pulse. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but the very real notion that I can’t deal with this alone sinks into the pit of my stomach.
I heave him, making sure his head is out of the way of the water collecting, and then run into the room and grab a blanket as I go. I’m out the door and running down the corridors in search of someone before I know what I’m doing, tucking the blanket around me as best as I can.
