Page 161 of Sin Like the Devil

I have no desire to peel open my eyes to verify if this is some fucked up, lucid dream or not. I’m no stranger to nightmares, but would my brain be cruel enough to lock me up with that bitch? I’m not that masochistic.

“The feeling’s mutual,” I mumble groggily.

My muscles relax when her ceaseless banging on the door stops. Colourful cursing precedes the sound of footsteps. I’m unprepared to be kicked in the shin so hard, it makes me grunt. My eyes slam open, and bright lights sears my eyeballs.

“And here I was, hoping you were dead,” Ripley complains.

Squinting through my hazy vision, I can make out her silhouette. She’s looming over me, handcuffed wrists curled up to her chest, two furious mossy-brown eyes watching me with revulsion.

Definitely real.

Fucking perfect.

We’re in what appears to be a hybrid cell. The floor is made of pocked concrete, boasting too many dark stains that don’t bear thinking about, while the walls are lined with scratched, padded material.

Artificial light emanates from a panel built into the ceiling with several air events. This place is ancient. Every surface is scarred and dirty, unlike Priory Lane’s more modern facilities.

By contrast, Harrowdean’s Z wing feels like a final frontier for the doomed. Not even Incendia can be bothered to maintain this place. I’m sure far too many have died here for them to ever get it clean again.

“What happened?”

Ripley rubs a spot between her brows. “You don’t remember them drugging us?”

“Clearly not.” I wrestle myself up to rest against the padded wall. “How long have you been making a racket?”

“A while.” She shrugs. “You were out cold.”

Watching her shuffle to the other side of the cell and sink down against the wall, I try to sort through my fuzzy memories. It’s all a blur after some dickhead restrained me.

A quick search of my neck reveals a swollen bump from being needle stabbed. Ripley does her best to ignore me as I silently take stock of my injuries.

Her stupid friend put up a good fight for such a skinny bastard. He sure was determined to get his ass beat. Idiot that I am, I just had to take the bait. Now he’s likely dead, and I’m stuck here.

“Was this part of your plan?”

“Winding up in here with you?” Ripley snorts acerbically. “Far from it.”

“Either way, it was a pretty stupid plan.”

“Almost as genius as drowning someone in an abandoned pool? That sure looked accidental and non-suspicious. You really covered your tracks there, Nox.”

Head crashing against the wall, I let my gritty eyes sink shut again. “You have a point.”

“Please don’t agree with me. It’s unnerving.”

The last thing I anticipate doing is laughing. But still, the chuckle spills out of me. All these months of threats and counter moves, just for us both to end up buried in an inescapable hellscape. Together. Life’s irony really is a son of a bitch.

“Not much need for pretences in here, is there?” I sigh.

“I guess not.” She examines her arm, the carved letters pink and shiny with new scar tissue. “Do you think Noah’s alive?”

“It sure didn’t look good.”

I don’t have the energy to get up and hammer on the door, but even if I did, it would be a mistake. I made that mistake last time I woke up in a cell. Pissing off the overlords only worsened the next visit they paid.

It took several rounds of near-death beatings to get the message. Resistance is a deadly temptation. You don’t survive the Z wing that way. The clinicians and guards only see that as a challenge.

They’ll work harder to break your spirit just to grind out any speck of defiance to their regime. The trick is to switch off... To pain. To humiliation. To loss. Everything.

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