Krimson. Help me.
My eyes roll back into my head.
Krimson.
15. Correction and Abuse
“…can be quite cruel, can’t she?”
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours.
My mind is lost in a thick web of fog and spinning. It’s as though I’ve survived a natural disaster. Mass casualties. My body thrown around in a tornado. Swallowed into a hurricane. Tossed back out to fall to the earth and shatter all my bones in one fell swoop.
“You are so quiet.”
Red spots splotch my vision, runny and warm, but I make out that shiny forehead with my father’s name as a raised, pink scar.
I’ve heard the stories. We all have.
“My name is Abbott,” he says as if I should already know this. “A rather accomplished correctional savant. And you met my grandmother, Agatha.”
No. These are not your names.
My eyes stretch wider.
Abbott. Agatha.I commit this to memory, even in my incoherent state. I don’t want to mess up and say who they really are.
“And what is yours? It’s polite to speak when spoken to,”Abbottadds with a speculative tilt to his head.
We’re using fake names, then?
“Audrina.”
Abbott smiles. The tug of thin, chapped lips snags my attention. More scars. That of sewing someone’s mouth shut. Good God, my father really did that. Not rumors. Those stories were true.
“What an elegant name.”
I hadn’t noticed before, but Abbott is blotting at my bloody, swollen face with a wet rag. His other hand is twirling a strand of my long copper hair, holding it close to his nose. I can’t tell if he’s been smelling it or not.
“You smell delightful, dear child.”
That answers that.
“Are you going to tell us why we’re here? Or is it still a fun little surprise?”Niklaus. He sounds calm and bored, but I know him better than that. His words are edgy. Agitated. Silently boiling.
My eyes, though blurry and throbbing, shoot over to his chair against the wall. His cold, stormy blue eyes meet mine. He doesn’t seem concerned for me. More like he’s cataloging my weaknesses. Not sure what I was expecting. The evil fucker probably enjoyed the show.
Abbott inhales sharply through his nose. “And what’s your travel companion’s name, Audrina?”
I slide my gaze between the two men thoughtfully. Did the old woman beat the humor out of me?Mmm, no. I remember the tutor Niklaus woefully despised for telling our class he had a speech impediment when we were six. He smelled like onions and his thin hair would stand straight up without any effort at all.
What was his name?
“Barnaby.” I smile then wince. My cheeks are broken. My face is inflamed and pulsating with an unbearable ache.
Niklaus lets out a small, irritated chuckle.
“Please tellBarnaby, it is not polite to speak when no one was speaking to him.”
