Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Warren
Hours passed by slowly, and Levette did not return home, nor did he use our bond to speak to me. Even when I reached out to him, begged him to come back, to let me know he was okay, he ignored me.
It was a lonely experience I had not expected. Levette had been my constant, and even for the briefest of time without him, it had thrown my world off its axis.
I tried to busy myself to distract myself from waiting for him to return home.
At first I tried to read, though my attention would drift after a few sentences.
Then I tried to clean, but we kept the apartment tidy and so there was nothing to do.
After a while, I decided it was only fair that I explore the place I called home.
Despite moving in with Levette, I had not allowed myself to look around or snoop in any of his things.
But if he were being tediously petty enough to ignore me, I would afford myself some pettiness too and look through his things.
I could play his games.
Rummaging through his armoire and chests, I was fascinated by the clothes he had kept from decades of the past. The coats he had worn, shirts with ruched collars, and hats that were now far out of style.
It was like he had a time capsule of the years he had been away, a memento for everything he had gone through.
It saddened me to know that he was alone for all of it, every new decade sweeping past without a real connection formed.
Then he came home and found me.
And I had pushed him away and made him believe I thought the worst of him.
My love had come with a price, and Levette had been paying it just to keep me, to not be alone. He deserved better, but he thought he deserved what I was giving him.
It was a sobering thought, knowing you were harming the one you loved. And oh, I did love him. So much so that it hurt thinking about, my chest aching for him to be near me again.
A few hours without him and I was like a wartime wife, forever watching the window for a glimpse of her husband returning.
Please, Levy, come home to me.
At the bottom of one of his drawers, I found a small leatherbound notebook.
I had never seen it before and I found it curious why he kept it beneath his clothes.
Curiosity told me to open it and see what secrets were inside, but logic and decency told me not to pry.
If he kept it hidden, there was a reason.
Yet, was it not part of the problem based on secrecy and the inability for us to tell each other the complete truth? We had started our companionship on lies, and I did not intend to carry the rest of our years out that same way.
I looked up to the sky and whispered an apology to God, whether or not he could hear me now that I was damned was a whole other cataclysmic spiral of thoughts that I did not have the capacity or ability to suffer through yet.
Taking a deep breath, I opened up the diary. Confusion immediately overwhelmed me as I read. The pages were filled with names, rows and rows of them. Was it a ledger? I did not understand why he would hide it if it was.
I went back to the beginning, determined to learn what it was. It was a mistake, I knew immediately, when I took in the first name. Leroy.
Was it… No, I would not allow myself to go through with that thought.
Continuing to read, my stomach sank like rocks when I saw the name Cassius Jonescu written in Levette’s handwriting. My gut instinct had been right, and I hated myself for it.
It was a ledger, of sorts—a remembrance book.
A serial killer’s trophy book.
A victim book.
I could not stop myself from continuing to look through the pages, reading every name written there.
For a brief second, I considered counting, but the idea of knowing just how many people had died at Levette’s hands would cause a chasm in my heart that would never heal.
He had been honest with me that he had killed countless; yet he had counted, kept track.
Was it a sickness, a weird thrill for him?
Or was it a way to keep himself in check, never forgetting what he had done?
It made me sick to my stomach, and I wished I had stopped then. Put the book down and listened to the part of my brain telling me it was enough, I had learned too much already. But I was stubborn and could not stop myself. It was one of the worst decisions I could ever have made.
Warren Hayes.
He had written my name in his book of victims. Yet it was crossed off, and more names followed it, including Father Baylis.
My mind spiraled as I stared at my name, the book shaking in my hands. I could not comprehend what it meant. Had he planned to kill me all along? Had he lied to me, yet again? Or had he put me in his book because of what happened, blaming himself as I had blamed him?
No. That was wrong.
He had lied.
My name was written before Father Baylis. Upon looking again, it was written even before Josephine.
I recognized the names of a few others before Josie, people who had been listed in newspaper obituaries or in missing-persons advertisements. From months ago.
He had written my name when we met, or perhaps even before then.
