by Neal, Xavier
“Impressive.”
“Handy when people think they can fuck you over,” he explains. “Madden on the other hand, has an unreal way of identifying the make, model, and year of a vehicle from sound. I know how fucking bizarre that sounds, but it's true. He says all cars have a different tune, a different frequency. It's like some next level super human shit.”
“You McCoys are all super humans,” I mumble.
Oh shit. I shouldn't have said that.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
I shake my head and drop my face forward.
“Mel,” his voice gingerly calls to me. “Mel, look at me.”
Immediately my body complies.
Damn it. See one of the downfalls of not having human contact? The first time I get it, my body wants to submit to anything requested from it.
“Tell me.”
In a hushed tone I reply, “Because look at how you live. Look how long you've lived that way and have never been caught by the cops.”
“I'd rather be caught by the cops than The Devil any day.”
“Me too,” my mouth whispers, a tear crawling it's way down my throat, attempting to close it off. Feeling the air in the room being sucked out, I stand up. Space will be a good thing. Moving will be even better. I head for the kitchen. “Sandwiches okay for lunch?”
Drew clears his throat. “Works for me.”
Silence fills the cottage and I'm thankful.
This is probably for the best. The more I talk to him, the more likeliness guilt over all of this will settle in and make it even harder for me to sleep at night. As it is, I already have to take a sleeping aid most nights. The last thing I really need is another excuse to up the dosage. After the last hostage I had to care for, it took ten days before I could fall asleep without thoughts of suicide. She was a sweet girl. She was also The Police Commissioner's daughter caught up in a world she never asked to be in. She reminded me of myself. Yeah...I've gotta detach myself from him. This is gonna end so much worse than that did. She got to walk away from it all at the end.
“Mel,” his voice is now directly over my shoulder. The heat of his body close to mine has my eyes shutting. Drew's hands land on the counter on each side of me, trapping my body beside his. “Who's watching those cameras?”
In an unsteady voice, I confess, “No one.”
“No one?”
“I told you,” I whimper as his scent invades my senses, his lips now close to my ear again. “They're...um...they're more for show than tell. The Devil records it, but unless given a reason he doesn't watch them.”
The pressure from his body increases as his lips seem to nudge my ear once more. “Is it bad I wanna be the reason he does?”
His attempt at flirtation stops my actions completely. Concern has me spin around in his arms, his face now distractingly close.
Wow. That's....right. Focus.
“Is getting me into bed about giving The Devil a fuck you from captivity or actually being attracted to me?”
Drew's face twitches and for a moment, I'm not sure he even considered one of those a possibility before I mentioned it.
The problem is I'm not certain which one.
He takes a step back to answer, but is cut off.
“Melody,” Omar's voice sternly says from the entry way. “Are you ready?”
I meet Omar's eyes and inform him, “You're early.”
“Is that a problem?” he almost growls. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yeah,” Drew responds. With the cocky smirk he typically has he answers, “Lunch.”
“Make your own fucking lunch,” Omar bites.
“I will finish making him lunch, but I still have to grab some shit from Eden-”
“What's Eden?” Drew intrudes.
“My garden.” Before he can make a smart comment I say to Omar, “Twenty minutes tops.”
“Fine.” He sheds his jacket and heads for the couch. “I'll wait here.”
Drew mutters, “Joy...”
With a roll of the eyes, I turn back around to return to making him a sandwich. Quietly, but professionally I instruct, “Please have a seat at the table McCoy and I'll bring you your meal shortly.”
He doesn't object or even add a comment. He simply does as requested.
Thank God. I don't need Omar to have any more reason to question me than he already is. The problem is, now I see what Omar saw the second Drew walked into my world. I can't say that I blame him for reacting the way he did. He doesn't want me to die any more than I want me to, but if I don't get my shit together, what we want and what will happen will not be the same thing.
Melody
Omar clears his throat at me indicating he wants me to look at him. I continue to keep my attention out the window.
There's nothing good about looking at him right now. I'm not in any mood. I just...I wanna be left alone.
“Melody.”
“Don't,” I mutter and smile at the sight of a little girl brushing her doll's hair in the backseat of her mother's van, which is beside us at the stop light. “Just...don't.”
He mumbles something to himself, but I ignore it. The little girl with blonde pig tails looks up at me and waves. Her innocence is beautiful and refreshing. I wiggle my finger back at her. She giggles before she returns to her doll leaving me with a new reason for tears to clog my throat.
