by Rina Kent
Uncle Alexander understands.
. . . . .
Present,
My eyes pop open.
It’s dark. Still fucking dark. I blink a few times, and the grey walls of my room come into view.
Heavy breaths leave my lips. Beads of sweat cover my forehead, trickling down my neck and shoulders.
Dammit.
Why am I dreaming about my childhood these days?
My phone beeps. The clock reads five in the morning.
Dylan— Care for a hunt?
Does he even sleep?
He must be plagued by shadows of the past like me. The three of us could never forget the day of the massacre – when we lost everything. Though Tristan and Dylan are taking it a lot more seriously with the revenge scheme.
Lucky for Dylan, I need a distraction from the poisonous memories.
I type him back a response.
Me— Unleash the hounds. I’ll meet you in the stables.
When I remove my T-shirt, the material rubs against my bandaged head wound. A burn erupts. I hiss.
The thought that a little girl took me by surprise irritates the hell out of me.
‘Go back and kill her, then,’ Aunt says in a nonchalant tone. I can almost picture her examining her nails as she speaks. ‘It would be a marvellous feast this morning.’
Apparently, the only reason I should visit Mae is to draw her blood.
Is this why I had the darkness memory? I was once afraid of the dark, too, but not enough to become a weakness. Not enough to kill me.
I fit into the horse riding clothes and secure the hat over the wound. After stacking hunting knives in my jacket, I leave my wing to the stables.
The first lights of the day try to beam through the clouds, but thick grey denies them access. What a great day to hunt.
Our horses are held by two stable boys. The hounds, however, surround Dylan in a tight circle as he throws them meat. He’s wearing similar clothes to mine, except his jacket is night blue, mine is black. He has a rifle over his shoulder.
I stop a short distance away. “We’re going to hunt, why are you feeding them?”
He shrugs.
“Get the Dobermans,” I say to one of the stable boys.
“The bloodhounds and the foxhounds are better trackers,” Dylan says as the boy disappears at the back of the barn.
“I trained most the Dobermans myself. They’re more fun.”
My Thoroughbred nickers in greeting when I take his reign from the stable boy. His shiny black neck reaches for my chest, and he nuzzles his muzzle into my shoulder. “Ready for a hunting round, Jet?”
His hoofs stomp the grass, and he takes a quick inhalation through his nose in an excited ‘yes’.
With a pat, I mount him and clutch the reigns. His hoofs stomp once more.
“Easy, Jet,” I whisper, caressing his poll.
As if on cue, Wind, Dylan’s Arabian brown horse, stomps his hoof and snorts.
I laugh. “It looks like Wind learnt to be a sadist too.”
“Missed me, my friend?” Dylan leaps atop of it, and we both signal our horses to canter.
The hounds keep up with us as we move out from the habituated part of the estate to the open forest. Long trees decorate the sideways, their fallen leaves crunch under the horses’ hoofs. Humid air sticks to my face, before weighing on my lungs.
“Find us some meat, little beasts.” I signal my hand forward. “Run!”
The hounds’ barks slice the silence of early morning hours as they spurt towards the narrower paths. Dobermans follow close behind.
These moments before the actual kill are always thrilling.
Blood rushes quicker into my arteries as we advance further. The bent trees are like servants welcoming their masters.
The hounds run in the same direction, their barks intensifying.
With a sharp kick of my boots, Jet sprints, catching up to the hounds in no time. When a deer appears, jumping left and right, trying to elude the hounds, Wind manages to speed ahead of us.
Dylan smirks as he passes me. “This one is mine.”
Hell, it isn’t.
One hand on the reign, I slip my other in my jacket and retrieve a knife, kicking Jet. “Go, Jet! Go!”
The distance separating me from the deer is about twenty five metres. The hounds keeping it caged.
I throw the knife, smiling when it lands straight into its neck.
It falls on the ground, and I guide Jet to it. The hounds surround us in victory barks. The deer splays on the ground, blood streaming onto the grass. Its eyes remain wide, still clinging to life.
The beauty of its struggles strikes me. How beautiful. And utterly needless.
“It’s not dead,” Dylan says, Wind halting next to Jet.
I smirk. “It’s still my kill.”
“We’re only in the first round.” He unleashes his Remington 7600, charges it, and fires two clean shots. Each in the deer’s eyes.
“Old habits die hard, huh?” I ask in a mocking voice.
“I don’t like the look in their eyes.” Dylan’s voice and face are detached. Yet, his grip tightens around the weapon.
I twist the reigns lighter, allowing Jet to turn in little circles. “I thought you got rid of that weakness already.”
“What weakness? My humanity?” His voice rises. “I’m not like you. I can’t just cut it loose.”
I smile, mocking. “Look where that got you.”
“It’s much better than where it got you.” He spins Wind around. “You’re becoming more and more like your psycho father. The similarities are disturbingly disgusting.”
