Anne
This felt like a dream—an out-of-body experience, floating somewhere above myself, watching a craftsman perfect his art. I recognised every step. Preparation to perfection.
Each neat stitch pulled the flesh back together.
Eva’s jaw hung open, blood and drool dangling from her chin. I wouldn’t need to endure her inane commentary anymore. She’d believed that attaching herself to Gareth offered some form of protection.
Silly rabbit.
Now she was strapped to a chair with her cheeks slit open and her jaw drooping, slanting to one side.
And the way it had popped—inspiring. I wasn’t certain I had the strength to achieve that with my bare hands alone. Perhaps with a speculum.
I refocused on Eva and realised he’d stopped stitching. He was staring at me.
A cold, unblinking glare that seemed to strip away the room and everyone in it, leaving only us—and whatever thrummed in the space between us. His face softened a fraction, but those dark eyes tugged at something in me, demanding recognition.
For the first time in my entire life, I saw something like myself reflected back.
Dead. Detached. Devastatingly attractive.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
The words slipped out before my brain caught up with my mouth. His lips tugged at one corner.
“Dr Ethan Hammond.”
It fell into place. The white and stainless steel room. The two beds resembling operating theatre tables. The chair Eva lay strapped into. Even the lighting above him was professional. I hadn’t given much thought to his clothing before—anyone could wear a costume to deceive.
But this man had skill.
I wanted to take it all back. This wasn’t my time to die. The need to know more about Dr Hammond took precedence over everything else.
Gareth began to sniff, and I winced at the sound.
The moment was ruined. Dr Hammond resumed his stitching. I’d never seen a curved needle used like that before—in and out of her skin, stitch by stitch.
God, it was so—
Gareth burst into tears.
“My son. I’ll never see my son again,” he sobbed.
“No one cares, Gareth,” I said flatly, turning to catch his red-rimmed eyes welling up.
Then silence. Not the uncomfortable kind—the kind where soft classical music smoothed all the cracks and lulled you into a false sense of security.
I might be curious. But Dr Hammond was a dangerous individual.
?? ?? ??
Eva looked much more cheerful with a permanent smile etched high into her cheeks. I wished I could see both sides. Her lips were naturally full, plump, and attractive.
The rush of water drew my eye across the room to where Dr Hammond was scrubbing his hands at the sink. I wondered if he’d insured them.
If things didn’t end well between us, I could picture taking a sledgehammer to those hands. Pinned down, smashed to nothing—crushed bone and mangled flesh.
I giggled to myself.
That was cruel.
He was an artist too. The medium was different, but beneath it all, we were the same.
“You’re a sick bitch,” Gareth snarled from his cage.
The water turned off.
Dr Hammond crossed to the long cabinet and retrieved a stick—two prongs at the end. A cattle prod. He practically glided past my cage, reached into Gareth’s, and delivered several sharp shocks in quick succession.
Gareth’s body convulsed. He scrambled backward, but there was nowhere to go.
The more Dr Hammond shocked him, the warmer I became. My insides throbbed—and for once it had nothing to do with acquiring body parts for my canvas.
“She is sublime, you fucking moron,” Dr Hammond growled, continuing without pause.
My eyes widened.
Sublime?
That wasn’t a word I’d ever attributed to myself. Broken, yes. Every day a burden—some lighter than others. I lived to create. But I’d always assumed I would die young, unremarkable, unmourned.
And now here was a man who knew exactly what I was.
And called me sublime.
“S-s-sorry,” Gareth stuttered as the voltage tore through him again.
It was the first time I’d seen him angry. It was unmitigated—running deeper than Gareth calling me names.
He didn’t stop.
The cattle prod kept hitting the bars as he moved it around. I leaned closer as he caught Gareth across the face. Bullseye.
Gareth jerked and collapsed in his cage.
The music continued as if nothing had happened.
I was mesmerised by it all.
He sighed heavily before returning the cattle prod to its rightful place.
“Fucking moron,” he muttered to himself.
He went back to Eva to inspect his work, then began unstrapping her from the chair. She slumped forward but didn’t fall. He crossed to the partition wall and pressed a button—a mechanical whirring from above. I peered past the bars to see metal cable descending from the ceiling, a hook at the end.
He made my garage look like a child’s nursery.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? All this time I’d been dragging men around with my bare hands like a peasant.
He tied Eva’s wrists, wrapping rope around them several times, then hauled her off the chair and hooked her arms. He adjusted the height until she dangled face-down, arms raised behind her back.
Eva whimpered as she came to.