The Eighth

by Wytovich, Stephanie

  “Not that I can think of. We’re not exactly close, so she doesn’t tell me much. But she drinks. Sometimes too much.”

  “Has she ever acted out like this before?”

  “No. Actually, I usually only know she’s been drinking when I find her passed out in her room. She’s more of a quiet-self-destruct drunk if anything.”

  “And how has her mood been lately?”

  “Quiet. She’s been spending a lot of time alone. I think she’s been having problems with her boyfriend. She goes out a lot at night, but always by herself. And she always comes back crying.”

  The doctor nodded. “This could all be stress related, a kind of mental break. I’d like to keep her overnight for observation, but I also recommend she sees a psychiatrist. I have a few suggestions—”

  “We already have one, thank you.”

  “All right then.” The doctor nodded and began walking away.

  Kris caught him before he walked out the door. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

  He smiled. “It’s Alex Gainston.”

  Kris nodded. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of her. She’s all I have left.”

  “She’ll be fine, Miss Harmon. We’ll take good care of her.”

  Rhea stewed in her own head as her arms and legs were pinned down by aides. The creak of the mattress filled the space of the room. She could hear them talking about her. Kris and that doctor. Why is no one asking me what I think? I’m 22 years old. I should have some say in this. She watched Kris twirl a lock of hair around her finger as she answered the doctor’s questions, but then a needle found its way into Rhea’s arm. The liquid burned as it entered the vein and then everything became quiet.

  Sleep, Rhea. Come to me, the voice said.

  Rhea fought against the blackness, the flashes of shadows that crawled behind her eyes. Her body hurt, ached. She was sick of everyone making decisions for her. Her heart telling her to drink. Her brain telling her not to give up. Caden telling her to leave. Weighed down from the medication’s false sense of security, Rhea let herself fall further down the hole she’d crawled into, hoping the voice was still willing to catch her.

  Chapter 24

  Paimon’s hands bled. He used his fangs to bite through his palms, and then slit them open some more with nails that he’d bitten and shaped to sharp points. He followed the instructions just as Arazel had written them. Now all he had to do was make the circle.

  With his hands Paimon rubbed the blood into the floor, making sure the stain took. Inch by inch he moved, taking special care that the bloodline stayed connected. If there was a breech, even a small one, the prayer wouldn’t work. And damn, do I need it to work. The process took much longer than he expected, partially because he had to take breaks due to blood loss. He couldn’t die from it, but he could certainly lapse into unconsciousness and that would rob him of time, something he already didn’t have much of. When he finally closed the circle, Paimon collapsed in the middle of it, half-conscious and gasping for air.

  The process reminded him of the binding he performed on Rhea. It hadn’t hurt as much then, because he’d attached himself to her, both in body and mind. She prevented pain, dismissed the agony. Everything about being with her made him realize what it truly meant to be redeemed, to be forgiven. Sweet sin, do I miss her. Paimon didn’t want to wait. He wanted to leave this place now. Go to her. Rescue her. But to do that, he needed Arazel. There was no way he could pull this off on his own.

  Paimon prayed.

  “Bless me my sins, and the sins to which I am bound to make. I ask for forgiveness for my deceit against my one, true savior and bow down to the forces that collect in my soul. It is in my blood that I lay down my treachery. Expel my sedition. Cleanse me of my betrayal before my Death.”

  His blood caught fire and the circle began to glow. The Devil was listening. Perfect. “I speak to you in shame, for the words that touch my tongue are in sorrow. Bless me, my lord, my savior. I take responsibility for my actions and comfort for your undying grace.”

  Paimon stifled a laugh. Not once did it cross his mind—not in all his years of servitude—that his allegiance to the Devil would ever waver. He thought the Devil had saved him, giving his life true meaning. Yet here he stood, bleeding out in blasphemy in order to get to Rhea. It wasn’t fair. The man he’d looked up to, the man he thought was his father had betrayed him. Their relationship was a lie, not built on love but on power. It was a union of master and slave. A prison masquerading as a palace.

