Third Debt

by Pepper Winters

Unfortunately, I knew the answer this time. “It’s a Heretic’s Fork.”

  Was this a manor house of the fucking Tower of London? Where did they keep these barbaric devices?

  “Smart girl.” Daniel grinned. “And you know how it works?”

  I made the mistake of looking over at Vaughn. Saliva dripped down his chin from the gag, his eyes blazing with sorrow.

  I looked away. “It’s strapped to the accused throat and the fork forces the person to keep their head high to avoid the prongs from entering their chest and throat.”

  Bonnie smiled. “You’ve finally shown some aptitude, Ms. Weaver.” Cocking her head, she ordered, “Strap it on her, Daniel.”

  “Be my pleasure.” The thread of insanity that infected Cut glowed in Daniel’s eyes as he moved behind me. His cold hands brushed aside my hair as he brought the horrible thing beneath my chin. “Put your head up.”

  Tears prickled my eyes as I raised my chin, staring at the ceiling. The square wooden panels kept me company as the fork buckled around my throat and diamond collar.

  My neck arched, keeping the delicate skin safe from being stabbed. My teeth hurt from clenching, and my head pounded with a rapidly spreading headache.

  You’re failing again. Don’t give in.

  I blinked back tears, straightening my spine as if that would bolster my courage.

  You’re breaking. They’re winning.

  I wished I could tear out my brain from tormenting me. The Hawks did that enough without my mind disabling me, too.

  Once the buckle was firmly fastened, Daniel inspected his handiwork. “You look rather regal like that. Guess I can’t make you blow me this round; otherwise, you’d kill yourself with every suck.” He cackled at his tasteless joke.

  Vaughn groaned in the corner but I didn’t look over.

  I let my vision unfocus, granting a small reprieve from everything.

  Please, let this end soon.

  Slapping my arse, Daniel commanded, “Walk a few laps. Show me how well you can move with your head high and your wrists bound.”

  My heart chugged hard as my worst enemy swooped into being.

  No, not now!

  The room swirled with vertigo. Sickness fogged my head, and I lost all sense of balance.

  Don’t fall!

  I’d kill myself.

  Moaning, I did my best to equalize.

  It didn’t help.

  The room shot black; I stumbled forward, falling, falling.

  Someone yelled, “Catch her!”

  Arms wrapped around my body as I plummeted. I jerked to a stop, hanging in some horrible embrace as the world dipped and swelled. Slowly, I traded oppressive blackness for the orange den.

  Swallowing hard, I shoved away the remaining episode. “I’m—I’m fine.”

  Daniel planted me on my feet. “Got a fucking death wish, Weaver?”

  I wanted to shake away the cobwebs left in my head, but I didn’t dare. I trembled in place, itching with claustrophobia. My neck strained beyond comfort, aching already.

  “You gonna faint on me again?”

  I calmed my breathing. “I didn’t faint. It’s vertigo, you arsehole.”

  “She’s had it since she arrived,” Cut said. “Three laps, Ms. Weaver. Get through that without killing yourself and we’ll remove the fork.”

  Three laps. Three lifetimes.

  “Can you untie my hands?”

  “Nope.” Daniel pushed me forward. “Go on, be a good prancing pony and show us what you can do.”

  My knees wobbled, but I shuffled forward. I didn’t know the room enough to avoid ottomans and small coffee tables. My eyes couldn’t look where my feet went. I was basically blind.

  Their gaze burned into me as I made my way to the perimeter of the room and followed the wall as best I could. Couches forced me to go around; I bashed my knee on a magazine rack and stubbed my toe on a desk.

  I felt like a prized pony on a race-track—keeping my head high, my knees higher, prancing for my life, only to fail and be shot for my efforts.

  It took a long time to navigate and vertigo kept playing with my balance. I had to stop a couple of times, swaying uncomfortably. By the time I made my way past V for the third time, silent tears spilled from my eyes and I was on the precipice of breaking.

  I wanted it over with. I wanted to be free. I wanted to run.

