by Mason, V. F.
The minute the light shines brightly, my heart stops while the loud scream that tears my throat anew reverberates off the walls.
Blood is smeared all over the floor and cupboards as if someone painted it in the kitchen. Walking around it, I rush to the hall, where I see my father lying in a pool of blood, a gun in his hand while a wound is visible under his chin as if he shot himself. His eyes are open, shock clear in them. “Daddy!” I shout, falling on my knees and hitting them on the floor. “Daddy!” I shake his still-warm body, but it’s unmovable. “Daddy!” Tears stream down my cheeks, dropping on his skin, but there is no heartbeat when I feel for his pulse.
Then I hear heavy footsteps and see, coming from the living room, black leather shoes that shine in the moonlight standing behind bare feet that I would have recognized anywhere.
Mom.
Lifting my gaze up the muscled legs covered in black pants to the black sweater and finally a face wearing a black mask where only his eyes are visible to me, I can’t make out their color.
My mom is pressed against him, his hands holding a wire that is wrapped around her throat. She is digging her nails into it, trying to pull it away, but she can’t, and I see how she sobs through the tightness in her throat.
She lets go of the wire when the man pulls it harder, and for a second, she freezes, her eyes wide open. When she gasps while waving her hand at me to run away, I shake my head. “Mom!” I want to run to her and do something despite fear penetrating me from every angle, but the man tsks with his tongue.
“Nuh, uh, uh.” His voice has a weird sound to it, as if something is hiding it from recognition. “One more step and Mommy will be dead,” he sing-songs and loosens his hold on her a little so she can gulp for breath.
Mom rasps, “Run away, Arianna. Go!” But I’m frozen to the spot, wanting to help her but can’t while my Dad is dead by my feet.
My parents? Who is so cruel that they want us dead?
Ridge Campbell? But I can’t believe that!
“Please let her go.” I press my palms against each other, my breath raspy while I croak, “Please, please let her go.”
“Now you are begging.” He cocks his head to the side and tightens his hold once again and she struggles, twisting, but the wire only cuts deeper into her skin and blood coats it. Pain mars her face, but she doesn’t beg him to let her go.
I see her pleading with her eyes for me to go, to get away from this nightmare, but how can I leave her alone in this?
“I’ll do anything, please.”
He laughs, the sound erupting goose bumps on my skin, and the wooden clock decides it’s time to announce it’s midnight. “Too late for that. Should have kept your mouth shut, little bird.” He palms my mother’s head, and in one swift move snaps her neck to the side, the cracking sound echoing through the space as he throws her to the floor.
“No!” I scream, even though it sounds more like a loud, hoarse whisper, and I want to rush to her, but he’s already wrapping the wire around his fist.
“Ready to play, little bird?”
Even though everything in me urges me to hug my mother and beg for her to wake up along with my father, I can’t focus on the pain and devastation their deaths are bringing me.
My survival instincts kick in, because if I don’t live long enough to tell anyone about it, no one will ever answer for their deaths, and that’s what the enemy wants.
I turn around, running into the hallway leading to the terrace door that will give me an opportunity to get outside with the two swans.
They’ll hide me in the lake with their feathers, and it will be hard for him to find me; I’ve played games like that a thousand times with the Campbell twins.
The swans have never touched me, but when I dived into the water, they gathered around me and allowed me to use them as shelter. My dad nurtured them all for so long they will help me.
My feet slap on the floor followed by the loud thump of his boots as tables, vases, and books tumble to the floor. He pushes furniture out of his way, and it seems like the world is falling apart around me.
In a way, it does.
I’m almost by the terrace door, ready to fly through it, when he kicks me in my back, and with a yelp, I fall forward, my chin hitting the marble, and instant pain travels over my shoulder and injuries that haven’t healed properly yet.
I scramble to my knees, but he hooks the wire around my throat, twisting it in two and cutting off oxygen to my lungs while the sharp edges of it dig into my neck, bruising the skin. “If only you’d kept your mouth shut, everything would have been perfect,” he says against my cheek, fanning the back of my head. “If only they appreciated the gift I had given them. But they had to destroy it all. Now everyone they love has paid for it.” What is he talking about?
Who is they?
He squeezes the wire tighter, and my mouth opens, searching for breath but not finding any. It feels like a tight fist on my chest, freezing my lungs while my nails scratch the wire, but I only cut myself more in the process. “You ruined everything!” he screeches in my ear, shifting the wire back and forth, loosening it a bit, which allows me to gulp a breath, but it cuts my skin. He laughs, as if he is enjoying slicing me. “Such beauty ruined because of your desire to talk.” I try to push against him so he’ll lose his balance, and I crawl forward, but he laughs, once again bringing me back and cutting my oxygen off.
He presses and presses until I can’t take it anymore, and my eyes close, taking me to where darkness greets me.
* * *
My eyes flicker open when my nose twitches from the smell of… gasoline? I hear something being splashed around.
Plup. Plup. Plup.
My vision is blurry, yet while I try to take a breath, I see black boots disappearing in the distance as he lights a match and drops it on the floor. Instantly it ignites, the orange and blue flames tangling together in a duet, burning everything on their way to ash.
