Walk away, Augustus, she doesn't care about you.
Knowing this was probably the last time I would ever see her, I disregarded the Devil’s advice and slowly made my way toward her, hands trembling at my sides.
Ava looked up, and when her eyes met mine, her smile faded and she turned away, pulling Eden in closer.
The rejection was clear. I couldn’t even be angry; it was all my fault.
Averting my gaze, I returned to Auden, leaving behind Ava and all our shared memories.
No one cares about you, little monster. Everyone leaves. At least you understand that now.
PART III
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As a boy, I feared the voices.
They nested inside my skull, feasting on the terror and revulsion born from the Devil’s merciless embrace. His voice led the assault, his demons never far behind. When they spoke, when they taunted, I did everything I could to drown them out.
As a boy, I feared the voices.
As a man, I welcomed them.
It was all about mastering control. Once I realised the voices lived, and died, with me, there was nothing left to fear.
When they spoke, when they taunted, I listened.
Maybe that was my downfall.
I waited for the moment they stepped out of line, cutting deep into my pale flesh, blood falling freely as a reminder of just who was in control. And like clockwork, the voices scattered, hiding in the crevices of my mind I dared not touch. One thing was clear: they could not survive without me.
The only voice that did not fear my death was the Devil. He would follow me anywhere, dragging me into the fires of Hell with his sharp talons and crooked grin.
He was the only voice that challenged my control, stealing the reins when reality became distorted.
Here in the House on North Lane, though, he wasn’t the only voice whispering in my ear.
A candle flickered to announce her presence. The ghost of North Lane. My mother.
I stood by the splintered window of my old bedroom, breathing in the only ounce of freedom the House would allow.
Smothered by swirling black clouds, the moon’s pale glow vanished beneath a cloak of darkness, the trees surrounding North Lane transforming into monsters of bark and leaves.
“Augustus.”
The candle flickered out, plunging the room in darkness. I breathed in slowly, steadying my racing heart.
The voice was barely a whisper, easily mistaken as a sigh. Too soft to be the Devil. Too gentle.
I turned, slowly, an eerie emptiness staring back.
“Augustus.”
The voice came from the hallway, and I followed, as though in a trance.
“Augustus.”
The hallway was empty, dark—a thick dampness tainting the air. A dead rat rotted in the centre of the wooden floorboards, cobwebs spilling across the ceiling. A wooden beam groaned above me, the House and I once more at odds with one another.