My jaw ticks, but I maintain my smile. “It can’t be helped. We share the same genes.”
“Let’s hope you don’t share the same fate.” Without a glance, he propels Wind forward.
Screw Dylan’s provocations. If he wants a reaction then he better try harder.
The stable boys collect the deer’s corpse as Dylan and I follow the hounds. Their noses kiss the ground in search of another target.
“What about Celeste?” Dylan signals Wind to keep up with Jet’s cantering pace.
Of course. Celeste. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s a masochist for obsessing about her after what she’s done to him at The Pit. But since he thinks he hates her, let him continue down that route.
“Tristan informed you about her before me, didn’t he?” I ask.
“Sure.” His poker face springs pure irritation. One day I’ll punch him. Ideally to death. “What’s your plan?” he asks.
“Lure.”
He raises his eyebrows. “No hunting?”
“She’s a snake and therefore, a better stalker than me. I’ll wait until she comes on her own.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
I shrug. “Then I will have to make her lose at her own game.”
The bloodhounds erupt in mad barks. The Dobermans sprint to the sound with their signal aggressive one.
‘Release Mae in the forest, and have the Dobermans rip her to shreds.’ Aunt’s frosty voice slows my pace.
‘I have done that before. It’s quite entertaining,’ Father says.
I thought I’m the one who’s supposed to kill her.
‘We’re only laying down options to make her death more interesting.’ Aunt’s voice takes a gentle firm tone, the one she used to scold us with as children.
Dylan’s shout pulls me from the c
onversation with my demons. “This one is mine!”
Wind scurries ahead of us in a renewed chase, the clinks of his hoofs and the waving of his long, thick tail mocking me.
“We won’t lose, Jet,” I murmur with a caress to his neck, before kicking him. “Go!”
The hunt lasts longer than we expect. I lose by two targets. Only because I run out of knives.
The last deer twitches on the ground after Dylan shot it in the leg. The animal’s frantic eyes search around, as if there’s an exit between the hounds surrounding it. Blood gushes from its wound, but the deer still struggles to a standing position.
It’s like Mae. She’s frightened out of her mind but insists on rebelling and faking courage. What’s the point if she’s going to lose anyway? She will always be the deer about to be ripped apart.
“Eat,” I say.
In a single leap, a dozen of my Dobermans jumps the animal, fangs sinking into its fur. They ready to rip out chunks of meat when a loud shot rings in the air.
“Halt!” Dylan shouts from a distance, and the Dobermans retreat back. He clicks his rifle again, and with another shot ends the trembling deer’s misery.
My left eye twitches. The bastard ruined my fun.
‘So you’re considering the idea,’ Aunt and Father say at the same time.
Yes, demons. It’s a tempting one.
. . . . .
The solace of the grey darkness allays my thoughts as I walk the dungeons’ corridors. The supplies and food I’m carrying should keep Mae alive.
Will I find her crying?
The first crack to her unavoidable decimation will be a mesmerising view. If I let the hounds or the jaguars shred her apart, I suspect it would present a similar pleasure contrast to tormenting her with her fear of darkness. She should’ve never expressed her weakness in front of me.
Although the logical thing is to let her rot in there for a few more days, I can’t seem to stay away.
Since the dungeon room’s cameras aren’t night-equipped, I can’t even watch from a distance. Not seeing her for a day sat ill with me in a way I don’t even like admitting to myself.
When I open the door, darkness and a cool smell of dampness greet me. I click the remote switch in my pocket. The lamp springs to life, casting light over the room and onto a human corpse on the floor.
The first thought is...blankness. Then, a rush of something I can’t recognise hits me with a flipping force.
Mae lies in a foetal position, silky strands of hair cocoon her face, masking her features.
Is she dead?
Trembles erupt in her limbs as if answering my question.
After putting the supplies at the corner, I crouch by her head and remove the hair off her face. Ghostly pale skin peeks from underneath the blond strands, glistening with a mixture of sweat and tears. Her eyes are sealed shut with obvious effort. The fullness of her lips trembles, causing her teeth to chatter.
A panic attack?
Huh. The dark did play its trick on her. More than enough.
“It’s over, little deer.” I shake her shoulders. “Open your eyes.”
A few seconds tick by before she complies. The blueness of her puffy eyes greets me in its most miserable form. The bright colour almost fades into Kane’s dull blue.
I don’t like it.
Why the hell am I not liking this?
I shouldn’t care if she’s losing the gleam that shined so brightly in those oceans of blue, and yet, here I am, needing them to go back the way they were.
What the hell is wrong with me.
In a swift movement, her arms wrap around my neck, her face buries into the crook of my shoulder.
What in the gates of hell...?
Unable to hold my balance, I stagger and fall backwards. My arse hits the cold ground with impact.
What is she doing?
