Chapter 18
CALEB
The first thing I notice is the sound—Maeve pacing. Uneven steps brushing against floorboards. A pause. Then more pacing.
My eyes snap open.
The low hum of her laptop fills the room, needling its way into my skull. It’s too early for this. Whatever is wrong, I need coffee first.
And speaking of coffee, the coffee table looks more like a crime scene, than a place to rest a mug or two. More papers sit in untidy piles, dissected, and exposed.
Even the air is stale, thick with something unseen.
A coldness races up my spine, and I glance around. Not sure what I expect to find. Maeve would know if there was a stranger lurking in the shadows of her house, right?
As expected, it’s just Maeve and me.
Not that she’s acknowledge me yet. Should I clear my throat? Say good morning?
Her bare feet continue to carry her the length of her living room, tracing the same pathway, over and over.
She may as well be walking a plank with the way she’s hugging herself, her bottom lip raw from the constant pressure of her teeth.
It’s as though she’s trying to outrun her own thoughts. But instead of putting distance between herself and them, they’re still nipping at her heels.
Also . . . has she been up all night?
Not that it matters. Even with the shadows beneath her eyes, and the rawness of her mouth, she’s still beautiful. A little haunted, but beautiful all the same.
Whatever she found on that damn USB, it’s eating her alive. She looks as though she’s seen a ghost. Or worse. Like she’s trying to escape one and knows she never will.
I know what that’s like, except mine doesn’t haunt me. It wears my skin. It breathes when I do, comes alive when I sleep. A parasite that doesn’t need a host because it already has a body.
Mine.
I push myself up on the couch, rubbing the grogginess from my face. A quiet dread unfurls in my gut.
Why does it feel like someone died in here?
“Maeve,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady so I don’t startle her. “What’s going on?”
She stops mid-step, like a deer that’s just caught a scent in the wind. Her eyes find mine, but there’s a delay in her response. Wherever she’s been, she’s still trapped inside it.
Her expression tightens, her pale face draining further of colour.
I know that look. The one where every instinct is screaming at you to run. She doesn’t. Instead, she just stands there. What is she waiting for?
Maybe for me to say something that makes this all go away.
But I can’t. If I knew how to do that, I would have done it years ago.
Whatever it is, it’s big. I can feel it, pressing in, filling the cracks in the room.
And it’s coming for me.
Without a word, Maeve eats up the short distance between us and sinks to her knees in front of me, slow and deliberate, like I’m something wild that might lash out. Her fingertips brush my wrist, then close fully around my hands, a featherlight tremor betraying the steadiness she’s trying to fake.
“I . . . I don’t know how to tell you this,” she says, her voice cracking, “but?—”
“Just tell me.” The words fly out of my mouth, sharper than I intend.
I can’t help it. I’m not good with surprises, and this is bordering on torture.
The tension rolling off her in waves is too much. She’s drowning, and I’m about to be sucked down the whirlpool with her. My heart is already trying to send me to the emergency room, pounding like it’s attempting to hammer its way out of my chest.
I swear I can hear it.
And don’t get me started on my thoughts. They’ve unravelled in a hundred directions, none of them good.
Shit. Is this it? Is she about to tell me I’ve got some sort of terminal illness I don’t remember being diagnosed with? After all, there are plenty of blank spaces in my mind thanks to a certain arsehole.
Hell, maybe I’m already dead, and this is some twisted kind of purgatory where she’s about to deliver the final nail in my coffin.
Or, she’s figured it out, and this is what it’s about—the truth about Asher, and the darkness I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.
Maeve tightens her hands around mine, rolling her dry lips together.
Fuck, I can’t take it anymore.
“Just rip the bandage off, Maeve.” The words scrape along my throat as though I’ve swallowed glass. “I’m going insane over here.”
Well . . . more insane than I already am.
Her eyes dart between mine, a frown tugging her eyebrows in. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Then she takes a deep breath, and leans closer, the saddest of smiles lifting the corners of her lips.
“You’re not going to like this,” she says.
No shit.
Whatever it is, whatever she’s about to say, it’s going to change everything.
