Page 112 of Only a Monster

‘You were tied to a chair before they died,’ Joan said. ‘You were tortured.’

Nick sat up slowly from his slouch. The pretence of relaxation had ended. ‘You shouldn’t know that,’ he said, soft and dangerous.

‘It . . . it was recorded,’ Joan said.

Nick clearly hadn’t expected her to say that. ‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry, but I saw what he did,’ Joan said. ‘Your whole family was killed. I saw them. Nick, I’m so sorry he—’

‘Stop,’ Nick ground out. ‘Stop.’

But Joan couldn’t. ‘You have to know what they were actually recording.’ She wet her dry lips. ‘They were recording the process of making you into the hero.’

Nick’s eyes hardened. The only sound in the room was their breathing. Joan was very aware that the walls of the basement were five feet thick. The basement had once been a wine cellar. You could scream and scream down here, and no one would ever hear you.

She had to wet her lips again before she could speak. ‘The . . . the stories say that you were orphaned by monsters and destined to kill them. But you weren’t destined. You were crafted. You were made into this.’

‘Stop,’ Nick said, and Joan felt a surge of real fear at the look on his face. She was suddenly very aware that she was trapped in a room with the slayer from her childhood stories.

But the drug was still working. It forced her to keep speaking. ‘They didn’t just do it once,’ she said. ‘They killed your family over and over. They reset the timeline so they could torture you over and over.’

‘Stop,’ Nick said again. ‘Stop lying.’

‘I’m not lying. You know I can’t.’

‘Drink the rest of that bottle.’

Joan’s stomach was churning. There was a good chance that she’d throw up if she drank. But she unscrewed the lid and took a deep breath, then forced the rest down. It sloshed unpleasantly in her gut.

The drug took effect even faster than the first dose. And this time, the out-of-control feeling was worse. Joan had the urge to babble anything to Nick. To say truths that he hadn’t even asked for.

‘You—you were made by monsters.’ She was stumbling over the words now; they came out faster than she could speak them. ‘They killed your family as . . . as a kind of origin story. To motivate you to hate us. Then . . .’ She made a guess. ‘Then you were trained in how to identify us, how to kill us.’ She could see in his face that she was right. ‘Nick, you resisted them. You didn’t want to become this. They had to do it over and over until you broke.’

‘You can’t change the timeline over and over. It isn’t possible.’

‘I can’t lie,’ Joan said desperately. ‘You know I can’t!’ He had to believe her.

Nick shifted out of his relaxed posture to his feet, fast and smooth and lethal. Joan found herself scrambling back.

‘Nick,’ she said. ‘Please. You have to believe me.’

‘Please?’ he said, looking down at her. ‘Is that what your victims said at the Changing of the Guard?’

Joan shook her head.

‘No, they didn’t beg, did they?’ he said. ‘They didn’t even know what you’d stolen from them.’

Joan’s next breath stuck in her chest. He really was going to kill her.

But instead of moving closer, he took a step back and then another. He opened the cell door without a word and locked it behind him. Key first, then a heavy bolt. Panic ran through Joan at the sheer claustrophobia of it. ‘Nick!’ she shouted. But he was already out of sight. Could he still hear her?

Whether he could or not, the drug was still hammering at her to speak. Joan screwed her eyes shut, trying to think around the desire to say truths. Nick hadn’t believed her. She couldn’t blame him. Who’d want to hear what she’d told him? That everything he knew about himself was a kind of lie?

The truth was, she’d never thought he’d believe her. But she’d had to try. She’d had to know if there could be any chance of a better ending.

Now she felt around on the floor until she found the bobby pin. As she did, the drug worked at her harder. It was going to make her narrate her escape, she realised, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. She struggled against it, but, just like before, the desire to speak was overwhelming.

She needed to placate it with a different truth.

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