Page 173 of Sin Like the Devil

“Ripley!” Lennox shouts, still bare and bloodied as he finds his feet. “Don’t tell them shit.”

“Silence!” Harrison barks.

“Rip!”

The bleak acceptance in his pale-green gaze offers the most twisted form of comfort. Lennox knows what’s to come. I suppose I do as well. Those two words inscribed on the luxurious card have ensured my suffering.

Lennox shakes his head. A clear message.

Don’t let them win.

Harrison tows me from the cell, tugging on the metal chain connecting my cuffed wrists. Each yank causes lava to shoot through my veins. My mutilated skin is now bleeding again, pulsating with heat and pain.

I’m barely able to stand, let alone march down the seemingly endless corridor of cells. He drags me beyond the rooms I last saw, including Bancroft’s office, stopping outside another door.

“Good morning,” a cheerful voice greets.

Harrison glances over his shoulder. “Professor. Your new recruit is waiting for you in cell seven.”

Dressed in a pale-grey suit and white lab coat, Professor Craven nods in acknowledgement. His ebony eyes are lasered on me behind square-framed glasses.

“Pleasant sleep, Ripley?”

I glower at him. “Toasty.”

With a barked laugh, he sidles away. “I’ll pay your cellmate a visit, then. Please do join us later.”

I don’t have time to let my dread for Lennox spiral. With a quick scan, the door’s lock disengages, and Harrison unceremoniously shoves me inside the unfamiliar room.

“I just have to share your little misdemeanour with the boss. Please do enjoy the facilities in the meantime.”

“Wait, please…”

The steel door clanks shut, sealing me in yet another cell, though the walls are white-washed brick this time. It’s the sloshing of water and rasping laughter that causes me to tense up.

“Ain’t this a sight.”

I have the displeasure of knowing who that voice belongs to. Slowly turning around to face the room reveals the deathly pale, almost-blue face of a ghost.

Rick’s once olive-toned face is gaunt, his skin sagging and cheeks shallow. He looks half-dead. Starved, bruised and broken.

“You’re alive.”

“Am I?” He coughs.

The set-up causes my stomach to bottom out. It’s a room filled with rusted bathtubs, the four metal shells evenly spaced out and each equipped with shackles at the edges. Rick occupies the nearest one.

He’s restrained inside the tub, a black plastic sheet buttoned up to his neck so only his head is visible. From the freezing temperature in the room, I can quickly connect the dots.

Cold water immersion.

An old asylum favourite.

“Christ.” A wave of nausea has my mouth filling with saliva. “This is insane.”

“Tip of the iceberg.” His voice is weak and flimsy. “Didn’t think I’d see you down here. Your luck ran out, then.”

“Something like that.”

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