More than anything, I’d love to feel my little mouse’s hands working out the near permanent knots in my neck and shoulders. But it’ll be a little while before she agrees to that.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can find out with this new video,” I say, before ending the call.
Fuck. I need a drink.
And my little mouse happens to have a bottle of my favorite whiskey in her house.
A bone-chilling cold settles on the back of my neck. I hiss through my teeth and turn my head, convinced I’ll find someone standing behind me. But no one is there, despite the persistent cold surrounding me like dense fog.
I've already experienced a few unexplainable things while perusing Parsons Manor.
But whatever ghost that's floating up my ass has bad fucking timing.
“Back off,” I mutter through gritted teeth, turning back around. Surprisingly, it does. Whatever it is.
And I go back to staring mindlessly into my whiskey glass.
Whoever’s whiskey this is, it’s divine. A citrus flavor lingers on my tongue as I sip from the crystal cup. Addie’s upstairs sleeping, none the wiser to me being down here, drinking her whiskey, and stewing in the hornet’s nest buzzing throughout my skull.
Two of my employees installed security systems throughout her house, unknowingly to keep their boss out. I basically invented these systems, so I’m more than capable of disarming them with a click of my phone.
In the beginning, I just picked her locks to get in, then reverse-picked them after I left. The only predator I’ll allow in her house is myself. Despite her shit locks, I’d never leave her vulnerable.
I was relieved when she installed the security system, even if it was meant to keep me out. Breaking past those barriers is just another lesson to teach. Eventually, she'll learn that she can’t shut me out any more than she can fuck another man.
She tried to convince me of that the other day, but with one look at her cameras, I knew she was bluffing. Trying to get me riled up. It almost worked until I remembered that I’m taking it slow with her.
In the beginning, I tried so hard to forget her. I tried to run. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I went home from that bookstore and attempted to talk myself down. But it seemed the more I struggled to convince the beast inside of me to leave her alone, the more it raged.
And the second I started looking into her life, digging up anything I could find, the obsession only grew. She became an inoperable brain tumor that plagues every waking moment of my life.
Sometimes it feels like if I tried to cut her out of me anyways, I wouldn’t survive it.
Taking another swallow of whiskey, I twirl a red rose between my thumb and forefinger, a drop of blood pooling from where the thorn pricked me. Ignoring them, I keep rolling the dangerous stem between my fingers, a vortex of anger and anxiety swirling in my stomach.
Children are being tortured at this very moment. This second—this millisecond—while I sit here and drink liquor from a crystal glass.
There are children being sacrificed right now. Hurt. Maimed. Raped. Killed. While sadistic fucks circle around them and drink the blood from their bodies.
My phone rests on the island, the screen lit up with the grotesque video playing on a loop.
I haven’t been able to stop watching it—or rather, stop torturing myself. It’s a small price to pay for the absolute horror this poor kid suffered from. My need to find where these rituals take place digs deeper, and it’s driving me fucking insane.
There’s nothing I can do at this moment. I’ve attempted to trace the source of the video, but whoever is leaking them has done their homework. No hits came through, leaving me feeling utterly fucking powerless.
I may be the best, but technology has limitations. I've learned how to bend and coerce information from almost nothing, but sometimes the tracks don't exist. The numbers just aren't there.
My thoughts spiral downward, like the amber liquid sliding down my throat.
I roll the rose harder through my fingers—faster. The sharp thorns slice through my flesh. The small amount of pain offers me a semblance of release.
Sometimes witnessing the torture these kids go through makes me want to slice open my own skin and feel the pain alongside them. I want to ease their pain by creating my own. Maybe if I’m bleeding out on an altar next to them, they won’t feel so fucking alone.
But I don’t. The urge is unfounded and I recognize that. I recognize that I need to be strong, not weakened from blood loss and my mental state hanging on by a fraying thread.
If I’m going to save these kids and destroy the skin trade, then I need to be at my best. They need me to be strong and capable because they can’t be.
The video restarts. I snarl, the cries of the boy renewed, filling the otherwise silent space around me.
I’ve studied the video closely, just like I did the last one, searching for any type of clue. But I could detect nothing. Nothing significant that would lead me to where exactly these rituals are taking place.
Just four people dressed in black robes, surrounding a stone slab. From what I can see, the entire area is rock, emulating a cave of sorts.
But I’m not stupid enough to believe these men have found some cave in a mountain to sneak off into. This is a manmade cave, somewhere deep in the underbelly of Seattle. Someplace that no random civilian could accidentally stumble upon.
The whole reason I moved to Seattle six months ago was because of this dungeon. Originally, I was born and raised in California. But when the first video leaked, I was able to get a ping from the person’s IP address that revealed Seattle as the original location.
They haven’t made the same mistake twice.
This job gives me the freedom to live wherever I want, so it took only a day to settle on moving to Washington, where I could find the hellhole and destroy it.
And times like these, where I’m at my lowest, I can’t help but feel like it also changed my life in the best of ways. It brought me to Addie, after all.
My head drops low between my shoulders, tension threading throughout my overused muscles.
The black cloud surrounding me darkens, sucking me in deeper as the video loops around again. I curl the rose, crushing it tightly in my fist. My hand trembles from the pain and the force in which I’m squeezing the flower.
I continue to crush it until it’s nothing but crinkled petals and a crushed stem painted in the blood pouring from my hand.
I grit my teeth, just barely holding onto the sorrowful wail that threatens to leave my lips.
This—this is the destruction from what I do.
Some days, it’s hard to live with. Some days, I can barely stand from the weight of this cruel world resting on my shoulders.
But I know if I don’t, my life would be worthless, and those kids would have died for nothing.
Chapter 13
The Manipulator
“I
just got back the first round of edits,” I say to Marietta through the phone. “I’m starting on them tonight.”
“Wonderful, let me know if you need anything,” she says.
I’m walking down my dimly lit hallway towards my room when a flash of movement catches my eye. I freeze, my finger just pressing the red button when I see what looks like a woman disappearing through the attic door.
A smile forms on my face before I can stop it.