Page 110 of Twisted Heathens

I fight the urge to throw up, confusion and fear reigning supreme inside me. Gathering enough sense to find my feet and flee the room, Vic’s bloodstained footsteps follow me along the way.

I sprint down twisting corridors, passing guards that pretend like I don’t exist. I’m just a ghost passing through these sordid halls, hidden from sight and protected by my insanity. Am I alive? Is this even real? Sobs wrack my chest and I fight to remain present, so close to disassociating completely to escape the impending hell.

The gruesome hallucination of my demon follows me all the way back upstairs, until I’m bursting out in the reception area and skidding to a halt. I have to take a moment, a stitch burning my torso and breathing completely impossible. Checking several times to ensure nobody followed me up, I brace my hands on my knees and break down.

There’s something wrong with this place.

Sadie was right. Bad things happen here.

“Brooklyn? You okay?”

Someone crouches in front of me and I flinch back, fists clenched protectively. Kade backs off, hands raised as if to steady me. His warm hazel eyes almost calm me, but I’m in too deep. Spiralling beyond salvation into whatever cataclysm of death awaits.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Lazlo,” I pant, fighting for every gasp.

“Yes… your session stars in half an hour. You’re early actually.”

My brain threatens to implode, pain lancing behind my eyes and sweat coating my palms. I feel weak at the knees, ready to collapse, throw up or both. Kade just stares unwittingly, analysing my every move but coming up empty.

“Are you worried about the session? Is that what this is?”

“But I just…” I spin, finding myself on the wrong side of the room, as if I just entered through the door in preparation for my session. “What time is it?”

His eyes widen even further, anxiety seeming to enter his expression. Kade attempts to step closer, forcing me to take a shaky step back. Like he’s tracking me down, an injured animal ready to be euthanized.

“It’s 9.30, Brooklyn.”

He doesn’t have a chance to grab me as I run past, each step taking me further and further away from this twisted nightmare. I lose my battle with my stomach and violently throw up once outside, pausing only to wipe my mouth before sprinting back to the dorms. I need to get a locked door between me and the world right now, so I can figure out if I’m losing my fucking mind.

Or if I’m dead already and this is just my punishment in hell.

Thirty-Six

Eli

Snuff by Slipknot

“The prison will take care of the funeral arrangements,” Miss White informs me, barely sparing me a glance. “There isn’t much in the way of an estate, but I assume a solicitor will be in touch given time. Any questions?”

I stare at the carpet, refusing to answer her. For once, there are no words niggling to escape. I have nothing to say, not a single thought or flavour in response to the sudden news. It isn’t long before the cold-hearted bitch dismisses me, ready to get on with more pressing matters than some sick old bastard’s inevitable death.

Leaving the warden’s office as fast as possible, I carefully fold the letter passed along to me, taking time to make sure the edges are straight before slipping it into my pocket. His last words will stay with me forever.

The envelope gets scrunched in my fist, paper on purple flesh, bruises marring my knuckles from punching the wall. Gently, with more self-control than I feel, I take careful steps back to reception. Kade waits for me, studying my face.

“Is it…?” He trails off.

I nod once. It’s over. He’s dead.

I’ve outlived the devil, once again.

“I’m so sorry, Eli. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

His words sit heavily in my mind, tasting utterly unpleasant and futile. Like washed out dishwater swirling down a plug hole, debris and remains littered in a vortex of waste.

“You’ve got Mariam now, right? Maybe she’ll help?” Kade tries hopefully.

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