14. Fourteen Lakey
Fourteen: Lakey
M y fingers shook like a junkie needing a fix as I reached into that fucking security box. Heart hammering, I grabbed two envelopes, my eyes zeroing in on the one with "Lydia Hamilton" scrawled across it.
"Shit," I muttered, glancing at Cam. His face was stone, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. He gave me a curt nod.
I tore into Lydia's envelope like a starved animal, memories of her flooding my brain. Her laugh, her stupid jokes, the way she'd given me her last piece of bread when they’d had us on a ‘starvation cleanse for our sins’. But those thoughts evaporated the second I saw that first photo.
Lydia. My friend. The one who held me as I screamed in the night. Sprawled out like a broken doll, skin pale as milk. A jagged, angry scar ripped across her belly in an upside-down T, held together by crude stitches. I traced it with my finger, bile rising in my throat. Red, angry welts criss-crossed over her breasts. Her wrists held deep purple bruises.
But her face was finally at peace.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I choked out, my vision blurring. "They butchered her, Cam. Like a goddamn pig."
Cam's hand landed heavy on my shoulder as he leaned forward. "Keep going, Lakes. We need to know everything. I… I can look if you don’t want to."
I shook my head. I needed to know. Everything they’d done to us, would be done seven-fold. Just like they’d promised me if I didn’t let them…
No. I can’t think of that right now. I’ll fall apart.
My mind raced, piecing together the horror show in front of me. What the hell had they done to her? And why? The questions burned, but I knew the answers would be worse.
"I should've been here," I whispered, more to myself than Cam. "I could've stopped this. I could've saved her."
"You couldn’t have, baby. You were very much a victim yourself," Cam growled, his voice low and dangerous. "But we can make these fuckers pay. I feel like I fucked up, setting this whole thing in motion. Maybe we’d have been better off carrying on the way we were. It’s not too late for me to call Dani."
“I killed Dani, dip shit.”
He chuckled, “Whatever, there’s always one to replace the old. Anyway, it’s not too late for us to just walk away, light a match and forget about all of it.”
“Nah. Call it my morbid curiosity, but I need to know what they did. Besides, I’m having some hella hot visions of you fucking me while I stand inside Father Christophers corpse.” It’s true. It would be super hot.
“Damn baby, that’s nasty. Okay, what’s next?”
I looked up at him, seeing the cold fury overtake the brief flicker of lust in his eyes. It matched the inferno raging in my chest, threatening to consume everything. I managed a lop-sided smile.
"Got any ideas for the Father? I'm thinking we start with his fingers."
Cam's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Sounds like a good warm-up to me, darlin'."
I turned back to the photos, steeling myself for what came next. Lydia deserved justice, and I'd paint these halls red to get it for her. There were so many photos here… why? Why did they document it like this? Did they get off on it?
I suppose I’m not much different. Getting off on killing women who touch Cam. At least I recognize that I’m sick and twisted. They did everything they did under the guise of ‘love and salvation.’
There’s no mistaking what I am. What I was turned into. I’ve never pretended to be anything I’m not. I’ve always been exactly who I am, even if that version of me differs from the one from a moment ago. Suppose that’s what made me different though. Most people walk through life under the misconception that they will be loved if they act a certain way. Dressed a certain way. Talked a certain way. It’s all a lie. Everyone will hurt you in the end, it doesn’t matter how pretty you wrap your meat sack, you will never be the person you pretended you were, especially when they peel the mask back to reflect the ugly that lived inside you. Lying about it just buys you time.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I flipped to the next photo and felt my world tilt. Lydia was splayed out on a surgical table, her belly swollen with pregnancy. Her eyes were wide open, vacant, like she was already gone. Tubes snaked out of her arms, and a mask covered her face. But it was the scalpel poised above her stomach that made my skin crawl.
Turning it over and placing it face down, the next picture showed her skin peeled back, a gaping hole where the upside- down T was cut. Her fucking spine was showing, her organs taken out and laid beside her on the table.
"Fuck," I hissed, my hands shaking so bad I nearly dropped the photo. "She was pregnant, Cam. They... they tried to cut the baby out of her."
Cam leaned in; his breath hot on my neck as he looked. "Sick bastards," he muttered, his voice tight with rage.
I fumbled with the attached note, my eyes scanning the clinical words: "Unsuccessful removal of fetus, both deceased." My stomach lurched, and I tasted copper in my mouth.
"They killed her," I whispered, my voice breaking. "They killed her and her baby."
Memories flooded back – her dreams of becoming a mother someday. Many whispered nights of what we would do once we escaped. She’d come from a broken home, said her dad beat her and her mom fled, leaving her at his mercy. But she never let it dim her smile. She never let it change her like I let it change me. She was sweet. Kind. Look at what fucking good that did her. All of it stolen, ripped away by these monsters. I felt something snap inside me, a dam breaking loose.
"I'm gonna gut every last one of them," I snarled, my vision going red. "Starting with that fucking nun."
Cam's hand tightened on my shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. "We'll make 'em suffer, Lakes."
I nodded, trying to rein in the bloodlust. He was right, as always. We needed a plan, needed to make sure we didn't miss a single one of these sadistic fucks.