Too tired to do anything else, my eyelids drop and I succumb to the darkness once again.
* * *
Hot.
I’m so hot it seems like the fire comes from everywhere, reminding me of the summer day on the beach when I didn’t listen to Mom and ventured out during the hottest part of the day.
But there is no cool water to get relief here.
My body aches as if someone stomped all over it, and my throat scratches from the inside out, needing something.
My eyes flicker open once again, only to water from all the smoke gathering around me while I lie on the floor.
No, no, no.
I can’t die.
My story can’t end like this with monsters winning while angels turn their backs on their deeds.
I roll to the side, seeing the terrace door several feet away from me, and I try to get on my knees, but it’s like my legs don’t listen to me. I fall back on my stomach, crying out and inhaling deeply.
No, no, no.
I can’t die.
The mantra keeps me going while I lift up again, plastering my palms on the marble, but they slip on it and I end up on my back, barely able to move.
He must have kicked me for good measure too, ensuring I’d never be able to escape.
That’s when I hear a loud banging, as if someone is using a hammer, and the terrace door shatters. Several sets of black boots thump inside, and a voice I don’t recognize hisses, “Fuck!” But at this point, the smoke clouds my mind and vision so much I can’t make out anything.
Shutting my eyes once again, I almost give myself to the oblivion that always has soothing qualities about it, letting me know that no matter what I’m accepted here.
But before I do, I hear several weird phrases that make no sense to me, nor do I care to understand them.
“Santiago, get the fire down,” the deep voice orders this time; that is the only one familiar among them all. But why does this familiar voice create panic around me and doesn’t soothe me? “The hose is outside.”
Then di
fferent voices talk one after another while their boots vibrate the floor as they run around the house.
“Octavius, everyone is dead.”
“Remi, help me with the bodies.”
“Florian, use the fucking fire extinguisher in the living room or we will lose the house.”
And then I feel strong arms slipping under my back and lifting me up, pressing me to a chest where the heart beats wildly against my ear, and he murmurs, “Too late. I came too late. But I’m here now.” But that’s when darkness claims me once and for all, and everything else fades away.
Cassandra
“I’m so sorry.” I snap back from my shock, lightly patting Eudard’s bicep awkwardly and offering him comfort. Ethan has been one of his oldest friends, so for a second, I push back the happiness spreading inside me and focus on him. “It’s a terrible tragedy.”
Eudard palms my head and captures my mouth with his, unfazed by my surprised gasp. He licks my lips before delving his tongue inside and brushing against mine, claiming me once again, and with a moan, I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him closer. Despite our earlier encounter, this kiss lacks desire, but instead it’s coated in possessiveness and urgency that I don’t understand. Almost like he tries to ground me with it and remind me where my attention should lie.
Before I can give in to the kiss, he snatches his mouth away and rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily. I feel his rapid heartbeat under my palm. “Don’t feel sorry, Cassandra. He doesn’t deserve it.” My eyes widen at the hatred in his voice. Wasn’t he the one who helped me on this dark path? Why does Ethan’s death not concern him? “Arianna should have never been their victim.” Now anger mixes with hatred. I still in his arms and my heart pangs painfully from the memories I want to avoid, but his firm hold doesn’t let me. “She was a beautiful soul who lived among sinners, and unfortunately for her, they smeared her in their dirt.” He tips my head back, his thumb rubbing my lips, and a single tear escapes me, sliding down my cheek. How can it not when he describes me like that? God, how my life would have been different if I only knew about the depth of the emotion he had felt for me back then. “Darkness never should have touched her,” he whispers.
I place my hands over his, trembling a little and asking, “She was someone special to you?”
In a way, I hate that he used to love her so much… even if she was… is me. Because Arianna Griffin doesn’t exist, and there is no bringing her back. And Cassandra Scott?
She is too damaged to offer him anything.
The real and the phantom versions of me can never be with him no matter how much I want to explore it.
His face softens along with his voice when he chuckles, although it lacks any humor. “She was everything, but I failed her. It will never happen again.” It sounds like a promise set in stone, but I’m not sure who he gives it to. Before I can dwell on it, his controlled mask is on again and he steps back from me, grabs his phone, and clears his throat. “I have to go now and take care of this. I’m sure someone already has stopped by my office asking about it.” He puts his towel around his hips, his green pools staring at me as if searching for something, but I give nothing away.
If I let my true emotions show, this nightmare of mine will never end. And despite how much I long to soothe the anguish in him over Arianna, I can’t do it until everyone pays for their sins.
Including his twin who he loves more than life itself, even if their relationship got tarnished ten years ago. I will never believe that he doesn’t love him.
Eudard Campbell always had one weakness, and that was his brother.
He moves to the doorway, and I blush when I notice my nail marks on his back, but he pauses, glances over his shoulder, and says, “This is a relationship, Cassandra. However, you are welcome to call it whatever you want.” With that, he disappears into the hallway, leaving chaos in his wake.
Because despite how much I subconsciously might want it, Ethan’s death proves it’s impossible.
For how could there be anything between us, when I intend to destroy his twin’s life?
