Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Winona Bishop
My Curse — Killswitch Engage
I’m unable to tear my gaze from Jason as I stand next to the railings. He’s after a strenuous workout. His forehead glitters with perspiration. Sweat cascades down his bare chest and abdomen.
No.
No.
Absolutely not.
His thick arms are firmly planted on the floor as he slowly lifts his feet off the ground.
His shoulder wound is fully healed. A scar decorates it.
Every muscle works to keep him balanced.
He shifts and curves his body in an entrancing rhythm.
Such control. Power. He moves from one hand to the other.
His corded muscles are taut with tension.
Reeve used to do it all the time.
But he is not… so he says.
He drops his legs to the ground, shooting a loaded look my way once he’s up.
“Close your mouth, you’re drooling,” he playfully says to the radio, grabbing the water bottle from the table. He pours it on his head before chugging the rest.
A short chuckle escapes my lips as I shake my head and set the binoculars on the top rail.
“How long have you been doing calisthenics?” I ask, watching him throw a hat over his wet locks to get them out of his face.
“For twenty years.” He clears his throat.
I feel like every time the circus comes up, it brings unpleasant memories for him that are hard to swallow.
“Surprisingly enough, the circus was quite dull, besides Mute. He lived without family or children, devoting himself entirely to this place. I watched him from afar and imitated his exercises. He wasn’t very friendly, but he did warm up to me at some point. ”
He walks up to the railing.
“Do you think the universe sends the right people your way?” I ask, observing Jason’s subtle movements.
We hadn’t spoken for a month after I accused him of lying, again.
I guess we needed some space. He still watched over me silently.
Every time he played the guitar, I went to my balcony to listen, and when he was pacing back and forth, lost in thought, I stayed without saying a word. So he wouldn’t be alone.
“Yeah, sure, it also clears them out of your way.” His tantalizing gaze gleams from afar, drawing me into another vortex.
“I’m sorry for being a jerk to you over a key.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. You’re trying to figure everything out in a foreign land with a stranger who’s a professional killer and has no idea what you’re doing here. I would’ve done the same if I were in your place.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that. I appreciate that you’re not being vindictive about it,” I say with a hint of a smirk.
“Oh, I didn’t say I wouldn’t get you for it. You just have to wait for my revenge,” playfulness colors his voice. “I’ll come when you least expect me.”
Rule number two: Never be predictable.
“What if my husband is still alive?”
“How did he die?”
“An explosion.”
His body was burned, and the police couldn’t identify him from his teeth because his DNA wasn’t in the database. I already knew they wouldn’t, because he didn’t exist. But the whole thing was just… unrealistic. Grandma would’ve handled it herself without the police, like she always does.”
“There’s nothing I can say that will confirm or deny it. I don’t know. If you trust your instincts, keep following them.”
“I’m just so caught up in my head sometimes.
What if I didn’t do enough? What if I didn’t tell him how much I loved him and how proud I was to be his wife?
I knew my grandma disapproved of our relationship, but my desire for him was stronger than anything else.
I hope he didn’t feel pain in his final moments if he was in that place.
That thought devastates me. He didn’t deserve that.
He didn’t deserve to die in such a brutal way. ”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
A deep sigh escapes my lips. “On my twenty-sixth birthday. He said he wanted to make babies with me if I wanted to. I knew he wanted his own family because he never had one. Most of the bodyguards my grandma employs are people from the fringes of society: kids who are overlooked and those seeking a second chance.”
“Your grandma knows her way around society’s outcasts. What was it like when you were a kid?”
“Lonely…” The word trails off. “I didn’t have friends because I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. I was homeschooled. My safety was always in jeopardy.” I pause. “I used to wear my favorite red dress and dance inside my room to my favorite songs, pretending they sang them to me.”
“My Curse” continues to blare in my room as I twirl around, shedding the everlasting feeling of dread and banging my head to each note.
The singer screams, freeing me from the ones caught in my throat.
The nightmares from that night have worsened. That body is burning. Everything around me fades. My heart races violently against my chest. The fear roots me to the ground, in the same spot on the grass where I stood, watching the masked man kill… him.
How did I even get there?
I saw a beautiful wrought-iron gate that my grandma went through. She told me to stay outside, but I ran away from my bodyguard. I have regretted doing that ever since. I can barely recall that night, but I remember the flames scorching his severed body.
Now, this is how I celebrate my eighteenth birthday. All by myself. I’ve gotten used to this part of life. I don’t feel anything, but I feel everything.
I turn off the music and walk over to the desk in the corner of my room.
My latest sketch rests on it, depicting a woman looking into a mirror; her reflection is cuffed, her mouth covered with tape, and tears stream down her face.
A slide of the same sketch shows her gradual transformation into a monster, breaking free from her chains and killing her timid shadow.
I often bring my thoughts to life when the darkness suffocates me and infiltrates my veins until everything turns black.
Reaching for the cupcake with vanilla cream, strawberries, and chocolate syrup that I made, I insert a candle and light it with Grandma’s lighter.
“I wish to be whisked away from this prison,” I whisper, blowing out the candle.
Happy birthday to me.
I take a bite, grab another from the plate, and head downstairs to Grandma’s office. The flavors explode in my mouth—sweet and salty.
