Chapter 57 Kane
KANE
Aloud thud jolts me as I wince, turning onto my back. The hard tiles are going to leave bruises on my hip, but the burning on the inside of my knee stops me from feeling it fully.
“Sasha?” I ask, expecting the little nutcase to be throwing a tantrum.
There’s no sound, only my dried blood pulling on my skin.
Dragging myself up to my feet, I scrub a hand down my face then pull my pants up.
The Three will arrange for everything to be cleaned so there’s nothing for me to do other than take my rose and scalpels.
The blood on my hand stains the drying petals, settling into the creases of the skin. I turn to grab the clean towel from the holder beside the door but pause at the small card lying on the floor near my blood.
Sharp gothic swirls surround the oval shape in the middle of the card, the same color as the cardstock.
I recognize the design from the card I used to send Delilah a message.
Fuck, that feels like a lifetime ago. What I’d give to go back in time, to stand in the rain as she trembled in an empty cabin after I pierced her tires.
The cards were always showing up at my apartment without a message on them. I thought they were a marketing tool or incorrectly sent to me. Now, it’s here, in Bali, thousands of miles away.
Carefully lifting it by the edge, I turn it to show the same blank side I received previously. I’m about to throw it in the trash when my blood soaking through the edge slowly bleeds into the paper, revealing the tail of an S.
I lower to my haunches, swiping two fingers through the blood on the floor before rubbing it on the card. There’s not enough to show the full message due to it being dried, so I pick up the scalpel I dropped and cut my palm.
As soon as my fresh blood hits the card, it soaks it up, slowly revealing the words. I’m too impatient to wait and add more cuts. My blood is reacting to it, staining the white card as stark blue letters bubble through.
What would you sacrifice to the Wards?
The Wards?
Fuck!
Lennox said the islanders turned to the wards for help. I thought it was a religious thing, some bullshit deity they made up. It’s not wards, like a guardian watching over them or protecting them. It’s Wards. Like a family.
The third fucking family.
Kobalt.
Leroux.
The motherfucking Wards.
I turn the card over, frantically searching for a way to tell them I’ll give them my life as long as they tell me where Delilah is. They’ll know, it’s their island too. This is their fucking mess they helped create.
But there’s nothing fucking there.
My blood clings to the beveled edges, specifically, the scales on what I thought was an ornate oval. It’s two intertwined snakes eating the other’s tail.
Lion.
Ram.
Snake.
Fuck!
My fist flies out, hitting the door. Little splinters of wood embed themselves into my knuckles, yet there’s no pain, just fucking anger.
I’m so fucking stupid. All this time, they’ve been trying to contact me but I ignored it.
This is all my fault; if I looked at the card closer, bled on it, examined it, searched for a message, everything would be different.
Stuffing the card into my pocket, I leave the bathroom to find who left it for me. Fuck it, I’ll beg them. It can’t be worse than anything else I’ve done. At least there won’t be any rotting flesh or cold infusing itself to my matter.
The bedroom is empty.
So is the hallway.
As are the other rooms.
Everywhere is void of humanity as I find Sasha in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on the counter, eating from the pan on the stove. Her mask hasn’t been changed yet so the edges are curling as she pushes a thin slice of charred meat through the mouth hole. “Hungry?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Did you go upstairs?”
She swallows her bite. “No. You’re always moody when you play with the arm.” She lifts another burnt piece of meat. “Do you put it up your ass?”
“No.” I move the pan out of her reach.
“What do you do with it?”
“You’re a shit cook,” I deflect. “Go, collect more ingredients. I’ll make you something.”
Her eyes widen as she softly asks, “You’ll make me food?”
“Yeah, little one.” Curling my fingers around her nape, I gently pull her forward and kiss her blood-scented crown. “We have a few days, so I’ll teach you.”
Her lips lift behind the mask, her cheeks doing the same, pushing up to be seen through the sagging eye holes before she throws her arms around me. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
I don’t tell her I was searching for Rowan when I found her hiding in Austria. Or how I was planning on killing her if he didn’t speak to me. We’ve developed a bond over the years, one I’m protective over.
I lift her off the counter to place her on her feet then take out a new pan while she grabs a knife to carve more meat. I can’t remember the last time I had a choice of what to eat or drink but when I pull open the fridge, I’m greeted by more food than I’ve seen in the last three years combined.
