“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Did you go upstairs?”
She swallows her bite. “No. You’re always moody when you play with the arm.” She lifts another burnt piece of meat. “Do you put it up your ass?”
“No.” I move the pan out of her reach.
“What do you do with it?”
“You’re a shit cook,” I deflect. “Go, collect more ingredients. I’ll make you something.”
Her eyes widen as she softly asks, “You’ll make me food?”
“Yeah, little one.” Curling my fingers around her nape, I gently pull her forward and kiss her blood-scented crown. “We have a few days, so I’ll teach you.”
Her lips lift behind the mask, her cheeks doing the same, pushing up to be seen through the sagging eye holes before she throws her arms around me. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
I don’t tell her I was searching for Rowan when I found her hiding in Austria. Or how I was planning on killing her if he didn’t speak to me. We’ve developed a bond over the years, one I’m protective over.
I lift her off the counter to place her on her feet then take out a new pan while she grabs a knife to carve more meat. I can’t remember the last time I had a choice of what to eat or drink but when I pull open the fridge, I’m greeted by more food than I’ve seen in the last three years combined.
Steak and chocolate.
There’s a prepped fillet and individual chocolate pots. My dad was always excited when my mom made them for him.
ONE MONTH LATER
Sasha is curledup in a ball in the corner of the abandoned hospital like a little kitten. I gently lay my hoodie over her, so she doesn’t get cold before I go to the top floor. The new snake card was waiting in 1394’s office for me but she hasn’t left me alone to be able to uncover the message.
The ghosts of childhood laughter follow me. Specifically, the one belonging to my wife. All the aged, cracked, grimy surfacesdo fuck all to dimmish the memories of this fucking building that once belonged to Harkin. The dusty edges where the decal was stuck to the walls with his name are still visible despite the years passed since they were there.
He taints everything.
I can’t even keep my memories protected from him. They still involve Delilah though. Like how she needed me more when this once thriving hospital had to be sold because of a rumor. Only, Harkin’s surgeon egotistically branding their patients’ organs during a transplant wasn’t a rumor. It was The Three being initiated, their oaths and limits tested to prove they’d given up control. Rather than pledging to do no harm, they traded it for an oath to be Helene’s lapdog.
Now, I’m hiding right under the fucker’s nose in the hope it spurs a reaction. That he’ll be incensed at me taking something from him, knowing his secrets, anything to draw Harkin or Rowan out to give me Delilah’s location.
Hopefully, Sasha will stay asleep after getting too close to finding the cards. Last time, I was able to hide it in my boot before she saw it.
I enter the observation suite overlooking the surgical room below as I remove the knife from my pocket. The low lights from the weak generator I managed to fix are enough to see the card as I sit in the back row, tucked in the corner, and cut through the scars forming on my left palm. I form a fist above it, watching the blood slowly reveal the letters.
Reflections only exist within a mirror.
Below their cryptic message are coordinates. Ones close to me. I abandon my knife with that sick fucking bitch called hope rising. My phone is monitored by The Three, but they can eat shit if they think I’ll ever belong to anyone more than I do Delilah.
She is the center of my universe, the sun who controls my days, the moon and stars providing safety through the dark. No one else in existence, or to come, will ever take her place. No religion, deity, devil, or spirit.
The signal is patchy, so I slowly walk through the graffitied hallway to find somewhere to search for my wife. I don’t realize where I’ve ended up when the location loads and I look up to find a new escape. The pharmacy is lined with metal shelving and locked glass doors. Some drugs have been stolen, but they haven’t managed to get into the larger store due to the electric lock entering shut down mode. All of Harkin’s hospitals had a fail-safe to stop anyone from stealing drugs in the event of a power outage. I remember explaining how it worked to Delilah, then trying to replicate it with old electronics I’d stripped for parts.
The soft humming of the large cooler is like a lullaby, soothing me before I’ll be able to sleep. As soon as I open the door, the cold air hits me. The light doesn’t turn on, but the internal motor is powered by a different source than the one for the building, but the door isn’t so all the vials are safe.
I reverently lift one of the vials from the tray of six then search for a needle. Fuck, I’ve never used needles before. Smoke, snort, drink—those were fine. Needles were a no after hearing the withdrawals from the other cells.
Desperation will lead a man to his ruin.
My father always used to say it. This won’t ruin me though; it’ll allow me to exist. Even though the drugs are out of date, I’ll be able to sleep for once instead of searching Delilah’s name, her description, fucking anything to do with her.
When I’m weak, angry, at the precipice where there’s no hope left, I always end up following the captives’ lives. It’s not for some altruistic spark of hope because I saved the fuckers. No, it’s because I debate killing them in their sleep for escaping whileI’ve been pushed further away from my wife. They weren’t even in a relationship, now they are. Married. Children. A house. A business together. Their names beside the other. Sleeping next to each other when I’m isolated from my wife.
This is one of those weak moments because I can’t find a needle. I can’t drink it since it will take longer, so I search the captives’ names.
