Page 18 of Monsters Like Us
My mind is on the single thread I tugged from Katana’s sweatshirt, folded into the secret slit of my drawer. The lock of hair from the cafeteria lies beside it. Stitch by stitch, I weave her into me until there’s no seam between us.
Vale clears his throat, his pen tapping against the notepad. “You’re wasting my time and yours.”
I smirk and glance out the window, watching his composure fray.
“Answer me, damn it!” he snaps, the professional veneer cracking. Rage blooms in him like rust. “Iwillbreak you. Do you hear me?”
The door flies open. Two men I’ve neverseen—outsiders wearing black—move in with the practiced violence of people who handle animals. The first carries a coarse sack that he shoves over my head; the other slams into me, the chair screeching as muscle meets surprise. I go feral, snarling as I fight, my shoes dragging on the tile. If only I could get my fucking hands free.
“Hold him still!” Vale barks, his voice fierce.
Hands pin me down. A needle pricks the hollow of my neck. Chemical fire blooms through my veins, then cool numbness follows. The strength drains from me like water down a drain.
The darkness swallows me whole.
I blinkagainst the overhead lights, consciousness slowly returning. I’m strapped to a table, the room a small rectangle I’ve never seen before. Thick leather bands bind my wrists, ankles, and chest. The air reeks of disinfectant and the copper bite of the hospital’s wiring. Machines line the wall, their displays strobing in calm, indifferent rhythms.
Vale paces beside a metal console, fingers stroking the knobs like a priest at the altar. His smile is raw and predatory.
“We’re gonna play a little game.” The machine hums as he touches it. “I’ll ask you questions. If you don’t answer…” His finger hovers over a switch. “…You get a shock. Every refusal escalates.”
I silently glare at him.
His eyes flash with something inhuman. “Let’s begin.”
I flick my eyes to the ceiling. My silence is a weapon, louder than words. He wants to pull threads, to see what unravels. He thinks I’m a spool to be unwound. But I won’t give him a damn thing.
“Why did you stab your sister thirty-seven times?”
My jaw clenches, but I don’t answer.
Vale presses the button. A lightning-bolt arc shivers along my nerves, forcing breath and a hiss from me. The strap bites at my skin, and the table becomes an instrument of containment. My teeth crack together.
He waits until the tremors stop, then leans in. “Next question. Why did you cut off your father’s dick, shove it in your mother’s mouth, and mutilate them both?”
The memory burns like acid, but my face stays blank. I know what he’s doing, angling for a detailed confession that will make headlines and case studies.
Fuck. Him.
He slams the switch harder. The shock is a ripping force that compacts my ribs and wretches screams from me that make my lungs raw. My vision edges red. For a moment, I am only pain and reflex.
On and on it goes. Question. Silence. Shock.
It repeats—an ugly metronome. The machine clicks, and the relay hums like an insect. Each pulse increases, lasting longer, hotter, and more precise. The straps bite deeper, sweat slicks my skin, and my muscles tremble with the indignity of being reduced to reaction.
Still, I don’t answer his questions.
Vale’s voice grows flat with professional hunger. “Were you abused? Physically? Sexually?” he asks, each syllable a scalpel.
My face is impassive. My body is soaked with sweat from the brutal shocks, but I won’t give him the answers he’s seeking.
He slams his hand on the panel. The pulse that follows throws my back off the table and renders my world into a strobing, howling white. When it fades, my heart is a drum and my mouth a dry cave.
He wants to unravel me. ButI’m not a thread.
I’m the needle.
Blackness beckons again, promising relief.