I'll never get to have kids. I'll never get to be a mini-van mom. There will never be a child that relies on me to keep their innocence. I know that's probably for the best, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. I'll never get to nag at her about letting me brush her hair or fight a fussy baby boy who won't sit still enough for me to feed him. Every time I get a glimpse of a future I can never have, my anxiety levels shift and ending my own life lands on the table once more.
“Are you doing your job?”
My eyes shut as I rest my forehead against the window. “Yes.”
“Does he know?”
I shake my head.
Please don't ask me. It's bad enough I have to do it without talking about it.
“Good,” Omar hums.
“Good?” I gripe back.
“I'd rather you keep your life than him.”
In a soft plea I sigh, “What makes my life any more valuable than his?”
“Because I care about you.”
“And he has an entire family that cares about him,” I argue.
“That doesn't fucking matter to me.” Omar states. “The McCoys are nothing more than another pair of hands The Devil uses when he doesn't wanna dirty his own. They mean nothing. They are nothing. They're disposable.”
My head slowly turns to face him. “You know that's what The Devil said about Jimmy?” When Omar nods, I shake my head. “Was it true then?”
“Yes.” His coldness doesn't surprise me, but saddens me. “And it's true now. Men like them are like tissues. Use them and get rid of them. People like you and me, we're necessary. We're needed.”
“Until we're not,” I conclude, the conversation I had with Drew this morning now haunting as the car pulls to a stop outside of a warehouse by the docks.
Before getting out of the vehicle, I grab the case I've been sent to deliver. Walking along side Omar, I straighten my posture, hold my head up, and hide any insecurities that were lingering.
When The Devil smells fear, he smells weakness, and when he smells that, your remaining life span immediately is cut in half.
Omar delivers a sharp bang on the garage door. “Open.”
The door rises just enough for us to duck under. Inside we take just a few steps before The Devil appears from around the corner with a pleasant expression on his face.
You should be afraid. Trust me.
He extends his hands in a welcoming motion. “Ah....Eve.”
The nickname, which is meant to be a compliment as much as it is a curse causes me to nod at him. “Afternoon.”
“Did you bring me a present?” I nod, whi
ch causes the demonic smirk to stretch harshly across his face. “Excellent.”
Omar and I cross to him. Immediately I offer him the case and sigh, “Is that all you need?”
He stares at me for a moment before looking up at Omar who is expressionless. Unsure of how he senses it, I know he's latched onto the tension. “Why don't you come watch the results of your beloved work first hand?” My mouth twitches in objection, but I know better than to actually do that. Like the demon incarnate he is, he wiggles his eyebrows, “Come along. You'll love it.”
I won't. There's no way I ever will. I'm not the monster he is...I swear. I know that's hard to believe with what I do for a living, but just...try to believe me.
The two of us follow him around the corner down a hallway into a wide cleared out space. Inside it is a man, bloodied, bruised, and barely recognizable. He's hanging from a hook that's dropped down from the ceiling. Seeing this causes my stomach to boil and flesh to crawl, just as it always does when he feels the need to remind me not only what he's capable of, but what he does daily.
Fear is almost as powerful as hope. Both can shake a person to their core.
Strolling away from us, The Devil heads towards him, the case dangling from his fingertips. “Do you know what's in here?”
The injured man shakes his head.
One of The Devil's men who had been assisting the roughing up of the man acts as a table for his employer. He extends his arms out to hold the case while The Devil opens it. “I had Eve bring me something special.”
Tempted to look away, to look anywhere else, I dig my fingernails into my arm and look straight on.
I have to give him what he expects or risk being next.
“This,” he begins by holding up the small vial of clear liquid. “Well this little beauty is very dangerous. See, it's going to paralyze your body from moving while enhancing your sensitivity to pain. Basically a prick which might not even register to you is going to feel like someone is stabbing you with a katana.”
The man begs, “Please...”
“I wasn't finished,” The Devil snaps. “After your pain sensors have been heightened to the max your organs will begin to shut down within the next couple of hours. One...by...one...until you're dead on this hook like the worm you are.” Aggressively he grabs the man's face. “And you're a fucking worm. A useless maggot Cash.” The Devil spits in his face. “Now tell me who the fuck is selling out my men left and right!”
Cash begins to blubber like a man at the end of his rope. A man with his life flashing before his eyes. A man who knows no matter what he does or does not say, it's not going to matter. He's going to die.
“You're one of the only pieces of shit left they haven't come for. I find that fucking convenient. A little suspicious.”
“The McCoys...”