I gulp as I tiptoe toward her door. It’s closed, but her muffled shouts break the silence as I press my ear to the door and listen to her heated conversation.
“I didn’t turn my life upside down to watch Winona being taken by the evil bastards who took her in the first place.
” Her tone is crisp and authoritative, yet impatient.
“Winona was only twelve when the Halloween Killers started to kill for show. Do you think it was just serial killers having fun? It was a message to me. Someone ensured that a man was killed in front of my little girl, like an animal. I don’t care what you do or how you do it.
Just find them. It’s been six years. They will come after her; it’s just a matter of time. ”
My body goes rigid.
Why would they be after me?
The door handle twists, and I immediately step back and shove the cupcake into my mouth as if I just walked by, completely oblivious to what’s happening around me.
“Hey, happy birthday, sweetie,” Grandma beams, her smile bright as if nothing had happened in her office just a minute ago. She’s quite skilled at pretending everything’s normal.
She wraps her arms around me, and I rest my head on her shoulder.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“I hope you saved some extra space for my Cremeschnitte as well. I made it last night for you.” As always, she dodges the question. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take care of something. It’ll be late when I return, so you have the house to yourself.”
I always have this house to myself. I am practically one with it—walls upon walls, barricaded inside with dozens of guards.
“I promise to make it up to you.” She tightens her hug, smooching me like she did when I was little. A smile sneaks up at the corners of my mouth, but it fades when I hear her sniffle. “You’re all grown up.”
She pulls back to wipe the tear running down her cheek.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, searching between her glossy eyes.
“Oh, yes.” She flips her hand to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just a little sad that you’re not little anymore.”
I bite into the second cupcake, filling my mouth with it and leaving icing on my lips and nose as I say, “You know I’ll always be your little girl.”
“I know.” She cups my cheek and wipes my nose before tasting the icing with a lopsided grin. “I have a present for you. It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow.”
“Does it have a pulse?” I smirk before a laugh slips out.
“As a matter of fact, it does.”
“Is it a dog?” I pry for more information, but Grandma quickly turns around, clicking her heels against the floor as she walks away. And she calls me dramatic. I must have inherited that from her.
“So, what was the present?” Jason asks.
I grin. “My husband.”
“Hey, Winona,” Grandma’s bodyguard says, as he lowers himself onto the bench. The waters of the fountain provide a peaceful soundtrack behind us.
“Hey, Koy.” I force a smile to avoid seeming rude, even though I feel hollow inside.
Koy has always been friendly, with his kind, murky eyes.
Streaks of silver thread through his dark hair, ending in a bun atop his head.
And that genuine smile never looks fake.
It’s either that or his disinterest shows. He can’t fake it.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
I sigh. “I don’t have anything real.” I only have a dark mind that gnaws at my heart.
I have endless tears and lonely days filled with sadness.
“It’s not that I feel abandoned. It’s that I have no one to talk to.
Not even a psychologist, because we can’t reveal anything about our lives or anything that might raise suspicion and connect Grandma to shady stuff.
So we play pretend. And I can’t talk to her because she doesn’t always understand. ”
There’s a vacancy inside me that longs for something—something I haven’t found yet. It twists my insides, knowing that it exists out there while I’m stuck here.
“You know I’ve spent years beside your grandma. She is a hell of a lady, and I mean that in the literal sense, but you can learn a lot from her and prepare for the real world.”
“But I can’t leave the house. How can I prepare if I don’t get to experience it?”
“You’re eighteen. You make your own decisions from this point forward. She arranged something that will allow you to leave the house more often.”
“Really? That’s the present?”
“Yes. She can’t keep you in here forever. You’re going to college. You’re finally independent.”
“I feel so behind everyone else. They probably have lots of friends they hang out with and… boyfriends. How would I recognize love when I see it?”
“You’d know. Trust me. Words aren’t enough to describe it, but you feel it with every fiber of your being.”
“How could I make friends when I was stuck here and everyone else had already developed their social skills?”
He chuckles softly. “I have a feeling you’ll be just fine going to college, trust yourself. You always made the most out of every situation. You weren’t afraid even when you should’ve just been a little shaken up, but you shook the fear right back. So just be unapologetically you.”
I like that... be unapologetically myself.
I move my hand to my thigh, and a black witch moth lands on it at that moment—large wings, dark brown, mottled, with hints of iridescent purple and pink.
Hello, beautiful.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I glance at the wet asphalt and then back at the moth. “You love my grandma,” I say, feeling him nod beside me.
“More than my heart can bear.”
I hope that one day someone will love me as deeply as that.
“You know,” Koy says, “the darkest corners of the heart are touched when you find a hand that is willing to walk through the darkness with you.”
What he said then resonated with me. It was an anthem I felt deep in my soul.
Jason interrupts my story with the statement, “I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Who’s the guy who attacked me? It seemed personal.” I don’t know who Spider-Web-Face was, but I saw him at the party the night I saw Jason, and it felt like he knew exactly who he was. He also matched Mattie’s description from the day she was taken.
Jason leans against the top rail, resting his forearms on it. He rubs his face with his free hand and says, “I know him, and you know him too.”