Page 142 of Penance

My heart slams to life in my chest, running into my sternum so hard that I jerk and nearly lose my balance. Swallowing hard, I shake the thought from my head and reach towards the jacket again, only this time, I can see my fingers shaking as I do.

I snatch it away, and my nightmare stares me in the face.

It’s a mask, dark, shining patent leather, with deep creased canine eyes and tall, pricked ears standing tall like demonic horns. The Anubis mask stares up at me with hollow eyes, the elongated snout seemingly sneering at my horror.

That can’t be here.

How is this here?

Reaching out with a shaking hand, I pluck it up off the hardwood and feel my heart plummet down into my stomach.

Why does Draco have this?

Underneath it, a pair of gloves lay like a blackened void in the wood, and I just stare at them.

Those are surgical gloves.

The kind doctors snap on before cutting into flesh.

The kind that leave no fingerprints.

The kind that are so dark that they would work really well for covering up tattoos.

I swallow hard, and I nearly can’t force it down.

This can’t be happening.

The pieces won’t connect in my head.

Something doesn’t make sense.

This is a dream.

It has to be a dream.

My eyes catch on a bundle of zip ties that had rolled to the back of the closet. Black plastic, industrial strength, thick.

Perfect for tying ankles.

Or wrists.

Impossible to break.

Hard enough to dig into your flesh and leave long-lasting welts.

I stare down at my wrist, and I swear I can still see the red marks.

My lungs forget how to draw breath. My heart skips.

I feel like I’m going to pass out.

I want to run, but I’m afraid to move.

“This isn’t—” I whisper, but I can’t finish the thought.

Isn’t what?

Isn’t evidence?

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