“Haven't stepped foot in or out of that building since this shit started to happen,” he announces. “We've reviewed the footage. All the angles, inside and out. No one has seen them anywhere near the building. They aren't narking me out, but someone is.” The Devil grabs the needle and begins to fill it. “You know what I call this little mixture Eve made me?” With a sadistic smirk he looks over his shoulder. “Do you remember?”
I dig my nails into my flesh tighter. The rest of my body remains still.
“Hail Mary,” he hums proudly tossing the empty vial back into the case. “Because that's the only fucking chance you have at escaping.” The Devil doesn't wait for Cash to say anything else before jamming the shot in the man's neck and injecting all the poison.
There's a sharp cry from the man before The Devil tosses the needle the same way he did the vial. Sharply he turns and begins to walk away while the muscle that wasn't holding the case returns to torturing the man.
Closer to me, The Devil adjusts his cuffs. Looking at his assistant, who I had no idea arrived on the other side of Omar, he questions, “Is this blood on my cuff?”
Vicki, his assistant for so many things, leans forward. “Yes.”
He drops his head backwards. “I hate trying to get blood stains out of my clothes.” The moment he lifts his face back up, he cocks a smile. “I think I want a giraffe...” He pauses briefly before nodding. “I'm gonna get one. Eve, is there anything you need for Eden.”
Barely audible I answer, “No.”
He smiles widely as he takes the cigar from Vicki, his attention now wrapped around her instead of me. “You think it'll be expensive?”
Her reply is lost upon me while I stare forward as my only purpose in his life settles in the veins of a potentially innocent man.
How do I live with myself? Honestly? I wonder the same thing most days. And if I'm being completely truthful, I'm not sure how much longer I can.
Drew
You know what I hate about clay? No matter how much I try to get this shit off my body it finds a crevice to hide in. No joke. I showered last night, scrubbed myself so hard you would think I might've used a Brillo pad, only to find it dried in random places on my skin. Fucking hate clay...
Slightly groggy, I stretch through the aches in my body.
That's new too. Part of me wonders if it's because of the mattress. I feel like that princess who couldn't sleep with a pea under mattress. Did I really just call myself a princess? Wow. If you see my testicles that I lost while I was sleeping could you kick 'em back over please?
I head for the bathroom with a slight limp in the leg that was grazed.
It hadn't been hurting, but it is this morning. Strange. That's probably normal. I was grazed by a bullet.
Turning on the light in the small luxury bathroom, I immediately turn my attention to the slight discoloration of my skin near the injury. Confused on what the hell that's about I lift my leg onto the marble counter and stare.
Unsure of how long I've been poking at the area, I'm startled by a voice. “Gym stretches?”
I look over at Melody who's in a pair of white scrubs with her hair freshly braided. She's holding a glass of water and two pills out for me.
Casually I drop my leg back to the ground. “Aren't you supposed to stay fit in prison?” Instead of giving her a chance to take that the wrong way, I quickly add, “At least that's how it is in the movies. Every prison movie...ever...”
She giggles and shrugs. “I wouldn't know.”
“You don't watch movies?”
Melody's cheer instantly dissolves into somberness.
Fuck. I gotta figure out how to stop doing that. Yesterday I was trying to kiss her...yeah hold all judgments on falling for the girl who is holding you hostage against her own will please...and managed to get my own foot in my mouth. That never happens outside this place yet with her it keeps happening. What the hell is wrong with me?
“No. Not in years,” she softly answers. Clearing her throat she offers the contents of her hands again. “Take these. They'll help with the pain.”
I grab the glass and down the two pills. “Is the discoloring in my leg-”
“Normal? Yes. It's just healing. Oddly, but considering how you were stitched up, there's nothing to worry about. I'll check for infection again tomorrow.”
Nodding I lean my ass against the counter. “So you're a doctor now too?”
She reaches for the glass. “I'm a lot of things, Drew.”
Quickly I move the glass out of the way. “Beautiful should be at the top of the list.”
There's a brief blush on her cheeks. With a simple shake of her head, she bats it away. “Glass, please?”
I scoot over and hold it higher. “Are you in a hurry?”
She huffs and looks up at the object just out of her reach. “A bit.”
“To run off again?” I question. “You didn't even return before I crashed.”
“I wasn't aware you were keeping tabs on me,” she snips and folds her arms across her chest. “That's actually my job while you're here.”
I smirk. “Doesn't mean, I can't do the same.”
“Give me the glass,
Drew.”