by Logan Fox
Never stop, Candy.
Run and never stop.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Josiah
I can finally stand by the time I reach the back door, although my legs feel more like rubber than flesh and bone. I lean against the wall for a moment as dizziness threatens to haul me under, and then shove away and half-fall, half surge through the kitchen door.
My head’s heavy, my limbs clumsy.
Jo.
I wrench my head around to scan the kitchen. Who the hell said that? My hair stands on end as I move through the kitchen as fast as I can. I pass the phone, but then I hesitate and back up beside it again. I snatch the receiver, dial out 9-1-1, and set it down on the counter. I can’t speak—who knows how far my voice might travel? I can only hope that the operator sends help and doesn’t just end the call and try to phone back.
Dad can’t know that I’ve survived.
The stairs leading to the second floor could have been Mount Kilimanjaro. I take them on hands and knees—what a waste it would be getting this far, only to break my neck because I can barely stay upright—and get to the top what feels like hours later.
Hurry.
Hurry.
Hurry!
My body resists when I try and run. Instead, I end up surging forward, bouncing off the wall, and barely catching myself before I land on my face.
But I keep doing it, because it’s faster than crawling.
And there’s no time.
And I’m probably already too late.
And what the fuck am I going to do if he’s done with her already?
Jo.
I ignore it this time. That voice in my head.
In my head? Then why do I think someone’s watching me? Urging me along?
Because you should never have woken up, but you did. You shouldn’t be walking, but here you are.
There’s a creak, so faint it could be nothing more than the wind against a—
Thump.
That goddamn fucking shutter.
I drag my heavy feet over the carpets in my rush to get upstairs.
Thump.
I take the second flight of stairs like a man. An old, geriatric man, but on two legs and with barely a hunch in my shoulders.
Thump.
I crest the top of the landing, and stare down the hallway. There’s a glow coming out from under the study door.
Thump.
Something else now. Softer, more organic. A girl’s voice.
My spine straightens. My feet no longer drag. There’s a pounding in my chest, and it’s real and alive and electrifying.
Horror.
Dread.
I’m too late…again.
My fingers close around the door handle.
See so much more. No door. No door.
Except…there’s nothing to see.
The study is empty.
They’re not here anymore.
But the shutter’s open again, and it keeps thumping, thumping, goddamn thumping.
I hurry over. The letter opener is lying on the floor. I take it up almost absently and jam it in place, trapping the shutter closed. The window is still open, but I don’t give a fuck about that.
Where is she?
Where is my Candy?
The fire pops, drawing my eye. But she’s not there either, is she?
Soon as the answer comes to me, my eyes fix on the stand beside the fireplace.
What happened? Where did my mind go?
I’m standing in the doorway of my father’s bedroom. My eyes are open, but I wasn’t watching. Not until right now.
Couldn’t have been. Else I wouldn’t still be standing here.
Metal taints the air; copper from the blood, brass from my hot, sweaty hand as I pad closer to the bed on silent feet.
It’s heavy in my hand, that poker.
My father grunts—an animal in heat, nothing more…so much less. So caught up, he doesn’t know I’m here.
He’s older, stronger. The perfect version of me.
At least, he was.
I swing.
The poker tears through the air.
The impact travels up my arm like a wave.
I expect Candy to scream when his blood paints her face.
Instead, she arches her back and kicks.
My father’s still convulsing—coming or dying, I don’t have a fucking clue—as her foot connects with his chest, right above his cryptic fucking tattoo.
He shoots back, slides off the bed, and lands at my feet.
Thump.
I look up at her.
She looks up at me.
The poker drops to the floor.
Thump.
I step over my father’s unmoving body. My toes squelch through the slowly spreading pool of blood, and then drip down my soles as I climb onto the bed.
She opens for me.
I knew she would.
When I settle my weight on her, she sighs out my name.
I’d have fucked her right then and there, if I could.
But I don’t get the chance, because while I’m still struggling with my boxers, I hear the unmistakable sound of movement behind me.
No, can’t be.
He’s dead. I watched him fall. The blood’s all gone out of him.
“Jo!”
I clamber up, but I’m too late.
My father’s already standing by the time my feet hit the floor.
He already has the poker in his hands.
He’s already swinging.
Straight at my face.
Rage glaring.
That poker should have struck me right above my temple. But Candy leaps from the bed and strikes Wayne’s shoulder.
They go down together, her naked body twined around his. He brings the poker up. I grab it.
He wrenches it free.
Candy screams when it slams into her shoulder blade.
She rolls off my dad with a puppy-like whimper of pain.
We’re wrestling for control of the poker. Both grimacing, both grunting.
Candy gets onto her knees beside us as we tousle, and then climbs back on the bed. She howls and sobs, and it’s excruciating not to be able to console her, to soothe her.
Wayne twists his hips, and shoves me to the side. Then he straddles me, the poker flush against my neck.
