Sick Like Me (A Miss Hyde Novella Book 4)

by Kindra Sowder

  “Good.” Hannah’s body and her entire demeanor relaxed. Leaning back in her chair, her fingers steepled at her pouty red lips, she seemed more tranquil than she had in ages. “I think this will be a perfect relationship, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  And I did agree. I just needed more information than she could give me. Now I knew I needed to see Cyra again.

  Or somehow find some answers on my own.

  Chapter 4

  It took far too long for the elevator to reach my floor, the hallway just outside the sliding doors dark with foreboding. Ever since my kidnapping, torture, and rape, the shadows seemed much more sinister than they had previously. Not only that, though. They were now filled with monsters. Human monsters, at that. The part of me that was actually terrified of what had happened to me shivered with a chill of fear.

  But the rest? The part that delighted in the kill as well as causing the same kind of horror in other people? She lurked on the inside, hunched in the same shadows I was now terrified of waiting for the other shoe to drop. For another victim whose heart she wanted to devour.

  She was the angel of death and the Queen of tortured hearts. She was everything I wasn’t.

  Nervously and carefully, I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, glancing from left to right to make certain I was the only occupant. If any men were in the hallway, I would be closing the elevator doors and heading back down and somehow avoiding anyone walking around with a Y chromosome. Highly improbable, but not impossible. I scanned the hallway, seeing no one. With a sigh of relief, I turned and made my way toward my apartment.

  My eyes spotted something sitting off to the side of my locked door, a bouquet of flowers? Was I seeing this correctly? I had to have been because, the closer I got, the more I could see that it wasn’t so much a bouquet, but a single red rose surrounded by white baby’s breath, a small envelope with my name written in beautiful script nestled within the fragile blooms. A small little filler flower I absolutely hated, hinting that whoever sent them didn’t know me at all. Or barely. The first name to cross my mind was Emmett, but I shook the thought away. It didn’t seem like something he would do. Then the sound of hard and aggressive female vocals mixed with guitar and drums filtered out toward my ears from beyond my apartment door. It sounded familiar. Like the music that my torturers had listened to while they had their fun. Panic filled my chest and caused a pit of terror to form in my belly. I reached out and tried the knob. It turned easily.

  Unlocked.

  This was how the horror started before, and it was all I could do not to turn around and run out of the building as fast as I could. Mitch and Johan were dead, so they couldn’t hurt me anymore, but that didn’t stop the instinctual reaction.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.

  Reaching down, I picked up the glass vase holding the single red rose. I slowly began to push the door the rest of the way open with my foot with both hands gripping the case. I was ready. I was prepared. Sweat poured down my back in rivers, causing my dress to stick to my skin sickeningly.

  “Oh good God, Blythe. Get your ass in here already. I don’t have all day,” came Cyra’s all too familiar drawl.

  At first, I was startled. The emotion turned quickly into confusion, followed by irritation and anger. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and heard it bang on the wall behind it. Cyra sat in my apartment, lit only by the fireplace glowing with flames -- an open bottle of red wine and a half empty glass sat on the coffee table. Much like the last time I saw her. Picture perfect as her pink hair brushed her shoulders and a long black wrapped covered her shoulders, the rest of her body sheathed in a red jumpsuit. Black heels that I recognized from my closet were on her feet. Not only that, but another gift sat on the coffee table. Another single red rose. The same arrangement as the one I held in my hands now.

  “What the Hell are you doing here? And, fuck, you couldn’t bother to pick this one up too while you were busy breaking into my apartment?” I nearly shouted at her.

  “It wasn’t there when I got in and, before you ask, no I didn’t snoop and look at the card either.” Cyra stood up from the couch and took a few steps toward me, pausing there with the glass I hadn’t realized she picked up precariously perched on her fingertips. “I came to check up on you. Also…,”

  There was a loud thump from the other room that almost caused my heart to leap from within my chest and then a, “God damn it.”

  “Jackson is upgrading your security system.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a roll of my eyes, “I guess. You know,” I placed the vase on the coffee table gently, “it wouldn’t hurt for you to leave a note or something. Or call. That’s an option too. You don’t have to let yourself into my home. It’s rude. It’s also against the law.”

  “Do I look like I have the patience for that?”

  I threw my purse on the couch she had been lounging on and looked at her. I mean, really looked at her. Her slim fingers fidgeted with the hem of the wrap around her shoulders. Other than that, she didn’t look like she had a care in the world.

  “But you do have the patience to just come in and wait for me here?”

  “And watch Jackson work. I tried to help, but he pushed me away. Said I was in his damn way and to do what Adam pays me to do,” she explained.

  “And, besides the obvious, what is that?”

  She laughed, throwing her head back dramatically, “The obvious.” She chuckled, deep and low with the word. “Liaising between you and Adam.”

  “And he can’t speak to me himself? I mean, he has me consulting on all of your work. Why can’t I speak to him?”

  “Not yet,” she replied with a shake of her head.

  “Right.” I nodded. “Why not?”

  Setting the glass down on the coffee table, she stood up straight and looked me in the eye. Her chocolate brown eyes penetrated mine, almost as infinite as Emmett’s, but there was something there. Something unknown. Something.

