Chapter 7 Katarina
KATARINA
Coming to with my own personal Lucifer leaning over me was unsettling, but the dream had left me too rattled to do anything other than dissolve in his arms. When he’d tried to leave, terror had struck me at the thought of being alone with the memories in my head.
Mira. Oh, Mira.
When the tears ran out, Father Lucciano’s robes were soaked through, my face was swollen, and I could barely crack my eyelids open. My nose was running, and I wiped it inelegantly on my nightgown. It was also soaked by tears, sweat, and snot.
Lovely.
It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered now that I’d remembered everything. Three days. Three days without medication was the sweet spot. The day when I remembered the exact events that had led up to my incarceration here in excruciating detail. Details I was always grateful to drown out.
What had happened to Mira.
“You were dreaming about your friend,” Father Lucciano said quietly.
I nodded. “Because you didn’t give me my medication.”
“Does the medication keep the nightmares away?” he asked.
We were sitting side by side on the floor, leaning against my bed. My legs were crossed, bare and scratched up in places. I had a hundred old scars, slices I used to make in my skin when I felt like I was truly losing my mind, before they took everything sharp away from me.
Now I felt Father Lucciano studying them. They were silvery in the moonlight. He had his long legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankle. His legs were strong, the muscles clearly defined even through his dark trousers. If I were strong like that, could I have escaped here with Mira?
“It keeps the memories away. They aren’t nightmares,” I told him tiredly.
“What happened to your friend?” he asked after a long moment.
“Didn’t you read it in my file? She died.”
“I’m asking you what really happened, not what’s written in that folder.”
I thought about telling him, only for a moment, before letting the urge fade away.
I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust anyone.
He worked here at Hallow Hall. He was on the same side as Pavol, Benedict, and Vargas.
He wouldn’t believe me, even if he wasn’t really a demon.
Why would anyone believe me over those upstanding pillars of the community? Even I wouldn’t believe me.
“Why didn’t you give me my medication?” I asked instead. “What do you want from me?”
He turned toward me, and I felt the weight of his eyes on my skin.
“What do you think I want from you?” His deep voice sent heat billowing through me.
I risked a glance at his face and found it right there. So close I could smell every note of his unique scent: ashes, incense, pine, and sweet, fresh air.
His gaze traced over my face, taking me in. I didn’t know how to handle it. No one had looked at me like that in a very long time. Years. Like I wasn’t crazy. Like I was . . . beautiful?
I blinked and quickly glanced away, my salt-burned cheeks tight. Then his hand descended onto my leg, and I jumped.
“What are you . . . ?”
“This can’t start again,” he said firmly. His long fingers traced the scars on my thighs. “If it does . . . we will have a problem.”
He traced the cobwebs of silvery scars on my legs, sending my knees weak. It had been so long since someone had touched me with anything other than firm professionalism or sadistic disinterest.
But my own personal devil’s touch was warm and insistent. Not just a touch. A caress. All the hair on my arms rose, and I shivered. Electricity seemed to hum under my skin at that touch. It was him. He was magnetic. The ultimate temptation.
He wants you. He’s going to devour your soul.
The voice in my head had been quiet all day, and now she piped up. My angel.
“Too bad. My soul is mine to keep,” I murmured, answering the voice without worrying how odd it sounded.
Father Lucciano’s hand flattened on my thigh, high up, where the skin got softer, and his fingers dug in for a moment, squeezing.
“I have no use for your soul. I’ve collected enough to see me through.”
My eyes shot to his. Was that a confession? Was he confirming my wild theory that he had blood on his hands?
He smirked faintly at me. “Father Benedict is overprescribing. I’m here to check up on him. If you need the medication, just say.”
“No. I don’t need to take it.”
“We’ll see. No lashing out. No acts of violence toward others or yourself . . . Got it? Or I’ll have you back where you started faster than you could cross your chest to ward me off.”
He rose smoothly, elegant in his long black robes.
He headed toward the door and rapped on it, indicating that he was ready to leave.
“Thank you,” I called quietly, but I knew he’d heard me from the soft jerk of his powerful shoulders.
He paused and looked back at me.
“Don’t thank me, micetta. Don’t be confused. I’m not here to save you.”
Then he walked out the door and left me alone.
Another scintillating day at Hallow Hall, and another chance to poke around the office.
There was a safe in the back that I’d love to get into.
I knew they had money and other valuables in there.
I’d seen it once when Vargas had opened it.
There had been a lot of money. Some of the people who checked their family members in here for treatment could afford to pay out of pocket and did so in cash.
Others, like me, didn’t pay. We were the charity cases.
“Did you know Vargas is coming tomorrow? Along with the director of the board, apparently.” Alonso leaned against the reception desk watching me rifle through papers without a word.
“Really?” I paused.
Vargas. That motherfucker. Today, I was myself again. I remembered the night Mira had died like it was yesterday. Vargas had been the one leading the show in the operating room, watching over Pavol cutting Mira’s baby out of her without a single regard for her life.
“Director of the board,” I considered for a moment. “Is that for Centrium Group? Their name is all over the invoices here. They bankroll this place.”
“Do they? Isn’t it like a charity or a church thing?” Alonso wondered, and then pulled his phone out and searched for something.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing what company name’s on my paycheck.”
“You haven’t noticed that in two years?”
He sighed. “A paycheck is a paycheck; most of the time it doesn’t pay to look too deeply into who signs it as long as it’s in my account on payday.” He stopped typing and frowned at his phone. “You’re right, Centrium Group.”
“That doesn’t set off alarm bells? Why is a private business paying for this place? What do they get out of it?” I mused.
“Katarina! What are you wasting Alonso’s time with?” Sister Vera had appeared out of thin air behind me.
“Nothing,” I muttered, and wandered a little ways off as Sister Vera chastised Alonso for fraternizing with a patient.
As soon as she turned to me, Alonso pulled a face that made me smile, then made his escape.
“Katarina, you seem cheerful this morning. Are you on the verge of an episode?”
Ah, yes, an episode. That was Hallow Hall psychobabble for when I was lucid enough to start protesting my involuntary confinement and pointing fingers at all the fucked-up shit that went on here.
“No, Sister. Not at all. In fact, I’m so tired,” I said, and feigned a stretch. “My medication must be making me so exhausted.”
“Hmm.” She eyed me distrustfully. “We’ll see. Now, you better be on your best behavior today when the director comes. He’s not a man to be trifled with.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Sister.” I sighed.
She scowled at me, clearly searching for a reason to reprimand me but coming up short. “Well, make sure that you don’t, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Literally,” I murmured as I busied myself with filing again.