  And that monster has my heart.

  Paimon positioned himself in the shape of a five-pointed star. His arms were outstretched at his sides, and his legs were spread, all touching the fire. I may not be able to burn here, but I can at least feel the heat. The connection didn’t allow him into Lucifer’s head, but he could feel the Devil tuning in and listening to his prayers. Such arrogance. The Devil believed every word and each lie. Paimon knew it didn’t mean that he would show mercy with his punishment, but it meant—at least Paimon hoped—that the Devil wouldn’t be as concerned about any further problems and as such, set his mind on other areas in Hell than the monastery.

  With his eyes closed, Paimon fell deeper into his thoughts. He searched for Rhea, saw her sleeping in a white room and smiled; she was safe. The more he probed, the more he saw of her surroundings. The machines, the wires attached to her flesh. He couldn’t hear anything because her voice was lost to dreams; her face looked twisted in discomfort. Her eyes were closed and she winced as if frozen during a moment of fear, and her lips were pale and pressed together tightly. He wondered if she was holding back a scream.

  What’s frightening you, my dear? What worries you so?

  The more he searched the room, the less he found to concern him. Bathed in white, the scene seemed sterile and clean. Except for the smell. The scent of sin clung to those pristine walls like a spider to its web, yet nowhere in sight was evidence of a threat. Disease? Sickness? Could he be mistaking sin for death? He searched behind chairs with his mind and looked under the bed. Nothing. Perhaps he was mistaken. He’d been wrong before.

  Wrong about sin. Wrong about Marissa.

  He shook the thought.

  But Rhea’s different. She’s nothing like Marissa. She wouldn’t betray me, not after everything. Memories or not, she has to at least feel the connection. She has to at least feel me with her.

  A voice broke through the ether. “Paimon? Paimon, are you there?”

  Excitement escaped him.

  “Rhea? Can you hear me?”

  “No, you fool. It’s me,” said Arazel. Come back.”

  Paimon came down from his thoughts, grounding himself back in his physical body. He held onto the image of Rhea’s face for a few moments longer before opening his eyes to the lady in red.

  “Did you do it?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he said.

  “Not the circle, I have eyes. I mean the prayer. Did you say it?”

  “I did.”

  “And the circle? What happened to it?”

  “It caught fire and began to glow.”

  Arazel smiled, her scarlet lips weaving an insidious grin up her cheeks. Her fangs were sharp and elongated. Paimon wondered when she’d last put them to use.

  “Wonderful. That means his guard will be down.”

  Paimon pushed himself to his feet. He met Arazel at the door and rested his forehead against the bars. “Are you sure about this? You’re taking a chance most would run from.”

  Her smile faded and a mask of sincerity wore on her face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. It feels good to do something out of love rather than lust.”

  Paimon’s stare dropped. “I do love you, Arazel. Truly. But I can’t love you the way that you need.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t change anything. Now stand back and let me work.”

  Arazel bowed her head and dropped her cloak. Her breasts were like two pale orbs, her skin po
rcelain and as smooth as glass. She walked into the hall outside Paimon’s cell and shook her hair out of its bun. It cascaded down her back in flames, lighting her like a freshly stricken match. It didn’t take long for her to be seen. Arazel was blessed with the gift of seduction and she could smell lust all around her.

  Paimon stepped back and watched her work.

  “Madam, there’s no visitation in the monastery,” said the guard, his eyes glued to her chest.

  Funny that he calls her madam. She invented the title.

  “I’m not a visitor. I’m a guard. It’s my job to watch. That is, unless you’d like my shift.” Arazel slid her hands between her thighs and rubbed at her sex. She could have killed him then, but what satisfaction could she take from that? Arazel fed off lust and she liked her men ripe and ready.

  “Uh…Um… it’s not protocol to… to….”

