Page 72 of Scarlet Chains
“I’m losing it,” I whisper to myself, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar. “This isn’t real.”
But when I blink, he’s still there. Still watching me with that unnerving stillness that had both terrified and comfortedme in equal measure during our encounters. The rise and fall of his chest confirms he’s breathing, alive, real.
When he sees that I’m fully awake, his entire body tenses. Every muscle goes rigid, like he’s preparing for impact— or preparing to run. He leans forward slightly, and even through the mask, I can feel the intensity of his gaze studying me.
“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, carefully controlled, and it sends familiar shivers down my spine. That voice. The same voice that had whispered comfort in Room Five when I’d broken down about my father’s death.
I try to speak, but only a croak emerges. I clear my throat, wincing at the pain, and try again. “I… yes, I think I am.” My words sound strange, uncertain as I try to gather my foggy thoughts. “Where am I?”
“You’re safe.” The same response he’d given me so many times before, delivered with the same quiet authority that had made me believe it then. But now, in this impossible situation, it only adds to my confusion.
I struggle to sit up properly, my head spinning with the effort.
“What happened?” The question comes out sharply, edged with panic. “And where is Osip?” Something niggles on the edges of my confusion even as I ask the question.
The Masked Guy stares at me for a long moment, so still I wonder if he’s stopped breathing. There’s something different about his posture now— not the relaxed confidence I remember from our encounters, but a tension that suggests he’s holding himself in check by sheer force of will.
Then another memory surfaces, stark and terrible. “Stanley,” I whisper, and suddenly I can taste copper again. “What happened to Stanley’s body?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. When he does speak, his voice carries a finality that makes me shiver. “It’s been taken care of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t need to know any more than that.”
The dismissal should anger me, but instead it sends a chill through my bones. There’s something in his tone— not just authority, but experience. Like this isn’t the first time he’s had to make a body disappear.
Jesus Christ.
What kind of world am I living in?
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his hand.
His fingers find the edge of the mask, and my entire world narrows to that single point of contact. Time seems to slow as he pinches the leather between his thumb and forefinger, preparing to lift it away.
Part of me wants to stop him, to preserve the mystery and safety that the mask represents. The Masked Guy has been my sanctuary, my escape from reality when everything else became too much to bear.
But another part of me— the part that’s been shattered and rebuilt so many times I’ve lost count— needs to know. Needs to understand how he’s here, in this moment, when my life has just exploded into a million jagged pieces.
The mask lifts away from his face like a curtain being drawn back on a stage.
And everything stops.
Every thought in my head evaporates. Every breath leaves my lungs in a rush that makes spots dance across my vision. The face looking back at me is impossible, incomprehensible, a reality my mind simply refuses to process.
Osip.
The man who killed my father. The man whose baby I’m carrying. The man I’ve been running from and running toward in equal measure for months.
Osip is The Masked Guy.
I stare at him with my mouth open, no sound emerging because there are no words for what I’m feeling. It’s like looking at a photograph that’s been torn in half and discovering the pieces somehow form two completely different pictures when separated.
The gentle stranger who’d held me when I cried. The dangerous man who’d offered me money to carry his child. The anonymous lover who’d made me feel beautiful and desired. The killer who’d stolen my father from me.
They’re the same person.
“What…? I… How…?” I shake my head, trying to make sense of this, which isn’t easy because I’ve been struggling to find my bearings in this place, let alone come to terms with what I’m seeing right now.
