Chapter 11 #2
He ignored Mads again as his eyes locked on a small black box shoved as far under the bed as it could go.
Lionel shuffled over to the side of the bed to be able to reach better, groaning as he stretched his arm as far as he could.
His fingers barely brushed it, but he could tell that it was made of heavy metal.
“Lionel.”
“Give me a second!” Lionel said, louder this time as his fingers finally wrapped around the handle. He dragged it out, wincing when his arm twinged slightly at just how heavy it truly was. His awkward grip on it was definitely not the best, but he managed to slide it out without too much trouble.
Lionel’s heart stopped as he took in the sight of the box before jumping into a racing thrum. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, didn’t want to believe what this was, but as he unclicked the sides of the box and opened it, he couldn’t help the small gasp that left his lips.
The gun sitting inside was small, but pretty high-quality.
It must have been something the previous owner of the apartment kept around for self-defense.
There were only a few bullets inside, but as Lionel pulled it out to weigh it in his palm, he already felt safer.
He hated guns in most cases—didn’t even want to touch them before this moment.
But thinking of taking down the creatures with this rather than one of their pathetic weapons made him feel like survival was actually possible.
“Lionel.”
He shivered, a sharp, involuntary tremor rolling down his spine at the soft puff of air against his neck.
Instinctively, he slapped a hand to the spot, heart vaulting into his throat.
He spun around, mouth already open to snap at Mads for sneaking up on him again, for getting too damn close and not respecting the space he desperately needed.
But the room behind him was empty.
Lionel’s words died, strangled by sudden confusion.
He swept his gaze across the faded wallpaper, the corners cloaked in dim shadow, the empty chairs, and the dresser where dust gathered undisturbed.
Through the cracked door, he could see Mads still settled on the couch, fiddling with a box of matches and a stub of a candle, oblivious. He hadn’t moved.
The hair on Lionel’s neck stood on end, goosebumps breaking out across his arms. His pulse throbbed painfully in his throat. He hadn’t imagined that breath—he couldn’t have. It was warm and far too real to brush off.
“Lionel.”
His name unfurled again into the room, soft and almost playful, but it seemed to vibrate through the walls. Lionel twisted in a slow circle, knees bumping the side of the bed. He tried to steady his breathing, to focus on anything but the racing panic clawing up his chest.
“Lionel.”
He yelped, flinching so violently it nearly pitched him forward.
The voice had been right next to his ear this time, a conspiratorial whisper that felt like it brushed the fine hairs along his jaw.
A phantom warmth lingered on his skin. He spun around, wild-eyed, certain he’d see someone standing there.
No one.
“Lionel.”
It was different now—closer, deeper, curling almost tenderly around the syllables of his name. Before he could even finish the frantic turn back toward the bed, a cold, heavy pressure snapped around his ankle.
Lionel screamed, high and raw. His whole body jolted as he instinctively jerked backward, slamming into the wall hard enough that a framed photo crashed to the floor, glass shattering around his feet.
He panted, chest heaving, eyes wide as he scrambled to hike up his pant leg.
A thick, livid welt wrapped around his ankle like bruised fingers.
“Mads!” His own voice sounded foreign in his ears, breathless and choked.
Footsteps—real ones—hurried in from the living room, too light to belong to whatever had just grabbed him. Mads appeared in the doorway, eyes wide, his expression twisting in alarm. “Lionel? What happened? What’s wrong?”
Lionel couldn’t find his voice. His mouth moved soundlessly, one hand still clutching at his ankle as he stared at the spot beneath the bed—afraid something might still be lurking there. Afraid it might say his name again in that terrible, loving way.
Mads stepped closer, reaching out. “Hey— hey, it’s alright. I’m here.”
Lionel didn’t pull away. Not because he wasn’t terrified, but because in that moment, the cold press of Mads’ hand on his shoulder felt like the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling.
He took a long breath and shook his head, not sure what to say.
Just as he opened his mouth to explain, it came again, “Lionel.”
The voice was right by his ear, low and warm and almost tender.
Lionel screamed, lurching away from the wall as if something was about to burst through it.
He wrapped his arms around himself, pressing his hands hard into his shoulders, trying desperately to erase the phantom weight of someone’s grip.
“Lionel!” Mads called sharply, rushing to his side.
“Don’t touch me!” Lionel shrieked, jerking violently when Mads’ hand grazed his hip. His voice cracked with raw fear. “Stop— I don’t— don’t—”
“Lionel.”
He spun around again so fast his feet nearly tangled together. “Where are you?” he shouted at the empty room, chest heaving.