"You think there's more of us?" I asked, gesturing to the envelope with my name on it. One I would open when I was done seeing the extent of the torture they’d inflicted on her.
I was getting some nifty little ideas of how to up my own creativity.
Cam's eyes glittered dangerously. "Only one way to find out, darlin'. You wanna keep going?"
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Oh, I’m gonna keep looking. Think his holy Father would get turned on if I cut off his finger and fucked his ass with it?"
I flipped to the next photo and froze. There, lurking in the background like some goddamn vulture, he stood. His black drapery and his fucking crisp white necktie, splattered in blood. His eyes were cold, detached, like he was watching a fucking nature documentary instead of a girl being butchered.
"That motherfucker," I hissed, my fingers clenching the photo so hard it crumpled. Memories of his "private confessions" flooded back, making my skin crawl.
The next photo made even my iron stomach churn. Sister Anne, that sanctimonious bitch, was cradling Lydia's very clearly premature baby. Her face was twisted in a smile that'd make the devil himself piss his pants.
"Jesus fuck," Cam muttered, his usual cool slipping.
I couldn't tear my eyes away as I put the photo behind the next. The baby, lifeless, shoved back into Lydia's open abdomen like some sick, reverse birth.
"They put it back," I whispered, my voice hollow. "They fucking put it back inside her."
Cam's arm snaked around my waist, steadying me. "We're gonna rain holy hell on these bastards. Make 'em wish they'd never been born."
I leaned into him, drawing strength from his solid presence. "Promise me something?"
"Anything."
"When we find Sister Anne, she's mine. I want to watch the light leave her eyes."
Cam's lips brushed my temple. "Wouldn't have it any other way, sweetheart."
The room started to spin, my vision blurring as tears burned hot tracks down my cheeks. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing as a wave of nausea hit me like a freight train.
"Fuck," I choked out, doubling over. My stomach heaved, and bile swirled at the back of my throat.
I'd seen some sick shit in my time, hell, I'd done some sick shit. But this? This was a whole new level of fucked up. I hadn’t cried since I was a kid, and yet I’d lost my head twice since being down here. The walls closed in around me, forcing me to breath through a pin hole. I was trapped in an iron cage, spikes pressing into me, forcing me to collapse in on myself. The only piece of me still intact was the steel cage I kept my shadow tucked away in. It was the only thing still holding me together. The knowledge that I had the power to fight back. That I was a more than capable killing machine and that with the flick of a switch, I’d never feel a damn thing as I slid my knife underneath the skin and peeled it from their bones.
Cam's hand was on my back, rubbing small circles into my spine, steadying me. I could feel the tension radiating off him, his muscles coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
"Deep breaths, baby girl," he growled, his voice husky. "We need you sharp. Don’t lose that killer instinct now. Push it out of your mind and breathe. She needs you to be the avenging angel I know you are. You need you."
I nodded, forcing air into my lungs. The images of Lydia, of her baby, kept flashing through my mind like some twisted slideshow, flickering against the corners of my closed eyelids.
Taking another deep breath, my eyes now open, my hands shook as I gathered up the photos and notes. Each image made me want to tear my eyes out, but I forced myself to look at them one last time. To remember every detail of what those bastards had done.
"And from sin we exit, into salvation we go," I muttered, repeating the mantra they’d forced us to say, our knees bleeding from the spiked rugs they made us kneel on. I folded the gruesome evidence back into the envelope.
Cam's eyes were fixed on me, watching every move. "You sure you wanna see what they did to you?" he asked, his voice gruff but laced with a concern only I ever got to hear.
I shot him a look that could've melted silver. "You know me better than that, Axley. I’ve bathed in the blood of the innocent. Well, innocent-ISH. I wanna know everything."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Cam's face. "Atta girl," he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and bloodlust.
I handed him the envelope, his hand coming to rest on mine for a brief moment. A silent understanding passed between us, years of shared darkness and twisted loyalty condensed into a single look.
The stench of old papers and secrets filled my nostrils, making my stomach churn. I glanced around the dimly lit room, my gaze finally resting on the second envelope. My name glared back at me in stark black letters.
"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
Cam took a step back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Let’s see what they carved out of you. Whatever it is, we can figure out something fun for them, repay the kindness, like his holy Saint would do and all that."
I snorted. "Yeah, by leaving a trail of bodies and burning everything to the ground."
He smirked, licking his teeth in a savage display. "Is there any other way?"
I reached for the envelope, my fingers trembling slightly. The weight of it felt like a fucking anvil in my hands. Whatever was inside, I knew it was gonna mess me up. But I had to know. Had to face whatever sick, twisted things they'd done.
"Here goes nothing," I said, turning the envelope over to expose the seal. "Let's see what kind of fucked up surprises these psychos left for me."
Cam couldn’t stand still as I stared, unable to make the first move to open it, coming to sit on the office chair just to the left of the desk. He watched me, eye’s narrowed as I turned the photo around.
I grunted. “Fuck, this is harder than I thought it’d be.”
“C’mere, baby girl, let me help you.”