Page 56 of Hysteria Rises
“No. Not that I noticed. But the women showing up where they weren’t supposed to be kinda grabbed everyone’s attention.”
I roll over what I assume Hayze is suggesting, but Idon’t know if I like it. For several moments, the four of us are dead quiet.
Was this a sick prank courtesy of Dragan or Gannon? Or something more?
TWENTY-EIGHT
HAYZE
I sense a change coming,and I don’t think I’m imagining it. There’s a gnawing pit in my gut, anxiety hitting me hard. I’ve never experienced anything like it before, so the fact that I am now? It’s like a blaring warning. My eyes crash shut, and I sigh. Whatever looms on the horizon, where will it leave us?
Frustration lances through me like an arrow through the heart. Why does it feel as if the Collective as a whole is focused on the wrong things lately? And their response to current events is just… off.
First Kiefer finds Arrow with Twenty-three, and they’re swiftly dealt with. That’d been normal enough. But the snake incident? It transpired hours ago, andnothing.I’d expected an accusation of some sort—with or without proof. But there hasn’t been any real discussion at all. We were simply told to turn our room upside down to make sure the snake I killed had been the only one to find its way inside.
In the midst of all that, I was forced to hide the empty liquor bottle in my bag or risk someone finding it. Grinding my teeth, I shake my head. The evidence of what we did is gone now, buried out in the woods where hopefully no one will come upon it. I’ve gotta fucking talk to Arrow about how he’s been drinking his father’s cider to self-medicate because of whatever it is that keeps him from sleeping. He’ll protest again. Reject my offer of an ear in favor of internalizing all of it and beat himself up even more. That’s just what he does. When I’m done here, it might be time to bring it up.
I blow out a hard breath, glancing behind me. The Collective has been shut inside the gathering room for a while… minus Finneas, of course, because he’s still nowhere to be found. Missing in action, he’d say, having spent years in the military prior to the decision to live life his own way out here on this mountainside. And now… he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone, leaving behind everything he’s built: the life he created here, me, my brothers,everything.
Does the Collective know more than they’re saying? My brows furrow hard as voices raise behind me. An argument. I shouldn’t be listening, but I am. I cock my head back, waiting patiently for strained bits of conversation to reach my ears. I shouldn’t have to resort to this, but I wasn’t invited to take part, and that’s a hard pill to swallow, seeing as how I’ve been asked to step in for my father more than once.
Essentially, I’ve become one of the Collective. Butnot. I could bring it up with them, but they would likely take it as an accusation. Asking me to take part in certain aspects of leadership and not others doesn’t sit right with me. This was always my birthright. But now, it’s all gone wrong. Mulling it over, I chew on the inside of my cheek while continuing to listen in as much as I can, though they’ve been speaking in such low tones, it’s hard to pick up on much.
“Are we in agreement as to how to proceed, then?” Kiefer snaps. I jerk at his question, straining to hear the response and hoping it’ll give me a clue as to what they’ve been discussing. Frustration mounts, and I grit my teeth, glancing around to be certain I’m still alone before edging closer to the massive gathering room door.
“He’s not coming back,” Kiefer growls, impatience swirling thick among his words. “It is as it’s supposed to be.”
I swallow hard, in a daze. I think he’s talking about my father. It sounds as if that bastard doesn’t care at all whether or not he ever returns.
The longer I stand here, the more the urge to ram my fist into the door struggles to break free. The control it takes to turn away is overwhelmingly difficult to keep a handle on, but I do it. Then, with my jaw locked tight, I turn on my heel and walk away. In front of the door to the cellar, I pause, bracing my hands over my head. I drag a breath in and push it back out. Repeat. But I’m aggravated. I don’t want to go upstairs, and dinner isn’t for several hours.
Taking off again, I walk without any real direction in mind, needing to be alone with my thoughts. The compound is big. But there’s always someone around. Finally, my feet carry me to the one place where there definitely won’t be another soul.
My father’s rooms.
I hesitate only a moment before twisting the knob and throwing the door open wide. My eyes travel automatically to the desk. It’s massive, built that way on purpose because he is known to spend hours sitting there either looking at compound ledgers or drawing. He could especially become engrossed in sketching a piece of art that he’d later ink onto someone’s skin. Everything’s mostly as he left it. A few drawing utensils are scattered across the surface of his desk, and the large rolls of paper he stashes in the corner remain untouched.
The only time since he disappeared that I’ve been in here was the night of Twenty-three’s claiming. I sincerely doubt anyone else has ventured inside since. With the last few hours’ events heavy on my heart, I close the door, intent on losing myself for a little while.
At the desk, I grab some paper, crisp and white—and empty—much like I wish my mind was. Instead, what resides inside my skull is a hellscape of turmoil and confusion. There’s so much whirring around that simply doesn’t make sense anymore. Everything I’ve been taught. Everything I’m supposed to want. Everything I’ve fought for. The way my life is supposed to unfold.
Snatching up a drawing pencil, I let my frustration out, my hand moving quickly across the paper. Like I thought earlier… a change is coming. I’m sure of it now.
I don’t know how long I’ve been at it when my body stiffens. I’m not alone. I didn’t hear anything, but I sense it.
Not it.Her.
I swivel in the chair, turning my head. The door stands open, and she’s at my elbow. It takes me a few seconds, but I finally rasp, “What are you doing?” My throat is thick with irritation, my mind riddled with curiosity.
She stands there, staring at me, lips gently parted. As my gaze wanders her face, then downward, I notice how the hem of her gown reaches midway down thighs I know to be as soft as a butterfly’s wing to the touch.
“Answer me.” My chest constricts, and I draw myself up, a frown tugging at my lips when she remains silent. I shoot out of the chair to tower over her. A muscle at the back of her jaw twitches, and for a brief moment, I catch an undertone of insolence in her gaze. But in a flash it’s gone. She drops to her knees, bows her head, and automatically recites, “I follow. I honor. I nourish. I kneel.”
I eye her, my hands on my hips, waiting for her to attack or scream, but she doesn’t. And the sight of her on her knees before me is doing some chaotic things to my insides. Why is she here? Confusion has me in itsgrip as I stare at her. She’s conforming to our demands, so I don’t know why I have the urge to reach out and yank her to her feet. For some reason, this show of submission irritates me. It’s only a moment later that I bite out, “Get up.”
She sucks in a breath, but climbs to her feet, arms full of what appear to be bed linens. My eyes flick over to the large bed on the far side of the room, and hers follow, her teeth catching her bottom lip until it goes white, leached of blood.
“You don’t have to do that.”
