Page 42 of The Darkest Half

And when I open my eyes, Willa is standing over me with a knife in her hand. A smile on her face, beaming with madness and anticipation.

And the old Fredrik Gustavsson, the weak one who killed the only woman he ever loved, is no more.

I take the knife from Willa’s hand and dispose of him once and for all.

19

Izabel

At first, I think I’m hallucinating again. Those people standing inside our prison with us can’t be real. But as realization dawns, my body catches up with my mind, and I try like hell to get up from the floor, but I think my muscles have atrophied.

“It’s been a long time,” I hear the woman say to Niklas, and it sounds like they’re on the other side of the room but are just feet away.

It’s Lysandra Hollis, the sister Niklas told me about; the one who shot Jackie and Niklas’ mother right in front of him at the mental institution. She fits the description Javier gave me before I killed him, right down to the hummingbird tattoo on her ankle—although, her eyes aren’t brown like Javier told me. Enraged, I try to get up again until I see that I never really moved, and the attempt only goes as far as my mind.

“I’m gonna kill you…bitch.” Words are all I have the strength to pull off, and I don’t care how ridiculous I sound.

Light laughter permeates the air, and Lysandra crouches beside me on her stilettos, the hummingbird so close I could grab her ankle if I could move. She reaches out and touches my face with the back of her fingers; her perfumed skin chokes me.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says, then pats me on the top of my head as if I’m a pet. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m not impressed. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“I am, but you won’t be…for much longer,” I try, but I know, not so far beneath the surface, that it’s just trash-talk. In my condition, there’s not a thing I can do to her or anyone else. But I’ll be damned if I go out begging for my life, so trash-talk is all I’ve got.

Lysandra smiles, pats me again, and then rises into a stand, looming over me like a tree over a worm.

“Today is your lucky day,” she announces. “That’s if you’re both still alive.” She glances over her shoulder.

Niklas?

My mind starts racing because I haven’t heard Niklas speak or seen him move since I woke up. Surely, even in his condition, he’d find some strength somewhere he didn’t know he had, to at least spout off a few insults. He’d at least try to move to grab one of those tall heels of hers in an attempt to knock her on her skinny ass.

But he doesn’t. He isn’t moving at all.

“Niklas…?”

“Get him up,” Lysandra orders two of the men with her.

They each take a side, grab Niklas by the arms, and pull him roughly to his feet. They hold him there because he’s too weak to stand alone without falling.

I watch with dread and anticipation for any sign of life. Slowly, Niklas raises his head.

“Was conserving energy,” he says, looking only at me.

I sigh with relief, although I don’t feel much better, considering our circumstances. He might still be alive, but that could so easily and quickly change two minutes from now.

“Where are we…going?” I ask.

The other two men with Lysandra lift me from the floor and position me between them.

“Well, it seems no one is coming to rescue you,” she begins. “So, before this travesty comes to an end, you have one last stop to make.”

“A last meal?” I ask with sarcasm. “If that’s…what it is, I’d rather you just…kill me and get it over with. I’m…not hungry anymore.” Yeah, because I think my insides have started to digest themselves.

Niklas is led out of the room, my captors and me next, with Lysandra behind us, the sound of her stupid heels tapping so loudly it feels like she’s stomping on my head.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway ceiling seem so bright that I’m temporarily blinded when I step through the doorway; my eyes slam shut, and I swear my eyelids feel like two slabs of stone on my face.

There’s no way I can walk, although I try, barely dragging my feet behind me as the men pull me along. And down the hall, into the elevator, and up several floors—I guess we weren’t on the top floor, after all—Niklas never says a word. I don’t know if he tries to look at me, to signal if he has some kind of secret plan that he didn’t discuss with me beforehand, because I can’t open my eyes or raise my head from between my shoulders to see him.

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