24. Nyx
Chapter 24
Nyx
“Nyx! Help!”
I’m back in the concrete tunnel, the one Patrick took me through to reach O’Brien. The fluorescent lights are dim, flickering. I’m disorientated, no idea which direction I’m facing. Toward The Foundry, or toward O’Brien’s warehouse where Donny’s dead body is waiting for me.
And Sullivan.
I’m running, barefoot, when a girl calls my name.
I stop.
Athena .
I spin around, staring back the way I’d come, but all I see are bare concrete walls sporadically lit by the flickering lights. As they go off, plunging everything into pitch blackness, an awful panic shoots through me.
It’s.
So.
Dark .
My heart races as I strain to see in the pitch black, willing the lights to flicker back on.
They do. For a millisecond.
Outlining a figure a few yards away.
I try to scream, but no sound comes out.
Nyx! Please! Help me!
Athena’s voice comes from everywhere. My hands curl into tight fists as I stare into the dark, waiting for light so I’ll know if I was imagining it, or if there really was someone standing nearby in the dark.
The lights flicker on.
Athena.
Her hair is lank and greasy, hanging in clumps around a pale, shadowed face. She’s naked, hands wrapped around herself to ward off the cold but still shivering.
Something’s not right. Her proportions are off. She’s emaciated, like she hasn’t had food in a week, but her belly is distended.
Malnourishment?
…or is she pregnant?
Fear shudders through me.
I stumble forward, hands outstretched to either side as the lights go off again. The tunnel is so narrow I can touch both sides, but I don’t feel the rough concrete under my fingertips.
I hurtle down the tunnel in the dark, another scream trapped in my throat.
I’m coming, Athena!
The lights flicker on again. I stop in surprise. The hallway is empty.
Where the hell did she?—?
Nyx!
I spin at the sound of another voice.
Phoebe.
Oh, God…it’s Phoebe.
She’s standing, head bowed, wearing a skin-tight red dress that reaches to her neck. Which is weird, because she’s never liked turtle necks. Always told me it felt like she was being smothered. The dress is painfully scandalous, clinging lewdly to her barely developed curves.
Did Sullivan make her wear that?
Darkness.
I race for her, not caring if I fall or break an ankle.
I’m coming!
The words don’t leave my mouth. I try to scream her name, but it’s hardly a murmur. The darkness thickens around me, my steps growing heavier, slower.
No! Phoebe!
I’m shrieking, but the only sound is the flicker of the lights.
On. Off.
Click. Click.
The lights come on.
Phoebe is gone.
I sob in frustration, spinning around. Athena’s behind me, a few feet away. But the lights shut off so quickly that all I see is that she’s holding out a hand for me to take. That her face is scrunched up in terror.
Help me! Please! He’s hurting me!
Oh my God.
Panic bursts through me. I try to run but my legs tense against air solid as tar. I scream Athena’s name in the dark as I try to claw my way toward her.
The lights stay off even longer.
Pitch black, silent, all I can hear are my own muted screams ringing in my head as I claw, struggle, writhe through the tar-thick darkness.
Nyx.
It’s a whisper, right by my ear.
Phoebe.
But I’m so close to Athena, I can’t turn around now.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
I’m coming baby.
I’m just getting your sister, baby.
The lights flicker, and there’s a part of me that expects Athena to be gone again, because this is all just some pathetic joke, some sick fuck toying with me.
But when they come back on, she’s right in front of me.
Now she’s wearing the red dress, and it’s obvious she’s pregnant. Eight, nine months. About to pop.
I scream.
Terror spikes hot and sharp through my body.
Screaming.
No. No. No!
Help me.
Phoebe’s voice. But it’s coming from Athena’s lips, like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
I reach for Athena, even while a part of me is desperately trying to claw myself backward, away, falling over my feet, desperate to escape. I don’t want to look, don’t want to know, I want to wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!
The lights go off.
My hands close over Athena’s shoulder.
Wet, tacky skin.
The lights come on. Glaring bright, solid, no more flickering.
Athena wasn’t wearing clothing. She’s naked.
That clinging red dress isn’t fabric at all.
It’s blood.
It’s blood, and it’s all over her, and it’s coming from her neck where Sullivan slit her throat, and that’s where Phoebe’s voice is coming from, not Athena’s mouth which is moving but because Athena is gasping as she dies.
You’re too late, Phoebe whispers through the slit in Athena’s throat, her sister’s skin moving like a parody of a mouth to form each word.
Athena yells in pain, her hands clapping over her round, swollen belly, sliding over the blood coating her skin.
I don’t want it! she yells, her blue eyes frantic as she stares down at her belly, then up at me.
Get it out! Get it out!
I’m trapped in congealed darkness, my hand reaching for her, but I’m moving in slow motion.
Athena claws at her own skin as I watch, powerless to stop her. Her nails rip through her flesh, tearing open her rounded belly.
Blood-wet intestines spool out of her, slapping onto the floor. She sticks her hands inside the gaping wound and plucks out organ after organ, panicked mewling sounds escaping her mouth like she can’t disembowel herself fast enough.
Get it out, get it out, get it out!
When there’s nothing left but a deep, wet cavity, her stomach splayed open in a thick, meaty curtain, she stands there, swaying.
Satisfied.
You’re too late, Phoebe’s voice echoes from the gaping hole in Athena’s torso.
Athena jerks, whimpers, and screams as a hand slides out of the organic, bloody mess where her organs used to be.
Small and so delicate?—
Phoebe reaches through Athena’s disemboweled torso, her small hand slicked with blood, and grabs a section of my hair.
Pulling me in closer.
Closer.
And closer.
Holy fuck, how I struggle.
I scream and I slap and I kick and I try to push away Athena and rip Phoebe’s hand from my hair, but now Athena’s hugging me, big fat tears rolling down her face as she watches me with a sad little smile as her sister drags my head closer to Athena’s gaping stomach, trying to pull me inside to be with her.
You’re.
Too.
Late!
I wake up with a strangled scream as Phoebe’s whispered curse echoes in my head.
My body remains immobile, still deep in the nightmare’s clutches.
Savage’s clutches.
The room is dark, but as soon as my eyes adjust I can see his strong, tattooed arm slung over my hip, his hand wedged between my shoulder and neck. There’s another weight on my feet, and I almost have a heart attack before I feel Bella’s heartbeat and realize it’s Savage’s massive Rottweiler crushing my ankles.
Was that why I couldn’t run in my nightmare?
I gingerly sit up, wincing when a section of my hair pulls, trapped under Savage’s other arm he’s using as a pillow for his head.
Gently unraveling myself so I don’t wake him or Bella, I rush into the bathroom and push the door closed.
I barely make it to the basin before a harsh sob breaks out of me, turning my legs to jelly. I surrender, huddling into a little ball on the floor as I muffle my tears with my hands.
There’s a soft scratch on the door, and fight back another sob as I carefully open the door. Bella stares at me through the crack, her eyes reflecting a shard of light from somewhere inside the dark bathroom.
“No. Bad dog. Don’t you dare,” I whisper. “Sit. Stay.”
We watch each other for a moment, and then she noses open the door like she’s had just enough of people telling her what the hell to do. I try to fend her off, but it’s really difficult arguing with a hundred-pound Rottweiler when it decides it wants cuddles and you’re already on the floor.
I end up throwing my arms around the beast’s shoulders, burrowing into her neck and surrendering to my heart-wrenching sobs.
Guess I’m not as good at compartmentalizing as I thought.