Chapter 51 Consequences Are Contagious
CONSEQUENCES ARE CONTAGIOUS
Psycho - Anne-Marie x Aitch
Kookaburra
The lift doors open and the air changes – pressurised, charged, like the whole building is inhaling before a scream. Somewhere in the maze of corridors, something big and metal slams shut. The facility is finally realising what I’ve done.
Too late.
Their footsteps reach me before they do. My favourite percussion ensemble.
Nightshade: my silent storm. Honeymonster: boot-heavy impatience. Bones: casual murder. Ghost: a literal ghost. Snow: guilt on legs. And of course, at the back, is Daddy Hatchet: silent-footed and unnerving, pretending like he didn’t already hunt me down and fuck me senseless.
They turn the corner.
They stop.
Six men freeze like I’m an optical illusion they prayed into existence. And a seventh, less welcome sight, falls into view behind them a second later. Valentine.
I narrow my eyes at him. Not my favourite staff member from the asylum, but not the worst. There’s a story there, one I can’t wait to hear, but first, I have one to tell.
I grin, wide and manic, and give them my best pageant-wave. “Hi boys! Who’s ready for a field trip? It’s show and tell today!”
Nightshade is the first to recover, though I can practically hear the cognitive dissonance grinding in his skull.
“Kayla,” he breathes, voice cracked open, “What— Where—”
“Oh hush, I’m fine,” I say, spinning once to present the blood, the corridor, the general atmosphere of excellent decision-making. “Would you like the guided tour? I’ve prepared highlights.”
Ghost makes a strangled noise. “Guided…what?”
“Well,” I say brightly, “first stop: the wood chipper. Technically it’s industrial composting equipment. But Ray really brought out its potential.”
Honey chokes. “You— you what—?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I sigh. “He started it. With his hands. On me. Consequences are contagious.”
Nightshade steps closer in a slow, reverent drift, like he’s approaching a feral animal he desperately wants to pet.
“You smell like blood,” he whispers.
I beam. “I worked hard.”
His gaze drops to my stomach. Every molecule in him sharpens.
“And the baby?”
“Oh, the parasite’s still thriving,” I say, touching his wrist with a lazy little tap. “They seemed to enjoy the evening’s activities. Very responsive.”
Ghost mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
Bones snorts back, “I think Jesus opted out.”
Hatchet smirks and mouths something that I’m deciding means holy fuck, marry me. I’m taking it and running with it. This could be fun.
“Buy me dinner first, handsome.” I wink.
Valentine looks physically ill.
“Anyway!” I clap once. “After the wood chipper, we have my flower garden. You’ll love it. The roses are doing so well since I stopped the staff from watering them like drunk toddlers and decided to water them with blood. They love the extra nutrients and minerals.”
Bones stares. “This place looks like a homicide aquarium and you want us to see your plants?”
“Yes,” I say. “I pruned them. With intention.”
Ghost tilts his head. “How many people are dead?”
“In this wing?” I count aloud on bloodstained fingers. “Seven. Eight if you include the one in the mop cupboard, though he technically died of poor life choices. But in the building? Just about everyone. I lost count. But boy, did I have fun.”
Nightshade exhales like the last thread holding him to sanity has just snapped – and somehow that relaxes him.
He cups my jaw gently.
The contrast is intoxicating.
“Tell me who touched you,” he murmurs.
“Oh sweetheart,” I say. “They’re mulch now. Mulch and soup and all manner of things that they thought were impossible. But they never met determined quite like me.”
Honeymonster makes a small coughing sound. Hatchet outright grins.
Valentine splutters “Mulch?”
I mean, really, what did he expect from me? “Yes!”
“Oh, she’s in a mood,” Bones grins gleefully. “I like it.”
Ghost is the only one who stays quiet. Watching. Processing. Clocking the details.
I lean forward conspiratorially.
“You want to see the soup?”
Nightshade freezes. “…the what?”
“The soup,” I repeat helpfully. “It used to be a guard. Now it’s…protein? Fertiliser? A statement. Very versatile. I wouldn’t recommend tasting it though.”
Snow bends at the waist, laughing too hard to remain upright. Even Ghost’s mouth twitches.
Valentine pinches the bridge of his nose and whispers, “She’s joking, right?”
All six men shake their heads at once.
Nightshade touches my stomach again, slow and reverent. “You’re safe,” he says.
“Oh no,” I correct softly, “I’m dangerous, baby. But thank you.”
He smiles like someone just handed him a loaded weapon engraved with his name.
Ghost cuts in, voice smooth as a blade: “We need to move. Now.”
“Yes,” I say. “The Director is probably having a tantrum. I read his emails. He’s not emotionally resilient.”
“What Director?”
“The asshole keeping me alive here. He wants my baby. My message is no.”
“You hacked the Director?”
“Baby, I flayed the Director’s firewalls.”
Bones points at me. “You see? This is why she’s terrifying.”
Hatchet does something with his hands over his heart which I’m taking to mean, proud of you. I blow him a kiss. I can’t wait for him to show me how much he’s missed me. Again.
Nightshade still hasn’t let go of my waist. “What did you learn?”
I grin, all teeth. “Oh, everything that matters. But you only get the answers once we’re off-site. Consider it a reward.”
Valentine looks between us like he’s watching God lose an argument.
We start walking – me front and centre, my killers orbiting like planets that know precisely which sun they belong to.
Valentine’s keeping a safe distance in the rear.
Good. I haven’t decided what to do about him yet.
I don’t trust him at all, but I have a feeling my guys are here, at least in part, thanks to him, so I guess it would be rude to kill him right off the bat.
The alarms start up again, late and confused, like they woke up with a hangover and realised the house is on fire.
Bones whistles low. “You really did a number on this place.”
“I know,” I say modestly. “I’m very proud.”
Nightshade dips his head until his lips brush my temple. “Never disappear from me again.”
“Then don’t let me get kidnapped,” I chide. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”
Snow snorts so loudly it echoes.
The facility groans as systems begin to fail. Lights flicker. Doors stall. The building is dying.
Ahead is freedom. Behind is carnage.
Inside me, the baby rolls once, patient and certain.
“Come on,” I say, leading them into the collapsing hallway. “There’s so much to show you. So much to ruin. So much to learn. And the Director and I have unfinished business.”
Nightshade whispers, almost lovingly, “We’ll burn him last.”
I pat his cheek. “Good boy. You get to hand me the Napalm.”
We walk into the night together.