My reflexes shoot to throw her away, but for some reason, my arms don’t move. I remain still at the feel of her trembling body. Her chest plasters against mine, the dampness of her face soaks the collar of my shirt.
“Please don’t throw me in the dark again,” she whispers, her voice quivering and weak. “I’ll do anything you want. I promise.”
Fuck.
Define anything, Mae.
Chapter Ten
Mae
Sixteen years ago,
I’m trapped.
I wanted to hide from Sydney. I didn’t mean to get lost and end up in this hole.
My eyes blink but darkness renders them blind.
“Syd!” I shout, my fingers clutching my doll with strangling force.
A voice similar to mine calls back Syd’s name, over and over, until it disappears. Something constricts the back of my throat. I open my mouth to scream. Only choked cries come out.
“Daddy! Mummy! Help!” Snot and tears stain my face.
I lift a shaky hand in front of me but see neither my flesh nor the doll. My sobs grow louder. So loud that the voices mimicking mine erupt in terrifying screams.
A shadow with no eyes emerges from the ground in a grey halo. I flinch, my cries become hysterical.
Incapable of moving my frozen feet, I punch the approaching figure with my free hand. My fist connects with thin air.
A similar shadow surfaces. And another.
Before I can count them, I’m surrounded by eyeless ghosts, like in the photo from the magazine Syd read to me last week. She said they’re not real, so why are they here?
They’re going to eat me.
My knees buckle, and I fall to the ground. I squeeze my lids shut, holding my legs and doll to my chest. Wetness seeps into my fingers as I shake from the force of my sobs. That doesn’t stop the ghosts from flying around me. Non-stop. Their unintelligible murmurs echoing in my ear like a broken record.
I don’t know how long I remain that way. My limbs turn numb, but I don’t get accustomed to the darkness.
Light tickles my lids. I seal them even tighter. What if a ghost is prying them open?
It’s shaking me. It’s going to eat me. It’s...
“Mae! It’s okay, baby girl. Daddy’s here. It’s okay.”
. . . . .
Present,
My arms press tighter around Aaron’s neck. I hold on to the safety of his embrace as my only lifeline.
I know he isn’t Daddy from sixteen years ago.
Worse, I’m well aware that he’s my stalker slash captor slash psychopath.
Yet, I can’t help hugging him. As long as he has warm skin, he’s a better choice than the monsters in the dark.
He said he wanted to see how far I would fall. I fell too deep, my wings broke, shattering my will into unredeemable pieces.
Aaron gets what he wants. I won’t attempt to run again. My fear of darkness is greater than my yearning for freedom.
Not long after I jump him, he pries my hands from around his neck. He nudges me backwards with a soft yet a firm touch that refuses any struggle.
With an indecipherable face, he stands, leaving me in a heap on the tiled floor.
I push off the ground. My wobbly legs barely keep me standing, screaming at me to sit down. Their little strength is enough to drag my body to the bed.
I slump in a sitting position, my tortured skin thankful for the soft cotton material.
Aaron stands at the foot of the bed like a statue. One hand in his black trousers’ pocket, the other resting by his side. My gaze travels up his navy blue shirt to his expressionless
face.
The man is a damn blank board. I can’t detect anything from him. Aside from the serial killer vibe, of course.
Deafening silence dominates the room, accentuated by Aaron’s unmovable stare. I hold eye contact for a few seconds before cowering away.
If his plan is to mould me into a nervous ball then he’s certainly achieved it.
I was never good with silence.
“What?” I whisper.
He says nothing, focusing on my face as if observing a painting. I stare back this time. I won’t recoil. If those black eyes can hypnotise me, then so be it.
I’m screwed as it is.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask after a while, voice a little louder.
Again, not a word. Not even a twitch of his finger.
“Is this a pattern now?” I throw my hands in the air. “I ask and you don’t reply?”
His unbreakable silence sends fury boiling down my spine. The prick. How dare he ignore me after what he did to me?
“Hey! Why do you refuse to talk to me?”
“Because it’s fun,” he says, face static.
“Huh?”
“You’re too talkative.”
I narrow my eyes. “And that’s fun because...?”
He reverts back into a mute. I sink my nails into my palm in an attempt to stop the building rage from sweeping me south.
Freaking bastard. He finds pleasure in tormenting me.
“That.” He points at my face. “You’re expressive to a fault. Apparently, the lack of conversation makes you nervous and that soon transforms into anger.” He pauses, his lips curving in a cunning smile. “Interesting.”
My mouth hangs open, but I seal it shut before I make a bigger fool of myself.
He really is The Devil.
I need to stop showing him weakness or he will break me into pieces in no time.
But how to do that? Holding my tongue is a tough mission. It’s as hard as witnessing a flying dog.
Silence falls between us again. Thick and deep, cloaking the space in a smothering veil. Words form in my mouth, magnifying by each second, wanting to pry my lips open.