Chapter 85 Kane
KANE
As Delilah says her goodbyes, I whisper to Daigon, “Harkin’s parents are here—”
“Shotgun,” he says before I’ve even finished speaking.
“That’s for taking the front seat in a car.”
“No. I mean I’m going to kill them with a shotgun.” He lifts the flashlight to look into his bag then picks up his opened, half-bitten protein bar. “I’ve never used one before.”
Watching him eat without a care in the world reminds me of Sasha. I miss the little nutcase and hope fuses to my voice as I ask, “Do you know where the Wards are?”
“Everywhere.” He takes another bite. “Nowhere. They don’t show their faces. They’ll wear those masks people wear in movies when they’re pretending to be someone. Like the one where the man dresses like a nanny to see his children.”
“You watched that?”
“Little demon likes it.” He shrugs. “Anyway, they’ll wear them all the time. Lucille is the only one who always wears those annoying shoes. I hate those shoes,” he whines to himself before taking another more forceful bite.
Delilah leaves Lennox to come to my side.
I give him a tight-lipped smile as I nod my head.
He said it’s his turn to die. I don’t know what it means since he promised there’ll be no one coming after us, but I can see the change in him.
When I was a child, he was quiet. Now he’s exhausted as he guides the woman towards the mouth of the tunnel.
I hook my right arm around Delilah’s shoulders as Daigon flicks the light to the tunnel, then into his bag to take out more snacks like a toddler. The crunching and rustling wrappers keep making me think it’s Sasha, but there’s no whining about how hungry she is or shit-talking.
Any hope I had of her being here is demolished when we reach the stone basement with steel-doored cells.
It’s not the reminder of prison making my eyes widen as we still at the threshold, it’s the fucking carnage.
The stone is stained with fresh blood. Multiple guards are piled in the corner of the hallway, their mirrored masks cracked and their clothes slashed from the person who tore them to literal sheds.
There’s so much blood it flows through the natural grooves in the stone.
“Nice.” Daigon whistles in appreciation, stepping over their dismembered bodies.
Delilah leads us up the stone staircase too fucking easily.
She doesn’t even pause to check we’re going through the correct door, like she’s comfortable with the layout.
When we enter the kitchen, it’s as red as the basement with smears on the floor and blood dripping down the window.
How many fucking guards did she have here?
My wife is crazy as she skips over the dead bodies, through the hallway into the living room, then ignores the motionless bodies of her grandparents and Helene to snatch something off the piano.
Sinclair Leroux, Delilah’s grandfather, has aged like mayonnaise left in the sun. Cordelia, her grandmother, isn’t any better as she sags in her seat. But it’s not until I look at Helene I notice their eyes are moving.
“You’ve been given paralytics?” I laugh, prodding her cheek.
Daigon goes further as he pushes the tip of his finger into Sinclair’s eye when he can’t blink. My powerful wife pushes him out of the way, glaring up at him. “You get her.” She points at her grandmother. “He’s mine to kill. Get out of my way.”
“You’re like Ruby,” he huffs as he steps around her, dropping his bag on the floor.
“Always telling me what to do, taking my toys away.” He smiles into Cordelia’s face.
“Do you want me to close your eyes?” Then uses his first two fingers to roughly pull her eyelids down before laughing, pulling one up. “Peek-a-boo.”
I’m fucked up because I laugh. I can’t help it when he’s a giant doing creepy shit.
Sasha desensitized me to all manners of crazy.
There must be something about The Dollhouse that makes everyone who’s lucky enough to escape find humor in the most insane acts.
Fuck, she’d love this. She’d be all excited about the violence, then hum to herself while playing with their bodies. I miss the crazy little shit.
Delilah tries to drag her grandfather off his seat, but she only manages to smack his head off the hard floor, prolonging my laugh.
I don’t know how long the drugs will keep them like this, so I leave her to do damage while arguing with her brother-in-law.
I go into the kitchen to the cupboard of perverted shit.
With the whip, collar, chains, and gag laid over my arm, I go back to the living room.
“Daigon, help me,” she seethes, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring up at him.
He takes a deep breath as he looks over her head at me. “You’re not going to be staying with us, are you?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I already have to put up with one of you since Scarlet turns up whenever she wants. You, troublemaker, are banned from my property.”
“Shut up. You can’t stop me from seeing my sister. She’ll kick your ass when I tell her.”
“The Leroux effect,” he says to me.
