Page 128 of Degradation
He mutters, stammers, his pupils dilate as they fix on me, but he speaks those golden words. He says the one thing that makes my soul sing.
I blink back, watching his blood continue to drip out of him and then I bury the knife as deep into his throat as I can. He chokes, he splutters. Blood splatter covers both him and me and I wipe the smear of it off me.
I’ll have Lyndon see to his body. We’ll wrap him up, lime him up, and dump him far enough away from us that he can rot quietly in this compound until he becomes nothing more than dust. It’s better that way. Better than burying a body and having some unfortunate stumble upon it.
Devin
The hallway stretches out before me. It’s a sterile, fluorescent-lit gauntlet that I’ll happily walk. The echo of distant alarms and shouted orders bounce off the walls, but my focus narrows to the door at the end of the hall. Room 307.
A guard rounds the corner, his hand fumbling with the walkie-talkie at his belt. His eyes widen as he sees me, and he reaches for his baton as if that could stop me.
I don’t give him the chance. My fist connects with his jaw, and he crumples to the floor with no further fight.
Patients in varying states of lucidity peer out from their rooms, their eyes reflecting the chaos like tiny moons. A woman with wild hair and a gown that barely covers her knees lunges at me, her nails like claws. I sidestep her, using my hand on her face to push her into the room before locking the door behind her. Her screams add to the noise that’s steadily growing around me.
The door I’ve been searching for is locked, but a well-placed kick sends it crashing open. The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and something sweeter.
Paitlyn lies on the bed, her arms bound in a straitjacket, her eyes glassy and distant.
She doesn’t even blink as I approach.
Perhaps she can’t sense the danger she’s in, perhaps she’s too drugged up to realise.
For a second I stare at her, at those eyes. Did she regrow them? Is that a thing? They look too round, too blue. I narrow my own, trying to figure out what the fuck this is, and then it hits me. They’re not glassy. They’re glass. Someone put fake fucking eyes in her sockets.
“Wake up, Paitlyn.” I growl, grabbing her face. “Your little vacation is over.”
Her skin is cold, her cheeks sunken. Whatever they’ve pumped into her has turned her into a shell, not that she was much more than that, living in the Palace.
I undo the ties, my fingers brushing against the rough canvas of the straitjacket. She doesn’t resist as I pull her up, and her body hangs limp like a rag doll.
I throw her over my shoulder, her breath hot against my back. She’s lighter than I expected. After all this time, I expected her to have put on some weight, after all, was she not being managed, was she not being looked after in this facility?
As I turn to leave, a figure fills the doorway. His brown eyes meet mine with a mix of concern and determination. He holds his hands up in what should be a gesture of peace, but I’m not buying it.
“Devin, stop.” Conrad says, his voice steady and so fucking expectant. Like he believes I’ll just shrug my shoulders and walk away, walk away from all of this, this insult, this outrage. “You don’t have to do this. We’re on the same side, remember?”
“The same side?” I spit the words out like poison. “You mean Magnus’s side? I don’t trust him, and I sure as hell don’t trust you.”
Conrad takes a step forward, his hands still raised. “You’re being paranoid, Devin. Think about it, why would we betray you? We’re your brothers, remember?”
Brothers. The word echoes in my head, it’s a mockery of what we once were. He’s trying to confuse me; he’s trying to get into my head the way they always have.
I can’t trust him, not now. Not after everything that’s happened.
I pull my gun, holding it out, pointing it right at his chest.
“Get out of the way, Conrad.” I warn. “I won’t ask again.”
He takes another step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “This is unnecessary, Devin. Put the gun down. Let’s talk about this.”
A snarl rips from my throat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pull the trigger, the gunshot echoing in the small room.
Conrad stumbles back, his hand clutching his stomach. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his pristine shirt a dark red. He looks up at me as I step over him, his eyes filled with pain and shock. Did he think I was bluffing? Does he know nothing about me, about what I’m capable of?
I glance back as I leave, seeing him crumpled on the floor, his blood pooling around him. A pang of guilt stabs at me, but I push it down.