  “You’ll meet him face-to-face when he’s ready. Well,” she smirked, “when you’re ready.”

  “Ready how?” I probed, meeting her gaze with determination.

  Her grin grew wider, showing far too much white behind her ruby red lips. Ominous. She had never exhibited this quality before, which sent a chill down my spine. Kind of like a child that was once adorable then changed into this tiny creepy demon in child form. Smiling and singing creepily as they skipped along swinging around dead animal carcasses.

  That creepy.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my hip slightly, showing her who was truly the alpha in this urban cave. Hyde rolled in my belly. Heat licked up through my chest and my heart, sending another rippling chill down the length of my back. The hairs on the back of my neck even stood on end. This was new. The feeling that you no longer had control over your life and that someone was attempting to take it all from you. You couldn’t win no matter how hard you fought back. This was that moment. Here, as I stood before Cyra trying to hold onto it even though my hands were already beginning to tremble.

  After what had happened with Mitch and Johan, I hadn’t gotten a moment to really process the events. Now this show of dominance that could have been nothing, but I wasn’t choosing to interpret it as such. The cute artist with the adorable cat had been wiped clean, the façade left out back with the trash.

  A shuffle and a feminine curse came from behind me, causing me to remember that I had left the door open. I spun to find Lauren walking through my door with a couple of brown paper bags in her hands, the top of a loaf of French bread poking out of one of them.

  “Lauren? What are you doing here?” I asked. My voice came out at a higher pitch than I expected.

  She stopped in her tracks and stared between Cyra and me. It was obvious she noticed the shift in our dynamic, but she shook her head and chose to ignore it.

  “Well, since you’re feeling better, I figured we could have a night in? May
be? Unless you already had plans or something.” She shifted the bags uncomfortably, and her lips twitched nervously.

  “No, no. No plans. That’s a great idea,” I rushed with a glance back at Cyra. “They were just leaving.”

  Cyra took the blow in stride and acted as if the last few minutes hadn’t transpired at all.

  “They?” Lauren asked. Her eyebrow perked up, and she leaned to the side to try to see around Cyra and me.

  “Yeah, it’s….,”

  “Blythe was having a bit of a plumbing problem. I called in my handyman to take care of it for her,” Cyra lied.

  It took all I had not to glare at her and keep the smile plastered on my face to remain convincing.

  “Oh, okay,” Lauren relented. She moved farther into the apartment and brushed past Cyra and toward the kitchen with her bags.

  “Jackson, you finished?” Cyra called down the hallway.

  Heavy footfalls came toward us, practically stomping into the hardwood because of his mere size. He was just as I had seen him the day before, large, muscular, and intimidating in all black. I didn’t see a single toolkit with him. Then again, I knew nothing about security systems. Maybe he had even finished already and was checking one last thing. Who knew?

  “All finished up. You should be good to go,” he said to me when he emerged from the hallway. “I left the code on your bedside table. I suggest you change it after we leave so it’s something you can remember.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “Do I need to walk you through how to use it?” Jackson asked.

  The expression on his face was filled with genuine worry, which made me hesitate to say that I did, but just barely. All I wanted was for them to leave. I wanted time to myself. Granted, with Lauren around, it wouldn’t actually be alone time, but that didn’t matter. If I needed the space, it would be much easier to get her to leave. I could feign still feeling ill or a relapse, and she wouldn’t question it. Cyra would shoot me a look of impatience and leave her guard dog outside my door when she left. That or she’d tell me to suck it up and stick around even longer than was necessary. Either way, no one had to be here. I didn’t need a babysitter or a new security system. I didn’t need any of it. All I truly needed was time for myself that thanks to Hyde, was never what I desired.

  “No, it’s fine. I know how to use one,” I answered with an impatient groan. Cyra’s brown eyes flicked to mine, surprised. “My parents had one when I was growing up. I think they still function the same way after about a decade.”

  Jackson smiled and gave a light laugh. “You’re pretty much right.”

  “Then you’re all set,” Cyra rushed. “Let’s get a move on. The exhibition is in a couple of days, and I have arrangements to make. Blythe, don’t you have some reading to do?”

  At first, I thought I understood. The cards on the roses glared at me, sheathed in bright white paper. That couldn’t be it, though, could it? That didn’t seem correct. I felt my lips turn down in confusion and my brow crease. It took less than a second for the change to occur but felt slow and deliberate to me. Hyde rolled like a warm wave in my belly, like she was trying to give me a clue. That only caused further confusion.

  “I left some things for you on your bed I think you’ll be very interested in. All from Mr. Burnside,” Cyra stated as she walked toward me like she was about to walk past me and to the door.

  I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. And everything happened all at once. Lauren came through the threshold that led to the kitchen, then Jackson picked up the glass of red Cyra had been nursing and downed what was left in it. Cyra’s cold and slim hand closed around my wrist and pulled me closer. So close my chest brushed against her. Lips, tacky with lipstick, grazed my ear while she whispered very pointedly, making certain I listened.

