Chapter 54 Kane
KANE
There are things no one ever mentions about prison. The word itself conjures up thoughts of a building, one identifiable place where a person loses their freedom due to the crimes they’ve committed. But it’s not a building or a place—it’s a state of being.
Another is, it doesn’t stop the crime.
It escalates it.
The deterrent loses its power.
That’s what happens when the thing you’re supposed to be afraid of becomes home—you lose the fear of consequences.
“Without consequences, you’re both trapped and free,” I tell him as I glide the tip of my finger down his face.
Bound by the choices you’ve made, yet you’re able to do whatever the fuck you want because there’s nothing unknown left in the world. When the people in power lose the ability to scare you into submission, they turn to more drastic measures.
“Force,” I grit.
Forcing you to see you’re nothing.
Forcing you to see you have no control of yourself.
Forcing you to become them, because deep down you’re ruined, broken, so irrevocably fucked up you can’t find your place in society.
So you break other people.
“I break people,” I admit, pushing my finger into his cheek.
But it’s not for my enjoyment—breaking people. No one does it for that. They do it for another reason, a deeper reason. They break them in an attempt to have someone who understands them.
“I was wrong.”
I thought it was hate driving me to ruin Delilah. All that hate, anger, fucking bone-deep loathing wasn’t enough to drown out the need I had for her.
It wasn’t hate though.
It was fear.
Fear of being alone.
Fear of being misunderstood.
Fear of her leaving me behind while she was normal.
So fear controlled me. It made me confident and powerful because as long as I was hurting her, I didn’t have to do it to myself. I wasn’t alone in my misery then.
“I was sharing it,” I tell him.
She knew what it felt like to be broken, afraid—tormented to the extent she couldn’t trust herself. We were both the same. I wasn’t isolated in my pain. After all, companionship and conversation are a basic human need.
That’s why I’m here.
“That’s why you’re here,” I whisper.
To find some comfort in the dark, a bigger monster so the other monsters—the ones everyone has—can be rationalized.
I prod his cheek again. “So you can tell yourself you’re not weird. You’re not broken. No, you can’t be when there’s someone the same as you.”
“But they’re worse.”
“They’re worse,” I repeat. “Worse than you. Worse than me. We’re redeemed.”
“Comforted.”
But someone worse…Who do they look at to humanize themselves? Who could they be if they weren’t forced to become a monster? Who could be worse than the monster who makes me human?
“You,” my reflection whispers in the rippling water of the partially frozen lake. “You are worse every day and you can’t even recognize yourself.”
Slowly stretching my fingers out, I cover his face as I breach the thin layer of ice surrounding features like my own.
My skin instantly turns red, yet I can’t feel the cold after so many years of working to get back in Rowan’s favor, being his right hand, turning myself into this thing with no name, no reflection, no shadow. No wife or Kid.
“Will you drag me away?” I ask Asher as I push him deeper under the icy surface. “Or will I bury you?”
“Ghost!” Sasha shouts from behind me. “Do you want one?”
This is why she wears a mask, so at the end of each day, she can compartmentalize who she is. Sasha unmasked is vulnerable. Sasha in the mask is protected.
I smile so my muscles remember the movement as I raise to my full height to look at her. Her knee is pressed on 1349’s chest as she delicately traces a deep line across his hairline. “You can have that one,” she gestures to 1350 with her elbow, “but you messed the mask up.”
Two deep lines run down the length of 1350’s face.
I don’t want anyone to look at me again.
They don’t have any lips or a tongue.
Or laugh at me again.
The bloody splatter against the snow shows the trajectory of where I threw their hands.
Thank you, he won’t be able to touch me now.
I slowly shake my head. “I don’t need a mask, little one.”
We’ve become comfortable with each other in the years working together, but she still attempts to hide her face as she pulls off her rotting mask to replace it.
There’s blood on the side of her real face, which she removes by rubbing snow against it.
I count out her steps as she test fits the new mask, cuts the excess away, then pierces holes at the edge of the cheeks before she carefully threads small sections of hair through them.
