10. Brontë
Heaven - I Monster
I wake to the sound of rummaging. The noise only adds to the dull throb in my skull. It’s a fight opening my eyes, vision blurry from behind the holes of my mask. I shift, testing my limbs, and metal bites into my wrist.
I’m bound.
The realization sends heat surging through me, a wave of anger so intense that I grind my teeth together to keep from howling like a monster.
She’s chained me.
I’m in a chair pressed up against the wall. Metal chains bear down on my wrists and ankles.
Around my neck.
I strain against the bindings. Tension coils in my muscles. My arms flex, the chains digging even more into my flesh. The wooden chair groans in protest until I pause.
Breaking free would be easy—I could muscle my way out with some effort.
Instead, I take in a breath and force the blinding rage back. If I broke free at this moment, I’m not sure what I would do. The rage would take over and I would wind up doing something I would otherwise prefer not to do.
I could blackout and snap her in two.
Now is not the time for fits of barbaric rage. Now is the time to do what I’ve long savored about the woman who caught my eye.
Observe.
She outsmarted me.
The thought is a bittersweet one. I underestimated her, and she turned it against me. She laid a trap knowing that I would inevitably follow, luring me into a web like a spider does a fly. The net snapped into action the second I stepped into the trap and activated it.
I was about to shred the rope to pieces when she scurried over like a woodland creature and stuck the needle in my neck. The tranquilizer seeped into my bloodstream and slowed me down.
It was all by design.
And I fell for it.
A fresh wave of anger floods me, threatening to turn me into the savage beast I often become. I’m not used to being lured in this way; trapped like an animal, like my father has done at the hospital.
But even at the hospital, Jael was always mine. I was always the shadow lurking out of sight, admiring her from the dark spaces only she could see.
The tables have turned in her favor. I’m bound like a rabid dog she’ll put out of its misery.
I let my gaze sweep over the cabin interior from behind the mask I wear. Scattered light slips in through the long windows, half covered by the curtains. Family photos and photos of nature hang on the wood-paneled walls. The furniture is modest and tasteful, like it was selected for comfort more than anything.
It’s a family home. A vacation destination that’s been transformed into something else.
The rummaging that woke me up continues as my gaze travels to the source.
Jael.
She’s radiant in her chaos. Her hair’s an untamed cloud that frames her face; the expression she wears dazed yet focused. Her movements are jittery and restless, like she’s running on adrenaline and little else.
Has she even slept? Has she rested at all?
The empty coffee mugs on the table nearby reveal otherwise. She’s on her knees, digging through a duffle bag, muttering to herself.
Even exhausted and disheveled, she’s magnetic.
I’m drawn to her despite the chains biting into me.
Her determination, her cleverness, her refusal to crumble under the weight of everything—it’s intoxicating. It fuels my obsession and reminds me why I became fixated on her in the first place. She’s spent years discarded and dismissed, yet here she is.
Still fighting.
She digs out what she’s looking for, a stack of newspapers that she begins taping to the wall page by page. Some are just the clippings. Just the bold headlines or black-and-white photos, creating something of a collage.
“Yes,” she mumbles. “These here. This one over there.”
She’s feverish as she works, like she’s in a trance, refusing to stop until she’s done. But it comes as no surprise—her desperation has grown the longer she’s been apart from her sister. As she tapes news articles on the serial killer the Cleaver, it seems like she’s working on a theory of some kind.
Each piece is a puzzle that she’s trying desperately to put together.
We share one thing in common.
We’re both obsessive. Both on a mission we’ll never stop pursuing.
Her obsession lies in finding her sister.
Mine?
Mine is darker. Mine is about claiming her. Making her mine like my impulses demand. Every aspect of my life revolves around her, though she doesn’t seem to grasp how or why. Even now, chained and captive, I want her.
But I also want to punish her. I will be punishing her when the time is right.
I will give her what she needs in this moment. Some perception of control. Some means to take out her frustrations and anger.
If that’s what she needs from me, that’s what I will be. The lightning rod for her to destroy in her own way, until I rise up and make her understand how misguided she is.
We would be stronger together than apart. We could do all the things she’s frantically working toward together. I could be her greatest weapon.
My jaw clenches thinking about all the ways I would avenge her. I would prove that she’s everything.
The sound of her voice pulls me out of my head. She’s still talking to herself, pacing back and forth as she does.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she says, stopping in front of one of the newspaper clippings. “All the bodies have been found. She’s still out there.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. Her shoulders slump from exhaustion. She’s worn thin and cracks are beginning to show.
My hands ache to soothe her, calm her down. Make her understand that she’s wrong, but in reality, I’m aware I could never tell her these things.
I could never be so human. I’m not like other men. I’m not capable of comfort and affection.
I… don’t even know how. It’s something that I was denied my entire life. From the moment of my accident but also before it happened.
My father was always stony and distant. My mother was loving in a superficial way. I was prized only because of the worth I had. Once I was disfigured and that worth was gone, I was discarded like trash.
For most of my life, I’ve existed in solitude. I’ve lived in the shadows, unknown and unseen.
There was no chance that I would have a normal existence like most people. A man as large as me, with a face that was grotesque and a body that bore endless scars, was never meant to exist in regular society with others.
I was destined to live in the dark, hidden away from everyone else.
It was a grim truth that I had accepted so long as I could watch her from a distance. I could survive if I had one thing in this world that felt like it was mine.
Jael became that possession.
As if sensing my thoughts, she suddenly stops pacing and turns to me. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I see the moment she realizes I’m awake. The surprise fades for satisfaction I can tell she’s been relishing the past few hours.
Her lips curl into a smile. “I’m not alone anymore.”
Her words hang in the air as I answer her with silence.
She steps toward me, her hips swaying almost seductively, though naturally, without her realizing it. She stops in front of me, the spark in her gaze wild and chaotic. The same reason I became so obsessed from the moment I saw her.
“I’m Jael, but you must already know that,” she says. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”