  Run. Run. Run.

  Vertigo grappled me again, hurling me headfirst into a vicious attack, scrambling me like whisked cream.

  Shit!

  I fell, tripping over something and colliding with air. There was nothing to catch me, nothing to stop me soaring from standing to dying.

  Time slowed as I tumbled forward. My hands fought against the rope, and my mind screeched instructions.

  Keep your head up! Keep your chin high!

  My hands were tied. I couldn’t stop my trajectory. All I could do was pray I survived.

  The thick carpet cushioned my knees as I slammed to the ground. My shoulders crumpled, and I cried out in agony as the prongs bit into my jaw and chest, biting their way into my flesh.

  Am I dead?

  I couldn’t tell.

  Pain smarted from everywhere.

  A shadow fell over me as Cut ducked to my level. “Whoops.” His lips spread into a horrific smile. “Sorry, my foot got in the way.”

  And that was it.

  That final tiny straw that made it almost impossible for me to keep going.

  I withdrew into myself. I felt myself disappearing. My hate fizzled. My hope died. I had nothing else to give. Nothing else to feel. The throbbing of the wound no longer bothered me because my senses shut down.

  There came a point when the body ceased feeling pain. The receptors were tired of transmitting an important message—only to have that message ignored.

  I’d neglected my body for far too long and now it’d abandoned me.

  Cut paused mid-chuckle, understanding I’d reached rock-bottom. Without a word, he unbuckled the fork and left me alone on the carpet.

  Silence reigned heavily in the den. No one moved.

  I didn’t care if I never moved again.

  You won.

  I don’t care what you do anymore.

  They’d taken my innocence. My vengeance. My love. My life.

  I had nothing to go back to. Nothing to move toward.

  Stagnant. Locked in a present I could no longer survive or endure.

  “Get up, Weaver.” Daniel stood over me.

  I stood.

  “Come here.” He snapped his fingers.

  I went.

  “Let’s roll again, shall we?”

  I nodded.

  Monochromatic and hell-bound thoughts. That was all that remained of me.

  I didn’t notice as Daniel tossed the dice.

  I didn’t look as it rolled to a stop by my foot. I didn’t care when it didn’t flop to one side, staying poised on its edge—neither black nor red, both physical and psychological pain.

  As far as the debts went, as far as their fun continued, I’d checked out and left.

  I had no future. What did I care about my present?

  Daniel ducked to collect the dice. “It’s as if the ghost of our ancestor controlled it.”

  Bonnie nodded. “It is rather serendipitous.”

  Cut came forward, pulling free a large pair of shears from his back pocket. “Here you go, son.” His eyes met mine, but he faded once again to the side-lines. Deep in his light-brown eyes was the smallest level of concern. He sensed I’d given up. His enjoyment had been taken away from him.

  Daniel held up the scissors. “Know what these are for?”

  I remained mute.

  “Know what I’m going to use them on?”

  I rejected his every taunt.

  “These are to take something from you. Something they took from my ancestor.” Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he pointed the scissors in Vaughn’s direction. “The Hawk woman did anything she ne
eded in order to feed her family. She sold her every asset until she had one last remaining. Know what that was?”

  V’s red-rimmed eyes howled with sadness.

  I tried to care, but couldn’t.

  V would move on.

  I’d stay here.

  Locked in this world with dice and Hawks.

  Daniel squeezed me, trying to cultivate a response. “It was her hair. She cut off her hair in order to keep her family alive for a few more days.” His voice turned to gravel. “Now it’s your turn to sacrifice. Your choice is simple. Allow me to cut off your hair—suffer a psychological toll—all in order to save your brother from a painful handicap.”

  I continued to stare blankly.

  Take what you want.

  I no longer cared.

  “Marquise, hold up his hand,” Bonnie ordered.

  Marquise spun V around to face away and splayed his fingers. I glanced at the swollen blue digits from being tied so tightly. My own fingers felt the same—numb and dying from lack of blood.