  “To watch? Isn’t that what a guard does? Observes his surroundings?”

  She dipped a finger into her velvet core and moaned. Her lips parted like two halves of a poisonous, red apple. Paimon couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was no denying she was brilliant at what she did. For a moment, he remembered what it felt like to be desired by her.

  Arazel backed up against a wall and spread her legs. “Then again, what fun is work if you only watch?” She stuck two fingers in her mouth and wrapped her tongue around them. She paused before taking them out then trailed them down to her navel. Her nails cut her flesh and drew blood. The guard’s eyes grew wide with hunger as he approached her.

  “Come to me,” she whispered. Arazel never asked, she only demanded. The guard walked up to her, his sex throbbing in his pants. Arazel smiled like the Devil and undid the guard’s belt. No wonder the Devil picked her. She’s magnificent. “Touch yourself for me.”

  The man put one hand against the wall, leaning into her as he grabbed himself. Paimon could see her lips moving as she whispered something in his ear, but he couldn’t hear what she said, nor could he read her lips. Arazel glanced over at Paimon and winked, her long lashes sending embers to the ground.

  “Do you feel sin?” she said.

  “Yes,” said the man through quickened breaths.

  “Then start praying.”

  Before he could comprehend her words, Arazel tilted her head back and plunged her fangs into the guard’s neck and ripped out his throat. His body dropped to the ground as she fed, drinking his blood like she’d never tasted the fruits of Eden before. Her hands ravaged his body, as did her tongue, and she licked and sucked at his flesh until she’d had her fill.

  “Is he dead?” said Paimon.

  Arazel came up for air, gasping.

  “Of course not. But he’s not getting up any time soon. The hit to his aura, not to mention that nasty wound in his neck, will keep him down long enough for us to move.”

  Arazel slipped back into her cloak and reached for her keys. “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Paimon.

  “I must have left them in the Devil’s quarters when….”

  “Stop. It’s ok. We’ll find another way.”

  Frustrated, Arazel paced the corridor, hands in her hair. Paimon slid down the wall and fell back into his corner. And this is how it ends.

  “Arazel?”

  She turned to him.

  “Lucifer. Does he treat you well?

  “No. He only takes me from behind as if I’m a dog, a bitch, and his taste never leaves my mouth.” She spat on the ground.

  Paimon shuddered. “Does he make you—”

  Arazel’s eyes lit up. “Paimon, that’s it!”

  Confused, he watched as Arazel got down on her knees and whispered into the keyhole. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Paimon stood there, stunned. “How did you do that?”

  “The Devil’s on my mouth. And his words are key to all.”

  Paimon swept her up in his arms.

  “You’re amazing. You know that?”

  “Yes, I’m quite aware.”

  Fire danced in her eyes as Paimon fixed the fallen sleeve of her cloak. Her shoulder, bare and swollen from the Devil’s bite, didn’t need to be out for prying eyes to see.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what? I’m in your debt Arazel, not the other way around.”

  She nodded, failing to disguise the sadness in her eyes. “Let’s get you cleaned up and go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Back to your female, of course.”

  Paimon leaned in and kissed her forehead. “If there was ever to be anyone else….” A tear of blood ran down her cheek. If Paimon had a heart, it would have broken at the sight of her pain. This was love. Genuine, pure love. It killed him that he couldn’t feel it in return.

  “I know,” she said.

  Chapter 25

  Something moved along the walls in an unnatural crawl and nested itself in the corner of the room. Its body folded in half as it hugged its knees like a scared child, and then it just sat there, breathing, wheezing, as it became one with the shadows. Rhea sat up in bed and tried to get a better look. The clock read 3:41 and the outside world infused the room with darkness. “Hello?”

  A delicate cry escaped its lips.

  Oh my god.

  “Are you hurt?”

  The subtle racking of sobs echoed in the room. Rhea pulled a blanket around her shoulders. Her legs hung off the bed, not quite touching the floor as she anticipated its icy touch sinking into her soles.

