Chapter 44
Two Months Later
The fluorescent lights stabbed into me like icy fucking knives.
Each breath of formaldehyde under my nose, every sterile whiff of antiseptic, it all cut sharper than any scalpel ever could.
I gripped the instrument like it was the last lifeline keeping me tethered to fucking reality—but the tether was frayed, shredded by Carrington and Xanthy alike.
I took another swig from the water bottle. I let the secret ingredient burn my throat and keep me teetering on my ever-present buzz.
Vodka.
It was sharp, hot, and the only fucking comfort I had lately. It was necessary. My hands still trembled while my eyes darted over the cadaver. The curves of its shoulders, the hollow eye sockets, and the hunk of muscle just dead. I saw him. Like every other fucking dead man I touched.
Carrington.
Every line of muscle became his body. Every contour, every pale shadow became a reminder of what I’d done to him.
And to myself.
In my attempt to prevent a monster, I created an entirely different one.
As if my mind weren’t already cruel enough, Xanthy appeared next to the corpse. Her face was smug and mocking, layered over his. The two warped like a glued creature, and I couldn’t look away.
Bzzz.
Another text. It buzzed relentlessly in my pocket. I didn’t want to read it, not after the last one.
X: Don’t forget the flowers! I can’t wait to be your wife!!! Did you get the seating chart from the wedding planner? Oh, and can you send your RSVPs, pllleeaaasse?! Soooo excited, Baby!”
I gagged in my mind, dropping the scalpel. It clattered across the table, and my classmates froze, their eyes widening on me. Mason, the closest thing I had to a friend, cursed under his breath.
I stumbled backward from the cadaver.
My chair scraped violently, tilting precariously.
“Shit…shit…” I muttered, unable to breathe properly, their faces jerking and convulsing, blending into one gnarly monster.
“Chhooossseeee meeee,” the thing hissed, worse than any demon.
“Shiloh?” Professor Daniels’s voice cut through. Alarm. Authority. But nothing grounded me. “Are you okay, Anderson?”
No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. Not here. Not with her, not with him.
My body betrayed me, my fucking knees buckling underneath me. The lab spun in my vision, the tiles tilting, the instruments glinting like teeth.
I could feel Carrington behind my eyes, pressing his warmth into my chest, accusing me of manipulating him, weeping silently in that damn broken house.
And Xanthy, the unyielding, relentless Alexandra Harding.
They stood there in every corner together, every reflection, reminding me of the life I had chosen and the betrayal I had committed.
Mason tried to steady me, but his hands felt like chains. “Man…just breathe. Talk to me, Shy. You’re okay, man.”
I shook my head violently.
“No…no, you don’t…you don’t understand.” My voice broke.
Tears streamed down my face freely, mixing with the taste of vodka and the chemical antiseptic.
The cadaver shifted. In my mind, it was alive—Xanthy’s grin, but Carrington’s lips, merging into one impossibly cruel specter. I screamed, my hands clawing at the empty air.
“Shiloh!” Daniels barked, grabbing my shoulders. “Look at me. Focus. You’re having a panic attack. Can you hear me?”
I can’t.
I can’t.
My reality is fractured.
Chairs tipped, classmates whispered, while others gasped. I staggered, almost falling, gripping the edge of the table, my vodka bottle sliding from my coat, spilling the icy liquid across the tile. My vision blurred, consciousness teetering on the edge.
Carrington’s ghost pressed against me, accusing and longing. Xanthy’s voice vibrated in my pocket, her text notifications buzzing like a swarm of angry bees.
X: “Did you pick the centerpieces yet? We have to finalize the wedding colors. Hurry.”
I fell to my knees.
My hands trembled uncontrollably.
My stomach twisted violently. I gagged, vomiting the vodka and potato chips, the only things I had consumed for the last two days.
The lab spun faster, my reality warping further. Instruments glinted like claws, hands stretched out to me, attempting to drag me to hell. The cadavers rose in my mind, alive and laughing.
I felt her, him, Carrington, Xanthy, Carrington, Xanthy.
Never-ending.
They were everywhere at once, pressing into my skin, clawing into my chest.
Mason crouched beside me. “Shhhh…okay. Breathe. You’re okay. It’s okay, Shiloh. Breathe, my dude.”
I didn’t hear him. I didn’t see him.
My mind was flooded with images: the haunted house, Carrington sobbing as I walked away, my fucking come rolling down his thighs like my tears, and Xanthy taunting me on a loop.
It all merged into one relentless, impossible reality.
My scalp prickled, my hands clawed at the floor, at the air, at the walls—anything to free myself from this hell.
Professor Daniels knelt beside me, calm and firm. His face looked clinical and slightly angered. “Shiloh. Listen to me. You’re not alone. You’re going to get through this. You know what this is. Identify it. Allow yourself to learn a lesson and fight.”
I laughed. Hollow, and all too shattering.
“Alone,” I whispered. “I’m always alone.”
I still saw Carrington’s lips and Xanthy’s grin, swirling, twisting, pressing against me, reshaping the cadavers around me, reshaping the classroom, reshaping my very fucking mind to the point I couldn’t depict what was real.
My chest constricted, my heart hammering like a war drum in my ears.
Every breath was an accusation from my soul, and every pulse of my blood was a betrayal.
I could barely stand. I wanted to vanish, to crawl under the tiles and disappear forever. I wanted to run back to the haunted house and fix what I had destroyed. But the classroom remained.
Professors. Classmates. Tools. Tables.
The cold, bright, and judgmental reality that wasn’t fading.
Another text.
Another dagger.
Buzzing, screaming in my pocket.
I yanked off my gloves and read the message.
X: “Shiloh…we need to finalize the flowers tonight. Don’t forget me. I can’t wait to be your wife. I love you, future husband, I love you!”
I screamed this time, letting the sound rip through my chest, raw and jagged. My body trembled. My hands flailed. I felt Carrington mocking me, his sobbing echoing with every heartbeat. Xanthy pressed closer to me, impossibly close, in every movement and every reflection.
I can’t escape.
I collapsed completely onto the tile, my arms curled around my head, shaking and sobbing, returning to the position that kept us safe as infants. The world was a blur. I felt dead while he was alive.
Carrington alive.
Xanthy alive.
My spilled vodka mixed with my tears and sweat.
Mason grabbed me, pulling me upright, trying to block me from the view of the others. “Shy, is this vodka?” He shook his head and cleaned the puddled mess with a cloth. ”Go home, man. Go to your girl and get some sleep or something.”
I shook violently. “No! I can’t…can’t…he’s…she’s…they’re all—”
“Shiloh, listen,” Daniels said firmly, coming over to my position. “You’re excused. I will see this as a mistake and not put it on your record, but if this happens again, it will seal your future. Are we clear?”
I closed my eyes, trembling. I tried to find myself. Tried to separate memory from hallucination, reality from obsession. Tried to survive the chaos I’d made.
But the ghosts remained.
Carrington.
Xanthy.
They haunted my every thought, every heartbeat, every slice of flesh I touched.
And I knew…no matter how many med school classes I survived, no matter how many vodka-fueled hallucinations I endured, no matter how much I tried to escape, the haunted house of my mind would never let me go.
Carrington would remain in my mind, siphoning my light until I was nothing. I knew it the minute I left him.
And I know it now.
It was always Carrington.