  “Hair or his finger, Nila. That’s the deal.”

  His voice sliced like a sickle through my blankness. But I didn’t move.

  Daniel vibrated with anger. “Hair or finger, bitch.” He gnashed the shears together. “One or the other. You have ten seconds to decide.”

  I didn’t need ten seconds.

  I already knew my decision.

  I wasn’t vain enough or alive enough to care.

  “Hair. Take my hair.”

  Daniel scowled. “Where’s your fight gone? You’re being a fucking wet fish.”

  I found a magic in ignoring him.

  He couldn’t torment me anymore.

  None of them could.

  I didn’t think about Jethro or Jasmine or home. I didn’t think at all. About anything.

  Prowling behind me, he gathered my hair in his fist. “You have such beautiful hair. Last chance to change your mind, Weaver.”

  My voice held no fear or objection. If my tone were a colour, it would be colourless. “Do whatever you want.”

  I’d never cut my hair.

  Ever.

  It was a stupid reason but one I’d done for my mother. She’d loved to play with it. To plait it, thread it with flowers and ribbon—show me off as her little princess.

  That was my last remaining memory of her, and Daniel had stolen that, too.

  “Gonna slice every strand off your head,” Daniel promised. His touch tugged on my hair, twining it into a rope. “Ready to say goodbye?”

  My heart didn’t hurry. My eyes didn’t burn.

  “Don’t fucking answer me. See if I care.” Daniel’s fingers yanked harder and the rusty yawn of the scissors bled through my ears.

  My eyes closed as the first snip turned me into a stranger.

  Physically, I couldn’t feel pain, but spiritually, I howled in anguish. It hurt. It hurt so so much to have such a poignant piece of me stolen without fighting, without screaming, without protecting what made me me.

  The second snip broke me.

  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

  The third snip destroyed me.

  Stop, stop, stop…

  The fourth snip completely annihilated me.

  I have nothing left.

  “Can’t tell you how satisfying this is.” Daniel laughed, cutting with no finesse, hacking through the thick black strands.

  I was alone in this.

  Alone and shorn like some animal for slaughter.

  All I could do was mourn silently.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  My curtain of ebony hair disappeared with every scissor-slice. Cascades of thick blackness puddled, devastated and dead, on the blood-red rug. I’d given up the last part of me—the final toll for my brother’s freedom.

  I’m doing it for him, for love, for family, for hope.

  I said goodbye.

  To my youth.

  To my childhood.

  Snip, snip, snip…

  This was the end.

  Snip, snip, snip…

  It was over.

  I BECAME SOMEONE I never knew I was capable of.

  A monster.

  An avenger.

  The hero I needed to be.

  Nobody would touch her again.

  Not me.

  Not my family.

  Not even pain itself.

  I stepped onto Hawksridge land. My land. My legacy.

  I’m here for you, Nila.

  I’ll fix this.

  I just hoped I wasn’t too late.

  SLEEP.

  It was the only peace I got these days.

  Peace from my fracturing soul. Peace from breaking.

  They’d won.

  They’d finally broken me. Finally proven that no one had unlimited resources to remain strong. That we all break eventually.

  I wasn’t proud of myself.

  I hated that I’d lost.

  But at least Vaughn was safe. At least I’d done right by him.

  I had no weapons to defend myself. No energy to push aside the dresser and protect myself. My belief that I could ruin them disappeared into dust.

  Nothing mattered anymore.

  I was theirs to do with what they wanted. And my heart was officially empty.

  My reflection in the bathroom mirror showed a terrifying transformation. Hollows existed in my cheeks, shadows ringed my eyes, and the blood on my chest glowed with crimson fire.

  But it was my missing hair that hurt the most.

  Ragged and shorn, my glossy black strands were now in tatters. They hung over my ears, all different lengths, hacked into dysfunction by Daniel’s sheers. I no longer looked like Nila Weaver, daughter of Tex, sister to Vaughn, empress to a company worth millions. I looked like a runaway, a slave, a girl who’d seen death and no longer existed with the living.

