Page 75 of Sinister Legacy
Typing out a response, I wait with bated breath.
Keira: No.
Unknown number: Did that lie taste sweet?
My stinging, bloodshot eyes fall shut when another video pops up on the screen. I breathe through the swirling sickness that thickens and grows stronger as the seconds tick by. If I let it, it will sniff out the story I have created for myself. The story where I am a good person.
A normal person.
Not a person who opens her eyes and draws in a breath in anticipation before pressing play.
Spine-tingling screams of agony ripple through the air as I watch him savagely cut off one of Kit’s ears. Blood pours unhindered down Kit’s face, and his head slumps forward. He’s weak, succumbing to the pain.
Unknown number: Did it, Keira?
Gripping the phone tightly in my hand, I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. The self-hatred I feel at this moment matches the sickness in him. We’re two demented, sick individuals feeding off each other. But I’m not him. While this urge to indulge in my father’s illness runs through my veins in time with each solidifying heartbeat, I refuse to become my father.
Keira: Yes, it tasted sweet.
Unknown number: Ready to play?
Climbing to my feet, I brace my hand on the fridge and type out a response.
Keira: Let’s play.
Unknown number: I like your spirit, Keira. See the cloak and the mask?
My eyes skate to the table where the mask stares up at the ceiling.
Unknown number: Put it on.
I want to ask him why or argue, but I refrain. I either play his game or let him kill Kit.
Placing the phone on the table, I gingerly reach for the mask and the cloak. The mask is cold to the touch, the material reflecting the dimmed roof light overhead. I put it back down and pull on the black cloak with trembling hands before reaching for the mask.
With my fingers inches from the red metallic, I pause. There’s no going back if I do this. In order to beat this monster at his own game and get to his queen, I have to embrace the killer inside me. He knows that. It’s what he’s banking on.
Before I can let my thoughts steal the last of my courage, I swiftly put the mask on. The elastic string is tight at the back of my head, and my breaths soon dampen the lower half of my face.
Swiping my phone back up, I stare at my reflection in the dimmed screen. A shudder runs through me, raising the hairs on my arms. I take a picture and send it.
His response is immediate.
Unknown number: How does it feel?
The urge to lie through my teeth is almost too strong.
Keira: I’m torn. I feel sick to my stomach, but I also feel closer to my father than I ever have, as if I can finally connect to the depravity in him that now runs through me.
Unknown number: Look at you playing the game so well.
Unknown number: Choose a weapon.
A weapon? I grow cold, my breath fanning against the mask. My face is warm. It’s almost panic-inducing. I look around me, unsure of what I’m searching for. What does he mean by a weapon? A knife? A gun? My eyes snag on the kitchen counter. I storm up to it, pull open a drawer, and extract a pair of scissors.
Keira: What’s next?
Unknown number: What weapon did you pick?