My lungs drain of air.
He’s blocking off my windpipe. I splutter and choke, kicking wildly to try and dislodge him.
But I’m growing weaker, and that makes him stronger. The trapped blood in my face sets my skin on fire. My eyes bulge from their sockets.
The lights start dimming. My struggles smooth out to nothing but a tip-tap of my heels on the floor.
And then Candy appears, mouth set in a rictus snarl.
My gorgeous blood-drenched phantom.
Her silhouette fades at the edges as she hurls herself at Wayne. She jumps onto his back like a monkey, blood-and-sweat damp hair flying out in whip-like cables.
She sinks her teeth into his shoulder, his neck.
Her bunched hand moved across his throat, and it’s only when a curtain of blood pours onto my chest that I realize she’s somehow managed to slit his throat.
The pressure keeping that poker on my throat disappears. Wayne gapes at me as it clatters to the floor, and then reaches behind him.
Candy still has her teeth in him. When he grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs, she spits him out and bites into his jaw.
I’m horrified.
Hypnotized.
Honored.
His bellow gurgles, exiting partly through his mouth, partly through the crude lips sliced across his throat.
Then he collapses onto his side, taking Candy with him.
She hiccups, drags a hand over her mouth, and then turns and pukes on the floor.
Sweet air rushes into my lungs. I fight my way up and drag her with me. She squeals when I jar her shoulder, but then we’re on the bed, both panting, both p
ainted in blood.
I want to fuck her now more than ever. She reaches for me. My desire reflects in her eyes. But then she shakes her head, and her arm falls limply to the bed. An empty water bottle goes ‘crump’ with the weight.
I can wait.
For her, I’ll wait an eternity.
She deserves the perfect moment.
My darling Candy.
Love of my fucking life.
I nuzzle into her neck, and she rewards me with a sigh that sends a shiver through my body. I slip onto my side, knowing I could bury her under my weight.
“Jo.”
My name on her lips is the only thing keeping me from slipping under. That and, seconds later, the wail of sirens coming closer.
I knew they’d come.
But thank God it took them so long. If they’d been here sooner, he would still be alive.
Tires skid over gravel, the sound barely audible over the police cars’ warbling sirens. I stroke Candy’s face and then reach over her, dragging the coverlet over her naked body.
No one can see her like this.
Never again will my Candy have to endure another’s eyes on her naked skin.
Her eyes flutter as if she’s trying to keep them open, and then close when she finally loses the fight.
Even masked in blood, her face is serene in sleep.
You know, I’ve changed my mind.
I get it now.
Revenge?
Definitely best served cold.
Ice fucking cold, bitch.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Candy
“Come on.”
Josiah’s voice comes from far away.
“Time to get up.”
I know he’s right. We can’t keep lying here like this. Someone will see us. Someone will know.
There’s no pain as he helps me up. As we maneuver around the blood and the body and the murder weapon.
Manslaughter, right? Self-defense?
Is that jail or juvie or community service?
Go to jail, go straight to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect—
We stop halfway down the hall. Josiah sways, and I move with him, incapable of standing on my own.
He says something, and I’m not sure if I hear ‘purge’ or ‘surge’.
Neither makes sense, but I don’t complain when Josiah props me against the wall and heads back into the bedroom.
Josiah wrapped a sheet around me. It gathers up my back and leaves my bare ass to thump into the carpet when my legs give out a second later.
Click go my teeth.
Josiah walks past me, hand in a fist. Then he goes to the study door and opens it.
Orange light bathes his face a second before he disappears inside.
Hell.
He’s stepped into the mouth of hell.
I blubber incoherently as I crawl after him, desperate to warn him, desperate to get him back.
That…or follow him straight into those sulfurous depths.
But as soon as my eyes adjust to the fireplace’s glow, I pick out his silhouette. He’s standing there with the poker in his hand, staring at the fire like it did him an injustice.
I crawl closer. He’s saying something, repeating the same words over and over again.
“…Put you out. I put you out. I put you out.”
The fire?
As I turn to look into those flames, he stabs the poker into the fire’s glowing belly.
I rear back when he drags out a glowing log and lets it roll onto the carpet.
Flames take a moment later, licking the carpet with yellow tongues.
“Won’t go out, then you might as well take this fucking place with you.”
Another log joins the first.
Another.
Another.
“Jo!”
My voice is weak, but he hears me. He turns and then seems to come back to the present when he catches sight of me.
I cry out in pain when he runs at me and scoops me into his arms.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he murmurs into my hair as he takes me downstairs. “I won’t let anyone touch you, ever again.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Candy
Red and blue lights struggle to compete against the yellow-orange glow of the flames. The world has become an abstract painting that changes every time I blink. I keep zoning out, half-hallucinating as I fight the effects of the drug that had dissolved in that water bottle. Thankfully, my dislocated shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore.
