Page 56 of One
Project: Blood Assassins
Subject: Two
Day 735
Time 18.35
Two days have passed since Subject One’s elimination, and Subject Two is still not eating or sleeping. Violent reactions have increased exponentially. This morning, a nurse was injured badly with a brick to the head when he walked too close to Two. At lunch time, Two stuck a fork into an assistant’s hand and bit his ear off before Two was tasered and subdued.
The violence and callousness are precisely what we are attempting to achieve with the subjects. But they need to be controlled and channeled.
More drastic methods don’t seem to work on Two. The Subject’s pain tolerance has always been higher than average. Nevertheless, it seems it’s now reached complete numbness.
All Two does is sit on the floor staring at the camera in the cell. The Subject has been answering any question with a single word: one. Two’s obsession with Subject One is disappointing, but a clear trait of a psychopathic disorder. It needs to be aimed at something different.
We’ll be leaving the compound tomorrow and moving to a different location. Mr. Crowly hasn’t come back since he left with Subject One. We could be compromised and need to transfer the subjects ASAP.
Chapter 12
RAPHAEL
The silence in the car feels heavy. Michael is staring out of the window, head turned away from me. Even though I cannot see his face, I know his eyes are red from crying. And I’m aware of the reason.
Meg’s text ‘It’s done’ said it all.
He knows about his past, but he’s still here.
He is actually here with me. Thoughts of One—Michael—have crossed my mind for twenty long damn years. And I’ve been pushing them…himout of my head repeatedly. Because I felt overcome by rage and grief. Ghosts of the past should remain there. In the past. But he’s not a fucking ghost! He never was. He’s one of us.
Sharing Michael with anyone, even my family, hasn’t been easy. I felt an angry possessive surge when he interacted with them. But the way he stood his ground at dinner, without taking shit from anybody—not even me—showed me how well he fits with us. And turned me the fuck on.
I didn’t plan to fuck him in my old room, but damn it to hell, that had been the hottest encounter of my life. And I needed it. Needed to destroy the walls he built all around himself. To erase the space he put between us. I didn’t fucking like that space. I want Michael close, tied to me so tightly he’ll forget which parts are him and which are me. I want to show him without a doubt that he belongs to me. He has since we were ten, and I didn’t even know what sex and claiming meant.
The cool evening breeze ruffles Michael’s hair from the half-open window. He doesn’t make a move to fix it.
When I found him after ending my work call, he looked upset and even more distant. Ready to burn down the world, I asked him whose head I needed to tear off. But Michael only wanted to go home. So we went straight to the garage, where I grabbed the keys to Linda’s Tesla. I wanted my eyes on him, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that while riding my Ducati. He climbed inside the car without a single word.
He still feels distant. His white-knuckled fingers squeezing my hand are the only thing stopping me from going fullcavemanon his ass at the moment.
I’m afraid. And I fucking hate the feeling. Although I’ve never been really afraid of anything before—not even as a kid—I can easily recognize the symptoms. Accelerated pulse, increased respiration and transpiration, irrational thoughts—like Michael leaving me. It all angers me, a feeling I know too well. Losing him again… it’s not fucking acceptable. It’d be like watching all my future donors slipping through my fingers. Untouched. I’d go berserk.
I throw a glance his way again. His body is stiff. I can almost hear the million thoughts crowding his head. The soft whimpers occasionally leaving his lips make me see red.
I’m out of my depth here. I have no idea what to do. I’m a manipulative narcissist. It’s only me I’ve ever been interested in. I observe other people to gather and file information until I can use them for myself. And with Michael, I did the same.
I’ve watched and learned many aspects of him and his life in the last few days. But for the first time, I did it with no agenda, even enjoyed the process. Got addicted to it. It became a need I had to fulfill, knowing everything about him. But I can't think of anything that can help me to stop his gloomy mood right now.
I finally turn onto my street. I stop the car in front of my apartment building, where the valet is waiting to take it to the garage. Rounding the hood, I stop him from opening Michael’s door, because I want to do it. When he climbs out, he turns his confused gaze to me. “Where are we?”
“Home,” I just tell him and, taking hold of his hand, I pull him through the building doors and toward the shiny elevator.
He looks a little bit like himself again, gazing avidly around. Taking every detail of the free-of-excess, modern black and white lobby. I wave at the doorman and enter my code inside the elevator. We quickly ascend to the penthouse. The metal door slides open directly inside my apartment.
“Lights.” The yellow illumination in the spacious living room turns on. I hear a gasp leave Michael’s lips, and when I look at him, his mouth is open and his eyes are wide.
“What is it?” I ask him, cupping his cheek.
His lips move up and down before he just utters a ‘wow.’ His gaze is shifting around the room, from the straight lines of the minimalist design to the sophisticated appliances and luxurious furnishings. The room is an open floor plan, a big stainless-steel kitchen with a large counter is at the back. A huge cobalt sofa sits in front of a mega screen TV hanging over the modern fireplace. It’s pretty bare except for the two paintings placed on the only cerulean wall, the square coffee table near the couch, and the varnished sideboard in the entrance.