  “Your mind blocked out a lot of things from your childhood. For you, there are only happy memories, but your other side…?” The last word went up in pitch, like it was a question or something that would remain left unsaid until I figured it out on my own. It didn’t take long. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. “Everything in that room was kept by Adam after your parent’s death. It has a lot of information he felt you will need after your most recent experience. And it’s for you only. Your friend needs to stay out of it.”

  I would’ve had a snarky comeback ready and in line for her if it weren’t for the fact that I was in utter shock. This wasn’t a friendly reminder. No, ‘Hey, this could put your friend’s life in danger,’ thing. This was more like a, ‘This will put her in danger, and we all know you’d be the one to do the deed since that’s what you do,’ thing. Not only did this cause my heart to pick up the pace, but anxiety flooded my body along with two other emotions. Terror and sorrow. Not because she was wrong.

  Because she was right.

  It didn’t stop the dam that opened up inside of my chest that let every single nasty thing I felt about myself and the freak show soaked in blood that was my life.

  In the blink of an eye, Cyra’s entire demeanor changed. Her eyes brightened, and the corners of her mouth perked up in a beaming grin. Her posture was no longer hunched over and defensive, but open and cheery. Bubbly like usual.

  “See you at the gallery soon?” she chimed.

  “Yeah,” I responded. “Sure thing.”

  Then that was that. She slinked out of my apartment, followed by Jackson – the massive man who acted more like a Teddy Bear today than he had previously. I didn’t watch them leave. After what she said, I couldn’t keep my eyes off my best friend who leaned against the arm of the couch. My heart hammered in my chest, and a bead of sweat trickled down the center of my back. It was suddenly hot in the room. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say a single word. Not even a sound.

  The silence that moved through the room enveloped me in a cocoon of cold stillness filled with sticky, wet blood I couldn’t wade through. It would drown me. I knew it. If it didn’t kill me now, it definitely would later.

  Lauren pushed away from the couch with her hip, her black slacks flowing around her legs like dancers as she moved to stand by the coffee table.

  “So, do you know who these are from?” she asked with mock excitement. She wanted to be excited, but she had sensed the tension in the room when she walked in.

  “No idea,” was all I could bear to say.

  With slender fingers, she plucked the cards from the arrangements and read what was written on them in a beautifully lazy scrawl.

  “Looks like these go in order.”

  Handing them to me, she turned away and perched herself on the arm of the large sectional. Studying me while holding back the glimmer of anticipation. She wanted to know badly enough, but I was already perfectly aware of who these were from. Well, I thought I was. There were only two admirers I had, but only one romantic. That I knew of, anyway. Who else would send a single red rose if they weren’t interested in you in an at least lustful capacity?

  My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the first tiny envelope and removed the thick cardstock from within it. It slid out smoothly, the texture of the card itself rough against my fingertips.

  In swirling script, neat and absolutely perfect, the first card read,

  For the girl…

  Confused, I turned the card over, finding nothing on the other side. Nothing. It had to be on the other card I held in my hands. Now I was getting irritated. I didn’t like to play games, no matter how small or how adorable they could be. Of course, this did explain why the envelopes were numbered. Obvious, yes, and my own thoughts nearly made me roll my own eyes. I opened the other envelope and removed the other card, squinting at the black scrawl on the brilliant white stock.

  …Who’s just like me.

  That was it.

  “Who is it from?” Lauren asked.

  I would have been perplexed if it weren’t for the fact that I only knew of one other person who had the same affliction as I did. One that I had never met yet, but was sending me flower
s as if he were attempting to garner my affections. He was the only man that, through a third party, had let me know that he was there. That we were the same. Even gave me a name for what I was. The same man that now had control over me when it came to Cyra’s future as an artist, and who could use that to get to me at any time he wanted. For any reason he desired.

  Adam Burnside.

  What did Cyra leave for me on my bed? Stomping through the apartment, I moved into my bedroom, leaving Lauren in the living room. She didn’t follow me, and I assumed she did so to leave me to my privacy. To let me have those precious few moments I got to myself, even though she wasn’t even aware of the other half of me that took up so much time and space within my life. What I saw on the bed when I entered, unhindered by my fear of the room after the recent events, caused me to stop dead in my tracks.

  Albums. Family albums I hadn’t seen since I was a child, completely ignorant of what I was because I hadn’t come of age just yet. Not only those, but there was an old text placed neatly on the bed beside the albums. A part of me wanted to know what was inside of it, but an even larger portion wanted to run from the room. And as quickly as humanly possible.

  That was the side I gave into when I spun on my heel and left the room, choosing to ignore what the text undoubtedly held in its leather binding. Something that would answer so many questions.

  Something that would lead to my eternal damnation, even though I had been damned since the day I was born.

  Chapter 5

  The darkness in the room of the warehouse where I had been held loomed over me. I was asleep. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie with Lauren after two bottles of red wine and an amazing steak dinner that she had prepared. We didn’t typically eat in together but, considering the fact that she thought I was getting over a nasty bout of food poisoning, she felt I needed a night in instead of a night out. I was fairly certain that Lauren had also fallen asleep on another portion of the sectional. We had kicked off our shoes, eaten and drank until our heart’s content with the television on, barely paying attention to what played on the screen.