All that time, and he had been lying. Planning. Scheming to corrupt me.
I had told him he was not a monster, but oh, I was wrong. He was a demon, after all, stealing my soul, my heart, and my life.
YOU LYING BASTARD! Were you always going to do this to me?
Make me a companion to the damned? I bellowed into the void, knowing he would hear me.
I thought about the book as hard as I could, threw every bit of my anger and heartbreak down the thread connecting us.
If my love is like a blade, then yours is like the church you love to hate so much, full of hypocrisy and bullshit.
You bleed from mine, and I am ruined by yours. Fuck you!
He had broken me. Levette had promised to be the thing I needed to survive, but he had destroyed me. My heart was seduced by darkness, and my life stolen by the creature that inhabited it. I was ruined, and I despised us both for it.
I ran from the apartment, desperate to get away from anything that reminded me of him. Of what he had done to me. What he had created in me.
For years, I had battled with myself and my salvation.
Levette had swooped into my life like the answer to my prayers, and I had allowed myself the fairytale, the childish belief that I deserved the prince to come and save me.
But he was not the prince, he was not the knight; he was the dragon whose fire would set me aflame and consume me until there was nothing left but ash.
As I roamed the streets, my head pounding with the angry tirade of my thoughts, I stumbled across a young couple.
They held hands as they walked, the woman looking at him adoringly as though he was the greatest gift she would ever receive.
He smiled at her, though I saw his eyes wander to a woman passing by, his gaze lingering on her ass as she walked.
It made me sick. People like him, like Levette, were so quick to promise love and happiness, yet their promises were built on deceit. They could not stay true, stay honest, and their partners would pay the price. It was abhorrent!
I grabbed the woman’s arm, pulling her away. “Don’t trust him, ma’am. They’re all fucking liars.”
The woman tried to pull her arm back, gasping at my forwardness. “Sir, are you drunk? Please, get away from me.”
“Listen to me, you fool!” I yelled, growling at the man as he tried to intercept. “He will break your heart. Let me guess: he has promised always to be yours, never to lie, to treat you like a queen, yes? He is a liar. He is already breaking those promises. Do you want a lifetime of that?”
The man shoved at me, stepping between his would-be wife and me. “Get the HELL away from her, you MADMAN! Keep your hands to yourself. Go home and sleep your stupor off.”
He tried to shove at me, and I sidestepped, kicking him from behind. He went flying, and I stared as he connected with the wall. His skull cracked, and I heard the crunch of his bones as he collapsed on the ground, his body contorted in the weirdest of angles.
I stared for a moment in disbelief. I had forgotten my newfound strength, the damage it could do.
Moving closer, I tried to listen for a heartbeat, but I could not hear one.
I had killed him. Murdered him.
What had I become? I was a monster. A demon, just like Levette. Was that what he had wanted? Someone to join in his depravity so he would no longer be burdened by loneliness?
The scent of blood filled the air and my mouth twitched as I caught the smell, my fangs descending.
When was the last time I had fed? I was ravenous.
My chest heaved as I tried to hold back, stay in control of myself. But I could not keep it contained; I needed to taste him.
I snarled, speeding towards the broken man, burying my face in his neck as I ripped into him, lapping up as much blood as I could. He tasted divine, and I threw my head back, breathing a sigh of relief as I felt his blood course through my system.
Was this what it felt like to be free? To give myself over to the darkness?
Warren, you must stop, Levette warned in my head. This is not you, mon cher.
Screeching and wailing burst through my bloody haze. The woman was running away, shrieking for someone to help her. I tilted my head and watched her for a moment, hands twitching as I tried to think clearly.
There were no clear thoughts anymore.
I needed to stop her before she brought too much attention to me.
I wanted blood. I wanted to feel her body go limp in my arms as I took her life for myself.
I wanted to see what it felt like to knowingly and willingly take away someone’s future, just as Levette had.
Perhaps it would help me understand him.
Maybe it would just propel me further into whatever Hell I was destined for.
I no longer cared.