With one last squeeze of my hands, Maeve rises, her breath hitching, and walks over to the coffee table. She snatches up her laptop, gripping it tight, pausing for a moment as though she’s warring with herself on whether she should hand it to me.
Bloody hell, she loves to drag things out. If I only have minutes to live, she better hurry the fuck up and tell me.
Exhaling slowly, she shuffles back over and hands me the device, her eyes heavy with something close to grief.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I glance at the screen.
“Caleb,” Maeve whispers, her voice breaking. “I found these while digging through the files on the USB.” She points to the screen. “They . . . they documented everything.”
I scroll through pages and pages of medical reports, my vision blurring. Okay, what am I supposed to do with all this medical jargon? I mean, I understand most of it, but what does it have to do with me?
Clinical notes detail ‘behaviour modification’ techniques. Incident reports describe punishments for the smallest infractions.
And then I see it.
My name.
In bold, like the words have meaning.
My entire body locks up, my muscles refusing to relax.
Am I supposed to know what this is all about? Because I’ve come up with sweet fuck-all.
Subject 18 - Caleb/Asher Blackwood, exhibits extreme dissociative episodes.
Electroconvulsive therapy recommended for Subject 18’s (Caleb/Asher Blackwood) persistent non-compliance.
Subject 18 - Caleb/Asher Blackwood shows promising results from memory suppression protocol .
The words swim before my eyes. I blink once. Twice. Three times.
They’re a red flag. And I’m the bull.
A tidal wave of repressed memories slams into me, violent and unrelenting. It doesn’t come slow. Instead, it rips through me, tearing at the edges of my sanity.
Flashes of dark rooms. Restraints biting into my skin. Screams, raw, and desperate. Except they’re not mine.
They’re Asher’s.
The laptop tumbles from my lap, a dead weight I can’t hold on to. My fingers spasm like I’ve touched a live wire, curling into fists against my thighs, too tight, too rigid. A strange numbness creeps through me, the kind that feels too much like fading away.
“Fuck . . . fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, forcing them to stay still.
It doesn’t work. The words on the screen are carved into the back of my mind, branding me from the inside out.
Caleb slash Asher.
Electroconvulsive therapy.
Memory suppression. That’s why I don’t remember much. They deleted parts of my brain and left me out in the scorching sun to decompose.
My whole fucking life, tampered with. Edited like a terrible draft.
Who the hell am I, if my memories aren’t even mine?
Saliva floods my mouth. I’m about to puke. And Maeve and I are nowhere near that level of intimacy yet.
“Caleb?” She places a hand on my knee, grounding me. Her touch is tentative at first, as if she’s afraid I’ll pull away. Seconds pass, and her fingers tighten slightly, keeping me upright as my world tilts sideways. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembles. “I . . . I didn’t know it was this bad.”
I can barely hear her over the roaring in my ears.
They knew about Asher.
A hollow laugh rattles from my chest. I scrub my hands over my face as though I’ll somehow come away cleaner, less fucked up.
Of course they knew about Asher.
They fucking created him. How . . . how could they mess with my life like that? Like I was some sort of circus animal being trained to entertain high rollers with deep pockets.
My mind reels, grasping for solid ground as the foundations of my identity crumble.
“I don’t . . . I can’t remember most of this,” I choke out. It’s like trying to put shards of broken glass back together in the dark. “Asher . . .” I say, finally looking at Maeve. Her face softens. “He’s the one who took the abuse. That’s . . . that’s why I don’t remember. They made me forget, replacing my mind with his.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the words hollow and heavy as they linger in the silence.
A sharp pain splinters behind my eyes, a pressure that isn’t mine.
He’s waking.
The bastard thrives off the chaos that is my life.
“You really thought you’d never figure it out, didn’t you?” His voice is all smug. “How do you think I was born, Caleb? Out of necessity. You needed me.” The last words are softer than the previous ones. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just . . . true. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ah, there he is. Should have known any form of emotion would be too good for him.
“Shut up, Asher.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
Just shut the fuck up.
He laughs, the sound devoid of any emotion.
Jesus, he’s such a dick.
But I guess I can understand why. I am pathetic.