“I told you,” I say softly. “There’s nothing you can do about it, apart from going along with what they say.”
I fall in love with my wife for the umpteenth time as she snaps, “I’m not a Leroux. I’m Delilah Xandros, so shut up. Pick him up for me.”
He carelessly throws Sinclair over his shoulder as I restrain Helene.
Her glare is murderous, so I close her eyes.
Leaning closer to her, I whisper, “Now you’re in the shadows, and your son is going to die.
Everything you built on the blood of innocence will burn along with you.
My parents will get you on the other side. ”
If Heaven is real, there’s no visiting hours. Those are reserved for Hell, because every soul that reaches the pearly gates is owed justice that no one else can give them.
I walk over to the domed atrium as Daigon forces Sinclair’s deadweight onto the needled bench. He keeps hold of the old man’s shoulder as he points at the piano. “Ruby said you played. You should teach the little demon because she uses the keys as if they’re drums.”
Delilah’s smile is radiant as she softly says, “I’d like that.”
He steps back, allowing Sinclair to fall backwards, the needles tearing through his skin.
On his way out of the room, he grabs Cordelia’s thinning hair then drags her outside, slamming the door behind him.
The front door is abruptly pushed open, and I keep Delilah behind me as I watch the door, waiting for the masked bitch to enter or Rowan.
Cordelia sweeps the floor behind Daigon as he holds up one hand, muttering, “Forgot my food.” He hugs the backpack to his chest as he walks back out with Cordelia still trailing along.
Delilah’s entire body shakes from the force of her laugh as she smothers the sound in my bicep. She manages to collect herself enough to wheeze, “She looks like the doll.” Her choked laughter makes her voice squeaky as she folds in on herself. “When they’re broken…and have one eye open.”
One day we’re both going to reflect on the moment we knew there was hope for us to survive the shit they put us through. I’ll recall this—the last time we ever visit this fucking place and the first time we ever arrived by choice—seeing tears in her eyes due to laughter.
Wrapping my arms around my wife as she sobers, I kiss her shoulder. “What do you want to do?”
“Do you know what type of doctor he was?” she whispers, hugging me.
“A surgeon, like Harkin?”
“A gynecologist,” she says lower. “I never understood why the memories were always fuzzy or in parts. I remember the drive to my grandparents’ house, I remember practicing the piano until they thought it was perfect, but I can never remember having dinner because they’re all the same with their drugged depravity. ”
“Make him hurt.” I kiss her cheek as I step around her to take the wooden bench. Sitting it on its side, I kick against the leg until it breaks free with the frayed nails sticking out. “Come here, koukla mou.”
She trembles as she walks around the piano, avoiding her grandfather. I press my lips to her crown as I hand her the wooden leg. “Here you go. Rape the fucker while he’s powerless.”
“I don’t want to see that.” Her nose scrunches up as she looks up at me. “Or him.”
“Okay, turn around.”
She slowly turns with a small object tightly gripped in her fist, the ornate gold ends sticking out of the edge of her palms.
“Play for me again?” I ask, moving her in front of the piano.
Delilah’s talents belong to her alone. They don’t get to take it from her when it brings her joy.
With one hand, she plays a macabre tone as I press my boot against Sinclair’s face and drop the wooden leg on his back.
Taking the knife from my pocket, I cut through his belt, grimacing at the sight of his pasty, pockmarked, hairy ass.
My pretty girl plays faster. Her emotions have always bled through her fingers, so I don’t extend her anxiety as I tilt my face away from the literal ass in front of me.
Using the splintered edge with the sharp nails poking through the wooden leg, I force it into him as his pained whimpering is muffled.
“The pathetic fuck is trying to scream,” I say for Delilah’s benefit as she skips a note. “What a shame you can’t, with the drugs.” I force him to take more. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, could it, pretty girl?”
As blood spills around the thick wooden leg, mixing with his anal leakage, he knows the feeling of being trapped in a body while being invaded.
I don’t push it further in, just enough for it to be held in place while I cover as much of his ass as possible with his cut slacks.
He remains sprawled on the floor with wide eyes.
The piano notes slow once I have my arms around Delilah’s waist. They get lighter when I kiss her neck and they stop when I ask, “Do you want to do it?”
“I don’t want to see,” she answers.
“You don’t have to.” I chase a tear rolling over her cheek, capturing it with my lips as she drags in a stuttering breath. “All you have to do is turn and kick it into him. I’ve done everything else.”