Unfortunately, there’s still that throbbing deep inside.
He’d been too late, my sweet, valiant Josiah. Too late to stop Mr. Bale taking the only thing I still had left; my innocence.
“You okay, Miss?” The paramedic standing a few feet away turns to me, one eyebrow lifted quizzically.
“Yeah,” I breathe, cutting off my semi-hysterical laugh.
We’re on the other side of the street. A fire truck paints a red slash in front of me as the firemen try to put out the blaze.
I told them they didn’t have to bother. Wayne was already dead before the fire started.
No one listened. I guess they have to do their jobs.
“Where’s Josiah?”
“Still busy with the police, I think.” The uniformed guy walks a little closer, and then ducks his head to stare into my eyes. “Can I clean you up now?”
He’s already reaching for something to one side.
“Don’t you fucking touch me.” The words are out before I can stop them, but when he freezes and then steps away with his hands raised, I’m glad they were said.
Won’t let anyone touch you, ever again.
That’s what Josiah whispered into my ears as he led us out of the manor and onto the front lawn. And he’d kept his promise as long as he could. It took three policemen to subdue him. I tried fighting them, but I couldn’t.
They took Josiah from me.
Slapped handcuffs around his wrists and dragged him away as he kicked and fought and yelled at them not to touch me, not to fucking dare.
But that was a long time ago.
“Miss Bale?”
I look up at my name and stare at Detective Reed. He’s standing too close, so I lean away. Someone brought me clothes, but they’re a size too big, and the sweater keeps slipping off my shoulder. I tug it up now as he glances behind him and then back at me.
“Do you think you’re able to give me a statement?”
I should set the record straight, but not without something in return. I hitch up my shoulders, attempting a shrug. “Take me to Josiah.”
“That…” Reed looks away and frowns hard at the blazing building. “That’s not going to—”
“Then no,” I say.
He squints over at me. “I can take you anywhere else. Can I do that? A hotel, maybe?”
“Will Josiah be there?” I know I sound like a stuck record, but if I leave this spot, how will he know where to find me?
Reed lets out a long sigh as he grips his waist. “Let me…let me see what I can do.”
The hotel room has a jet-tub, but the last thing I want to do is sit in my own filth—and someone else’s.
After carefully maneuvering out of my arm brace, I hit the shower. When the hot water sluices over my injured skin, I have to bite back a gasp. But moments later, that heat soothes away the tension in my muscles.
Reed lied, of course.
He said Josiah would be here, but he’s not.
But I think the detective was about one minute away from dragging me kicking and screaming away from the crime scene.
He left me at the reception desk with a uniformed female police officer who still hasn’t said a word to me.
I swore at her when we arrived, and I saw the room was empty, but all she did was drop her gaze and go to stand beside the door like a bouncer.
Now I feel bad about doing that. It’s not her fault Reed’s a fucking liar.
I hesitate before stick
ing my hands between my legs and washing there. But when I’m done, I’m glad I did. It does something to me when the water running into the shower drain isn’t pink and murky anymore.
“Uh…listen. I didn’t mean—” I’m saying as I step out of the shower in a robe, toweling my hair.
I stop dead.
Josiah’s standing in the middle of the living area, hands in fists. Instantly, my eyes track to the doorway, but the policewoman isn’t there anymore.
“What did you—?” I murmur.
He gives me a reluctant smile. “I asked her to wait outside.”
“And she—? I don’t get any further.
Josiah stalks up to me, grabs my head, and holds me still as he kisses me.
The towel drops. I throw my healthy arm over his shoulders, trying to drag him closer, but he arches away from me, careful not to bump my braced arm.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he breathes into my ear, sending a flurry of goosebumps over my skin.
“They let you go?”
“Kinda.” He nuzzles my neck as his hands slide under my robe and around my back. “I have to go in for questioning tomorrow, and I can’t leave town, but for now…”
Josiah smiles down, grimly at me as his fingertips stroke the curve of my ass. He steps forward carefully, forcing me back a step.
“And…?” My eyes close when he grazes his teeth against my throat. “The…fire?” I can’t even voice what we did to Wayne. What I did to Wayne.
It’s a dream—surreal and fantastic, but slowly fading.
I’ll never forget the taste of his blood, though. How warm it was, how it coated the inside of my mouth like oil.
Guess I’d be ordering my steak well done from now on.
“They’re still investigating.” Something bumps into the back of my knees, and I glance over my shoulder to peek at the bed.
When I straighten, Josiah’s eyes are on me, an unspoken question lighting them up.
I nod, and he slowly hoists me up and onto the mattress. I wince when even that slight gesture makes my shoulder pain, but then I’m on my back, and the mattress is feather-soft beneath me.
He kisses me long and soft, until I’m dissolving under his lips. I slide my hand down his chest, but my hand doesn’t go further than his belt before he grabs hold of my wrist.