I know her routine. She’ll feel uncomfortable without any makeup, so I take the tube of red lipstick from my pocket, looking away as I hand it to her.
She applies the finishing touches while I braid the ties she’s made of her own hair, then knot them at the back of her head.
Once she’s got her new face on, I lower to my haunches and take the knife out of 1349’s exposed features to cut through his arm.
The meat will be too cold for Sasha to eat since they’ve been laying in the snow for a while, so I cut three small cubes before warming them up between my hands.
I’ve taught her to stop snatching but she still has to curl her hands into fists to curb the urge.
Her mood improves when she slowly leans into me while chewing.
The habit of talking with her mouth full is harder for her to break as she says, “We’re nearly at 1400 now. We should do something special.”
“Yeah, we’ll swap masks.”
“But you don’t wear one.” She looks up, the corners of her eyes narrowing through the limp skin where she’s removed the eyelids to be able to see.
I hum, a non-committal sound that’s easier than explaining my mask is as organic as hers.
A full body suit I’ll never be able to remove.
A mask and my new cell after I’ve been stripped of humanity, even down to my name.
But I’m given a reward as my phone buzzes with another piece of the puzzle.
The photos Rowan sends me after each job are all out of order, so I don’t know what Delilah’s been doing in the last three years he’s kept her hidden.
All I have are little snapshots of her going about her life on the island.
An island that doesn’t exist on any map when I tried to translate the flight times to distance.
This photo is different though. Her hair has grown back as she sits outside of Helene’s house with her feet dangling over the rocky edge of the cliff, her dress blowing around her calves as she squints into the sun with a small smile on her face.
There’s nothing in the scenery to use as a reference, but she’s smiling as she tightly clasps something to her chest.
The sky is full of reds and oranges, marking another sunset on a day she’s being kept from me. Another sunset on a day I get further and fucking further away from myself.
Sasha has her requirements for a mask; I have my own need for the bodies.
I take the hunting knife from 1349’s neck and cut a ring around his shoulder to remove his untouched arm.
It’s not sharp enough to cut through the bone, but once it’s exposed it’s easier to dislocate the ball joint so the limb is free.
“Ready to leave?” I ask, swinging the arm around my neck.
She stuffs the remaining meat into her mouth then holds up one finger before cutting herself a bigger snack in one clean slab.
She doesn’t even bother to skin it. She hates that part.
At least she’s learnt to stop wasting time before the clean-up team is sent by The Three to prevent our punishments.
With her snack ready, she comes to my side.
The knife is still in her hand as she flips her snack, skin side against her palm, then scores through the meat.
We trudge through the snow, leaving red boot stains as we go until they fade into pink, then it’s like we never killed anyone.
In the next two hours, it will be like we never existed.
The overnight snowfall will provide a fresh, crisp blanket of snow to replace the bloodied patches The Three will melt into the lake.
Sasha pauses her chewing to point at an abandoned cabin as she mumbles, “Home.” She looks up at me, blood smeared on her lips and cheek.
“Tired, crazy pants?” I ask softly.
I can’t remember the last time we slept, so I change course instead of going to the drop-off point where our car is parked.
As soon as we get inside the cabin, she jumps on the old dusty sofa, curling in on herself as she cuts small slivers from her snack.
I drop down by the door, laying the arm over my thighs as I close my eyes.
Yet there’s no peace. I’m haunted by everything I’ve done.
Fucking the dead wasn’t enough after the bidders wanted more.
Now, I’m a hand of the same fucking organization that ruined my life.
The Three: doctors, lawyers, every fucking institution to hold power over another person has been infiltrated by Helene.
I know there’s no escaping when I’m the one killing them for being useless to her.
She’s created a snake that eats its own tail as soon as they’re not needed.
At first, I searched for articles of their deaths, waited for sirens, anything to prove there was someone with more power. But it never comes. They control the narrative.
Six was a boating accident. We killed him with a hammer.
Thirty-nine was a suicide. We held him in a noose, promising freedom if he told us the code to the fridge. Sasha was hungry.
They’re starting to blur now as I reach into my pocket, tracing the curled petals of the rose I made while Sasha softly snores.