“Lionel, what’s happening?” Mads’ voice came from somewhere in front of him, trying to pull his focus back.
“I can’t— I can’t—” Lionel rasped, throat dry and strangled.
“Lionel.”
He clamped his hands over his ears so hard it hurt.
The sound didn’t dull in the slightest. It vibrated through his skull like someone was whispering directly into the hollow of his bones, curling around his thoughts.
His hands trembled, fingertips digging into his scalp as he spun in another panicked circle.
“Lionel.”
Even with his ears sealed shut, the voice was there, sickeningly close. “What is that?” Lionel sobbed, shaking his head hard enough that his hair whipped against his cheeks. “It’s like it’s inside me— it’s in my fucking head—”
“Lionel.”
He let out a ragged scream, nails scratching into his skin, tearing at his hair as if he could claw the voice out. Mads grabbed his shoulders, gripping him tight enough that Lionel felt it through the fog of terror.
“Lionel! Look at me,” Mads urged, his voice softer now, coaxing, even as his hands held firm. “Tell me what’s going on so I can help you. What do you see?”
“It’s not something I see,” Lionel panted, eyes wild, flicking from the ceiling to the corners of the room like he expected something to crawl out. “It’s— it’s in my head— I hear it—”
“You’re hearing something? What’s it saying?” Mads asked.
“It keeps repeating my name,” Lionel whispered hoarsely, chest fluttering with shallow breaths. “I don’t know— I don’t know what it wants—”
“Lionel.”
This time it was so clear, so close, it felt like a mouth pressed right up against his ear. He shrieked again, twisting violently out of Mads’ grip and doubling over as if he’d been struck.
“Why is it inside of me?” Lionel yelled, clutching his head so tightly his knuckles went white. “Get it out— get it out!”
“Lionel, stop— stop! Look at me,” Mads said, voice rising with urgency. He caught Lionel’s wrists and held them gently but firmly, keeping him from hurting himself more. “You’re here with me, okay? Whatever it is, you’re right here with me.”
Lionel squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling violently as he tried to listen to Mads’ voice instead of the one slithering through his mind.
“Lionel.”
He flinched so hard he nearly collapsed, but Mads grabbed him, feeling so solid next to him.
“It’s not real,” Mads whispered fiercely. “It’s not real, Lionel. I’ve got you.”
“Lionel.”
Lionel fell to his knees, doubling over until his forehead pressed into the floor. The voice didn’t get any louder or sound any different, no matter what he did. It was as if a creature were sitting directly behind his eardrum, or was buried in the deep crevices of his brain, whispering to him.
“Lionel, stop!” Mads yelled, grabbing his wrists and dragging them away from his ears. Lionel swatted at Mads’ hands, trying to pull away from him. It was then that he noticed the red on the tips of his fingers and wondered where it had come from.
“Lionel.”
He screamed again and would have collapsed if Mads hadn’t been there to keep him steady on his knees.
Lionel shook as he leaned against him. He struggled feebly against Mads’ hands that were holding onto his wrists, keeping him from scratching at his ears anymore.
Mads’ arms wrapped around him a moment later, squeezing him so tight, Lionel gasped as he tried to breathe.
“Lionel.”
Lionel only realized he was crying, choking on sobs that wracked through his body, when he felt Mads’ sweatshirt getting wet beneath his cheeks.
Mads’ arms tightened further around him, and his hands came up to cup Lionel’s face.
Lionel shook his head, pulling away from him to bury his face in the man’s chest again, so Mads’ hands stayed on just his ears instead.
“Lionel.”
“Stop,” Lionel sobbed. “Make it stop.”
“I told you not to fucking touch him!” Mads yelled into the room just like he had said to the woman creature, as though they would actually listen to him. “Fuck off!” Lionel had never heard him so angry, his voice rough with the words.
“Lionel.”
“Make it stop,” Lionel repeated again, leaning heavily into Mads’ chest. “Make it stop.”
Lionel felt Mads shift a bit, one arm unwinding from around him. Suddenly, the doors to the bedroom and the en-suite bathroom slammed shut, followed by the curtain rustling as they closed out the light from the window, and soon they were enveloped in darkness.
“Lionel.”
Lionel shook his head furiously against the voice, trying to shake it out of his head like he shook water out of his ears as a child.
“Did it stop?” Mads asked, trying to cup his face again, trying to make Lionel look at him.
“No,” Lionel whispered.
“Lionel.”
“Stop,” Lionel groaned. “Mads—”
All at once, Lionel’s body felt much lighter, his tears sliding away from his cheeks, and his stomach shifting up to his throat as he felt himself falling.