Page 46 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

I lift my chin, resolute. “Hate is a strong emotion, so visceral in its intent. If I succeed in bringing you to life, your hating me is a risk I’m willing to take. Having your hate is more desired than having you feel nothing for me at all.”

Her expression shifts with a flash of confusion before she puts space between us. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You’ll fail.”

I raise an eyebrow. I’m almost wounded by her lack of faith in me.

“I had a colleague once,” I say, my voice weary. “He played it safe. Earned praise from superiors, impressed investors. I used to envy him. He always succeeded, never seemed to fail. At least, that’s how it appeared at first. The truth was, he never failed because he never took any risks.”

When she says nothing, I force my glasses on and move before her. “To do something only for the praise, to not dare to do the dangerous and frightening thing that goes against expectations, that is a weak and cowardly way to go through life.”

She tilts her head, scrutinizing me. “That still makes you a failure in the end.”

I nod once, hard. “To achieve true greatness, one must fail again and again. Only through our failure do we strive to recognize that which is truly remarkable. Mediocrity is a death sentence to our genius.”

“And your unwilling subjects suffer a death sentence due to your pride.” She closes the distance between us, her body so close my desire to touch her is agony. “That doesn’t make you a genius. It makes you a murderer.”

Her invasive scent and vitriol lash at me, assaulting my senses and mind all at once, and I either have to touch her or get far away to end the torment.

“You’re wrong. This has nothing to do with my pride,” I say, choosing to move to the water’s edge, to take a breath not laced with her scent. Her ignorant assessment resurrects the memory of Mary I’ve tried to keep buried. The press releases crucifying her as a monster.Psycho Doctor, was what they dubbed my sister. “I’m none of those things.”

“Then prove it,” she says. “Let me go.”

But I’m not talking to her. It’s the voices of the past whispering cruelties now. “She wasn’t like that… I’m not like that.”

“Alex, what the hell are you talking about? Who?”

“Let’s go,” I say, latching on to her wrist. “We need to leave.”

Blakely refuses, however. She digs her heels into the rocky earth and pulls me to a stop. “Why are you doing any of this then?”

My grip tightens, my fingers acutely aware of her pulse, of the feel of her warm skin.

“I want the truth, Alex. Now.”

I meet her gaze, the moonlight catching in the pools of her eyes and shimmering with a vibrant green. Then I glance at where my hand grips her arm. I release her. Uttering a curse, I spear my fingers into my hair. “You can’t persuade me,” I tell her honestly. “No debate, no argument made will change the outcome. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to just simply stop.”

The second I made the choice to abduct the first subject, my fate was sealed. Everything that followed throughout the course of the experiment is a result of that first decision. I made it knowing I was ending my career, my life.

“All great discoveries take sacrifice,” I mutter beneath my breath.

I expect Blakely to question me, to try to unearth the cracks and find my weakness. That’s what she’s searching for as she analyzes me, her watchful eyes following too closely. I’ve given her enough pieces of the puzzle to form a crude picture—all she has to do is connect that last piece.

My defenses flare as she approaches. “Your sister hurt her patients,” she says. “I remember the news about that serial killer, how he chose his victims. He exposed her crimes when he killed her, and you hope to not only cure psychopaths, you want to restore her reputation.”

My whole body tenses. “Psychosurgery was my sister’s specialty.”

Blakely shakes her head, as if trying to understand, then the horrific realization washes over her soft features. “She lobotomized her patients.”

“Mary was a pioneer,” I say, my stance becoming as defensive as my tone. “Sullivan divulged her procedures before she was ready to reveal her findings. The media labeled her a fiend, and she was ruined as a doctor. But her procedures were…” I trail off, trying to find the right way to describe my sister’s work. “Radical, yes, but groundbreaking. She just needed more time—”

“To torture her patients? In the same way you’re torturing your victims? I don’t know who you were before this, but you’re so far away from greatness. You’re delusional if you believe otherwise, Alex.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand.” I start toward her and, this time, refuse to let her stop me. I grasp her hand and force her to walk. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with such torturous emotions. You’re dead already.”

Blakely is silent as we hike the trail toward the cabin, forcing my thoughts to be loud with her words and judgements. The night all around is infused with her fragrance. I can smell her in the blooming night jasmine, the fresh river water. The image of her sea-green eyes peering through me clouds my reasoning, and I rush ahead, as if I can escape her.

There’s a moment where clarity breaks through, and I realize I’ve made a mistake, but my reflexes are dulled.

Blakely breaks free of my grasp. The forest shadows obscure her from my vision as I turn to search, then I see the rock in her hand as she bounds toward me. She lands a strike to the side of my head.

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