  I look ready to pay the Final Debt.

  I feel ready to pay the final price.

  There was no power left inside me.

  Staring into my black eyes, I shivered at my listlessness.

  They didn’t even let me say goodbye.

  The moment the last strand hit the floor, Marquise had marched Vaughn from the room without a backward glance. I’d never seen V so wild or so helpless.

  In two seconds, he’d disappeared.

  I’d wanted to cry, to sob, to snap.

  But I’d just stood there until Cut gave me permission to leave.

  I was in a billion pieces.

  How can I ever find my way back when I have no more glue to fix myself?

  Bowing my head, I hated the unfamiliarity, the frigid breeze whistling around the back of my neck. My head was light as air and heavy with thunderclouds.

  I’d lost everything. My backbone. My faith. They’d stolen more from me than just vanity—they’d stolen my right to myself.

  I didn’t look away as I washed and tended. I couldn’t stop staring at my new face.

  I didn’t have kind words to bolster my courage. I didn’t have hope to patch up my weeping heart. All I had was emptiness and the bone-deep desire to go to sleep and forget.

  Using a torn piece of calico, I washed my wound as best as I could. Water whisked away the blood, but nothing could wash away the filth existing inside me.

  I’d given up.

  I’d vanished just as surely as Cut had won.

  I was done.

  Stumbling from the bathroom, I left behind the last remaining part of me. I said goodbye to the woman I once knew and fell face first into bed.

  No thoughts.

  No wishes.

  Just emptiness.

  I let sleep consume me.

  Jethro smiled, holding me close.

  His body heat, normally negligible with his cold temperature, roared with love and healing.

  “I’ve got you now, Nila. It’s okay. I’ll make it all go away.”

  Having someone look after me after so long, undammed my tears, and I fell into his embrace. “I’ve missed you so
much. I tried to be strong. I tried.” I cried harder. “I tried to be so strong but it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. I’m empty. I’m lost. I don’t know how to get back.”

  Jethro’s lips kissed my forehead. “You’re so strong. You’ll heal. Hush. I’ve got you. You’ll be alright. Hush.” He rocked me, soothing my hair, never letting me go.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Jethro. I can’t.” I curled into his arms, wanting to fade away and stop everything. “There’s nothing left. I have nothing…nothing!”

  He kissed my hair—my beautiful, long hair. A low growl built in his throat. “You won’t have to. I’m ending it. I’m going to save you. It will all be over soon.”

  The dream unwound from my thoughts as a tap against glass roused me.

  The vacant despair inside me throbbed, but sleep had patched me together infinitesimally—letting me hold on just a little longer. Jethro’s dream embrace stitched the vanishing pieces together just enough that I didn’t burst into tears.

  Whatever the Hawks did to me, no matter what affliction I suffered, no matter how desolate my mind became, I still existed—still survived.

  I’m not done until I’m dead. And even then, I’m immortal.

  Remember that and be strong.

  The rapping came again, guiding my eyes to the dark window.

  The heavy emerald drapes puddled velvet from ceiling to floor. They blocked the night sky and any hint of the mysterious noise.

  Tap. Tap-tap.

  Could a tree have fallen? Could Flaw be throwing stones at my window to get my attention?

  Curiosity overrode my stiffness, forcing me from the warmth of slumber. Shuffling from the covers, the room swirled with vertigo. The imbalance was worse because I’d given in. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I let the black wave take me, gripping the mattress until it faded. The cut on my chest burned as I breathed hard and slow.

  The tapping came faster, louder.

  Climbing unsteadily to my feet, I padded across the room and wrenched the curtains aside.

  My eyes dropped to the sill, searching for answers.

  I tripped backward.

  What—

  Something feathered and flighty hopped away, only to soar back and tap against the glass. I’d expected to see a wayward branch or even some flotsam that’d lodged against the frame.

  I hadn’t expected this.

  Had some messenger from God come to slap me for being so lost? Was it some mystery of Mother Nature saying she believed in me?