Hopping down to the floor, I welcome the coolness of the marble as I pick up my robe and put it on, my eyes darting to the knives hanging on the wall above the stove.
Taking the smallest one, I part the robe to uncover my thigh and dig the knife into the skin above the first letter E that’s barely visible on my skin, crossing it off and leaving a sting behind coated in blood.
“May you rest in hell, Ethan,” I whisper, throwing the knife into the sink. “But don’t worry. Soon, your best friends will join you.”
With that, I dart upstairs, ready to prepare myself to put on a show for the entire town.
While in the room, I hear the shower running and use this opportunity to fish for my phone, go to the balcony, and quickly dial Arson’s number.
He picks it up on the fifth ring, to my freaking surprise, his deep tone laced with annoyance as he barks, “What?”
“Hello to you too.”
I hear rustling in the background, someone’s hysterical voice that reminds me of his captive, and I sigh in exasperation, wondering when their battle will end.
Although I have to hand it to her for holding strong all this time. “Sorry. Good morning, Cassandra. How can I help you?” Sarcasm replaces the annoyance, and I snort, covering my mouth with my palm so he won’t notice it.
Pissing off Arson in the morning is the last thing on my agenda, especially when I need information from him. “Ethan is dead.” Silence meets those words, and my brows furrow, because shouldn't he have some smart comeback to this? Since nothing comes, I continue. “He even wrote a confession.” Still nothing, and I shift uncomfortably, pushing the words through the tears. “Thank you. I—I think I would never have been able to go through with it. But knowing that you killed him, I know it’s horrible.” Slapping my forehead, I groan inwardly, because I’m so screwing up.
I never agreed with their methods and wanted nothing to do with them. I can’t imagine loving and living with a man who does what they do and accept it easily. It’s impossible.
But as hypocritical as it sounds, I’m so grateful for them and for what they have done for me now, knowing that I was losing my composure here. “Thank you for doing that.” I should probably call Lachlan too, but he is more difficult to reach than anyone else.
Unless he wants to talk to you himself, then he’ll find you even in the pits of hell.
“You are thanking me for killing Ethan?” Arson clarifies, and I hear the flick of the lighter that he probably flips between his fingers. There is an odd sound to his voice, but I don't dwell on that as he clears his throat. “You are welcome.”
“It’s because of what he did the other night?” I ask, curious what triggered his anger that he didn't wait for me to deliver Ethan to them on a silver platter.
He chuckles as if finding it hilarious. “Exactly that.” For a second, I think he mutters, “Cocky bastard,” but then he says, “Don’t worry about anything, Cassandra. Continue as you see fit, and we will take care of the rest.” I expect him to hang up on this, as he is not big on goodbyes, but he’s not done. “Always keep your phone with you.”
Did they install a tracker in it or what?
The request is not unusual, giving how protective of their own they are, so I nod but then remember he can’t see him. “Sure.” And then nothing but the dead air sounds in my ear.
Throwing my head back, I enjoy the warmth of the sunlight before I’ll have to once again face the coldness that is permanently attached to my enemies.
After all, there are other prey to catch.
Madman
Swirling on my office chair, I light a cigarette as my satisfied laughter reverberates against the walls.
Life is great, especially when my soon-to-be victims run around town like chickens with their heads cut off in fear of being caught.
Ethan’s dead body is a sight to behold on its own, especially i
n the glossy pictures the police brought to my office earlier.
They are investigating his murder despite his old deeds, and of course someone just happened to slip them the information that we had a fight last night.
I don’t have to guess who. Ralph probably does everything in his power to cover his ass from the coming doom.
Too bad nothing will save him in this life.
I inhale the smoke, watching from the window how people talk with each other, waving the morning newspaper in their hands and shaking their head in disbelief at the truth uncovered.
My mouth twists in a grimace, and the taste of nicotine hitting my tongue becomes bitter, because their terror brings me no joy.
Where was their disbelief ten years ago?
The sound of the door clicking snaps my attention as heavy shoes thump on the floor followed by the clacking of Sam’s heels. “I’m sorry, Eudard. They barged in without permission. I called security and they should be here any minute.” I don't have to spin around to know who came here though; I see their reflections in the glass.
The one on the left is a tall man with dark hair and brown eyes that sink coldness in whoever passes by. No one misses the dark anger permanently attached to him that he covers with a polite smile that hides his true nature. He is wearing a leather jacket and jeans, fooling you into believing he’s approachable when he is everything but.
The other one, though, has dark hair and clear blue eyes that always have amusement in them along with hatred so strong it surprises me he manages to control his strong urges to kill on a daily basis. Despite his carefree appearance, he is one of the most dangerous fuckers I’ve ever met.
And considering my friend list… that’s saying something.
He wears a gray suit that showcases his aristocratic blood, as he was born into the life of luxury.
Callum MacRae and Santiago Cortez.
All in all, both of them are fucking show-offs, and I should have expected they’d make an exhibition out of their entrance.
I swirl on my chair to face them and they both raise their brows, awaiting my reply to my personal assistant’s panic, so I wave her off. “It’s okay, Sam. You can leave us and tell security not to come.” She gives me a worried look but nods, knowing full well no one goes against my orders if they want to work here.