Steak and chocolate.
There’s a prepped fillet and individual chocolate pots. My dad was always excited when my mom made them for him.
ONE MONTH LATER
Sasha is curled up in a ball in the corner of the abandoned hospital like a little kitten. I gently lay my hoodie over her, so she doesn’t get cold before I go to the top floor. The new snake card was waiting in 1394’s office for me but she hasn’t left me alone to be able to uncover the message.
The ghosts of childhood laughter follow me.
Specifically, the one belonging to my wife.
All the aged, cracked, grimy surfaces do fuck all to dimmish the memories of this fucking building that once belonged to Harkin.
The dusty edges where the decal was stuck to the walls with his name are still visible despite the years passed since they were there.
He taints everything.
I can’t even keep my memories protected from him.
They still involve Delilah though. Like how she needed me more when this once thriving hospital had to be sold because of a rumor.
Only, Harkin’s surgeon egotistically branding their patients’ organs during a transplant wasn’t a rumor.
It was The Three being initiated, their oaths and limits tested to prove they’d given up control.
Rather than pledging to do no harm, they traded it for an oath to be Helene’s lapdog.
Now, I’m hiding right under the fucker’s nose in the hope it spurs a reaction. That he’ll be incensed at me taking something from him, knowing his secrets, anything to draw Harkin or Rowan out to give me Delilah’s location.
Hopefully, Sasha will stay asleep after getting too close to finding the cards. Last time, I was able to hide it in my boot before she saw it.
I enter the observation suite overlooking the surgical room below as I remove the knife from my pocket.
The low lights from the weak generator I managed to fix are enough to see the card as I sit in the back row, tucked in the corner, and cut through the scars forming on my left palm.
I form a fist above it, watching the blood slowly reveal the letters.
Reflections only exist within a mirror.
Below their cryptic message are coordinates. Ones close to me. I abandon my knife with that sick fucking bitch called hope rising. My phone is monitored by The Three, but they can eat shit if they think I’ll ever belong to anyone more than I do Delilah.
She is the center of my universe, the sun who controls my days, the moon and stars providing safety through the dark. No one else in existence, or to come, will ever take her place. No religion, deity, devil, or spirit.
The signal is patchy, so I slowly walk through the graffitied hallway to find somewhere to search for my wife.
I don’t realize where I’ve ended up when the location loads and I look up to find a new escape.
The pharmacy is lined with metal shelving and locked glass doors.
Some drugs have been stolen, but they haven’t managed to get into the larger store due to the electric lock entering shut down mode.
All of Harkin’s hospitals had a fail-safe to stop anyone from stealing drugs in the event of a power outage.
I remember explaining how it worked to Delilah, then trying to replicate it with old electronics I’d stripped for parts.
The soft humming of the large cooler is like a lullaby, soothing me before I’ll be able to sleep.
As soon as I open the door, the cold air hits me.
The light doesn’t turn on, but the internal motor is powered by a different source than the one for the building, but the door isn’t so all the vials are safe.
I reverently lift one of the vials from the tray of six then search for a needle. Fuck, I’ve never used needles before. Smoke, snort, drink—those were fine. Needles were a no after hearing the withdrawals from the other cells.
Desperation will lead a man to his ruin.
My father always used to say it. This won’t ruin me though; it’ll allow me to exist. Even though the drugs are out of date, I’ll be able to sleep for once instead of searching Delilah’s name, her description, fucking anything to do with her.
When I’m weak, angry, at the precipice where there’s no hope left, I always end up following the captives’ lives.
It’s not for some altruistic spark of hope because I saved the fuckers.
No, it’s because I debate killing them in their sleep for escaping while I’ve been pushed further away from my wife.
They weren’t even in a relationship, now they are.
Married. Children. A house. A business together.
Their names beside the other. Sleeping next to each other when I’m isolated from my wife.
This is one of those weak moments because I can’t find a needle. I can’t drink it since it will take longer, so I search the captives’ names.
Kristiane Charles-Oliver and Decker Charles-Oliver.
Articles about their pro-bono work are at the top of the list, lavishing them in praise for helping sexual assault victims get justice. Where’s my fucking justice for saving the fuckers?
“It’s time they paid the price for it,” Asher whispers in my ear.