“So, you admit it?”
“Caleb,” Maeve says, her voice pulling me back into the moment. Her hand tightens around my thigh, anchoring me. “You’re aware of him?”
I nod. What else can I say? It was only a matter of time before she learned the truth. And now . . . now she’s going to run, I know it.
I slowly drag my gaze up to meet hers. I’m not met with fear, or disgust, or even confusion. What I see swimming behind those dark eyes of hers is the same pain I see in mine every time I look into the mirror.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, as though I might break. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Asher’s laughter continues to swirl around the inside of my mind. I wish he would die in some tragic accident. Although, that would also involve me also dying in said tragic accident. Not exactly the life path I would have chosen.
I tighten my jaw. “So . . .” I exhale sharply. “Now you know my dirty little secret,” I say, keeping my focus on the floor in front of me.
At least now it’s out in the open, spreading its germs like a plague.
“Hey,” she says, cupping my cheek and forcing me to face her. Her eyes search mine, a storm of emotions I can’t quite decipher. She moves closer. Not away. Closer. The warmth of her body wraps around me, her sweet vanilla scent a buoy in a storm. “It’s not your fault.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears as my self-loathing threatens to drown me. “You didn’t ask for this, Caleb. None of it is your fault.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. How can she look me in the eye and say that? How can she look at me, at the fractured, messed-up person I’ve become, and still hold on to me like I’m worth saving?
“I don’t think you understand,” I say, the words choked out. “Asher . . . he’s not just a voice in my head. He’s real, Maeve. As real as you. He’s doing things . . . things I don’t even remember. I’ve woken up covered in blood. Literal blood. And I don’t know where it came from. Or at least I didn’t until I started putting the pieces together.” My voice cracks, the weight of my confession threatening to crush me. “He’s killing people. People from Thornhaven Orphanage.”
She nods, her eyes wide but steady. Something about her calmness unnerves me. She’s still not pulling away.
“I saw the files,” she says softly. “I saw the videos. I know what he’s capable of. But those people from the orphanage, they deserve it, Caleb. They took things from us we’ll never be able to replace. And what they did to you . . .” Her tears fall now, thick and heavy as they roll down her pink cheeks.
I nod, but the shame I feel still twists in my gut like a knife. “I don’t know how to stop him, Maeve. What if . . . what if he hurts you? What if I hurt you?”
Silence stretches between us, suffocating me, eating at my insides like a cancer. I drop my gaze and press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.
Maeve lifts my face, brushing her fingers lightly against my jaw, forcing me to look at her once again. Her touch is gentle, but her gaze is fierce, unwavering.
“You’re not Asher,” she says. “You’re not the one hurting people, Caleb. And if he’s going after the people who worked at that place . . .” She pauses, a frown forming on her face as if the weight of her words is too much to carry. “Maybe it’s for the best. Look what they did to him. To you.”
I sigh, letting all the air out of my lungs as I fall back against the couch. “I wanted none of this, you know. But maybe you’re right. This entire town is one fucked up cesspool of darkness. There’s a reason no-one is looking into those murders.”
Maeve nods. “Pinnacle. You think they’re covering their tracks with Asher? Using him to quiet people who know too much?”
“Don’t be so na?ve, you two,” Asher murmurs, breaking through the barrier I’m attempting to keep between us. Fat lot of good that’s doing. “I’m nobody’s pawn.”
“They’re not using him,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s working all on his own. As usual.”
Maeve’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s listening?”
I huff out a laugh. “He’s always listening.”
Maeve chews on her bottom lip, and picks at a loose thread on her T-shirt. “Caleb . . .” She pauses, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
“What? What is it?”
“The times I mentioned you taking me home. The incident with Terry . . .” She winces. “That wasn’t you, was it? That was . . . Asher?”
Well, the cat’s out of the bag now.
Or should I say, the psychopath.
Seeing as we’re being honest, may as well tell her the whole truth.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely audible above the pounding in my head. “It was him.”
Maeve threads her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder. Her warmth is everything right now.
“Wow,” she says, sighing. “You really are your very own version of Jekyll and Hyde.”