  The floor was colder than she expected.

  “Can you hear me?”

  The thing burrowed deeper into the shadows. Rhea reached out her hand and watched as a flutter of white melted in her palm. Snowflakes clung to her hair and collected on her lashes. She looked up and saw a gentle rain of flurries fall from an open ceiling; the world above her, painted the blackest of blacks, hung open in one large skylight.

  Am I dreaming? Is this real?

  She held the blanket close and focused her eyes back on the corner. Whatever hid there before was gone, and in its place was a smear of ash. Where did you go? Rhea walked towards the corner of the room, her steps slow and heavy as if she moved through quicksand. Snow dusted the floor in a soft sheet of white, and a breeze blew back her night-drenched hair.

  “I’m right here,” it whispered.

  Rhea spun around. She searched the room for a body to match the voice. She was alone, save for the empty bed and a frozen pitcher of water on the desk.

  “Where? I don’t see you.”

  The room grew silent.

  “I’m right here,” it said again.

  The voice was soft and loud. Deep, yet high pitched. She couldn’t decide if it came from a man or a child.

  Again, Rhea searched the room, her eyes desperate to find something. A dull interior spread before her, a bed, a chair, a small desk with a lamp, but each fixture was blinding white. The hospital room, now cloaked in winter, emitted an uncomfortable cold. Rhea noticed her sheet hung loose on the other side of her bed, scrunched up and pushed toward the wall. She watched as it moved.

  “Ok. I see you,” she said.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Rhea swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  “Should I be?”

  A pitter-patter of footsteps scampered across the floor and into the bathroom. The door slammed shut and a giggle crept out from underneath the door.

  “Yes. Well, no. Okay, maybe a little.”

  It giggled again.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” She walked over to the door and put her palm against it. The snow began to fall harder and Rhea shivered.

  “I know, but I might hurt you,” it said.

  “Why would you want to hurt me?”

  Rhea moved her hand to the doorknob. Covered in ice, her hand slipped as she tried to turn it.

  “Don’t come in,” it said.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not ready yet.”

  Water was turned on and
Rhea heard the shower curtain, the metal rings gliding along the rod. What’s it doing in there? Steam billowed from underneath the door, and before Rhea could say anything else an earth-shattering scream pierced the night.

  Rhea banged on the door. “Open up. I can help. Just let me in.” The need to help it—whatever it was—became overwhelming. It physically hurt Rhea to hear it in pain. The shrill sound came again, longer and pitched higher this time. It sounded as if it was burning alive.

  Adrenaline rushed through her. She kicked and pounded on the door in an attempt to open it. The cries started to fade and turned into a whimper. Oh no, it’s dying. Rhea rammed the door again and again, desperate now. It wouldn’t budge. Exhausted, she stood there, arched over and numb from the cold, gasping for air.

  Nausea returned with a heavy hand and pushed on her insides, churning her empty guts. Bile climbed her throat, but slid back down in a tease. Hunched over, she dry-heaved and cried, her tears freezing as they fell.

  The door creaked open.

  Rhea crawled over and opened it further. A cloud of steam greeted her head-on and wrapped its hands around her neck. She struggled to breathe.

  “I told you not to come in here,” it said.

  Rhea couldn’t tell if the voice was in front of her or behind.

  “You sounded like you were in trouble,” she said.

  The thing giggled again.

  “You were the one screaming,” it said.

  ‡‡‡

  “Shit. I need help in here!” someone yelled.

  Rhea tried to open her eyes, but they were too heavy. And the screaming. God why is everyone always screaming?

  “Get her into bed. You, go get Gainston. He’s going to want to see this.”

  See what?

  The smell of antiseptic filled the air. A burning sensation lit through her head and spread throughout her body. Her skin screamed as the pain ate away at the layers of skin on her arms and Rhea went as rigid as a thirteenth-hour corpse.