4. Ripley
CHAPTER 4
RIPLEY
I’M NOT YOURS – THE HAUNT
“Ripley Bennet!”
Startled out of my numb daze at the sound of my name being called, I shuffle forward. The line is moving at a snail’s pace this morning. It’s always the same on Mondays, when classes and therapy sessions resume.
Harrowdean runs like any other secure unit—relying on a tried and tested combination of regimen, strict order and regular poking and prodding by the on-site clinical staff. All the usual day-to-day banalities of life on a psych ward, at least to the average Joe.
What goes on behind closed doors is a whole other ball game. One that not everyone has to bear witness to. They’re blissfully unaware of their privileged position as one of the protected. Patients too risky to be targeted, often with families and loved ones who would notice their turmoil. Not all of us have that benefit.
“Rip.” Rae nudges my shoulder. “Hurry the fuck up, would ya?”
“Alright. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
I force myself to approach the nurse’s station to collect my meds. The swaying, zombified line of patients behind me all watch with varying degrees of interest.
Some are desperate for their daily dose of sanity, while others are dragged into line by the ever-present guards. The nurse slides a small paper cup brimming with tablets through the hole in the metal grate to me.
They have to keep the pharmacy strictly under lock and key, for obvious reasons. I’ve lost count of the number of attempted break-ins I’ve witnessed. Not everyone can afford my services.
One thing Harrowdean has no shortage of are desperate bastards searching for any way to remove themselves from the chess board of life. Pills. Blades. Rope. It’s all the same to them.
A quick fix. An easy escape.
Who wouldn’t want that?
Hell, everyone heard the story about Blackwood Institute’s incident a few months ago. Gossip gets around, even behind bars. From what I hear, some asshole threw himself off the roof.
Bang.
Splat.
Goodnight.
One scrambled set of brains on the hard concrete, and it’s game over. They must’ve been well-connected to even get access to a rooftop. Hearing that news brought my precarious arrangement into sharp focus.
The power my position provides may be keeping me alive right now, but I’m not the only one feeding this toxic machine of exploitation and abuse. Every institute has one of me.
Have you figured out what I am yet?
No spoilers…
Studying the lurid selection of pills in the paper cup, I quickly swallow them down then stick out my tongue to be inspected. The nurse dismisses me with a waved hand.
“Next!”
I’m not on their radar. If I wanted to kill myself, I could do it a lot more quickly and efficiently than by stashing my meds. I haven’t lasted this long only to go and throw it all away now. Annihilation isn’t my end game here. Survival is, plain and simple.
Watching Rae take her medication, it’s obvious the staff are keeping a keen eye on her. I’m pretty sure that she wound up in here after a serious attempt on her life. And here I am, wilfully arming her with more ammunition to continue harming herself.
You can hate me.
It still won’t compare to how much I hate myself.
“Gross.” Rae shudders, sparing me a puzzled look. “What are you staring at?”
I roll my eyes at her. “None of your business.”
“Weirdo. You eat already?”
“Yeah, I’ve got my session with Doctor Galloway. You off to class?”
Flicking fiery auburn hair over her shoulder, she shrugs. “Maybe. You get my next shipment?”
Shame curling around my internal organs like a poisonous cancer that I’ll never hope to cure, I nod back.
“Slipped under your door.”
“Sweet. What do I owe you?”
“The usual.”
Bouncing on her feet, she’s eager to escape. “Can I get you later?”
Glancing around, I ensure no one is listening. Rae is the only exception I’ll make to my own personal rules. Call it sentiment or stupidity, but I care about her. Even if I’d never admit it out loud.
“Not like I’m going anywhere.”
“You’re the best, Rip.”
Trust me, I’m really fucking not.
At the promise of a fresh stash of razor blades, her face has transformed. The heavy weight of defeat has evaporated, like darkness lifting after a solar eclipse to reveal the cold light of day once more.
My coping mechanism is detachment. But Rae’s? It’s the power to inflict pain so great, it offers a twisted form of relief. We are night and day yet bound by the same infallible sickness that trapped us in this purgatory together.
Rushing away to skip class and lock herself in the bathroom until she blunts her newest toys, I’m left with the gut-punching pain of knowing whatever damage she inflicts, I shall forever bear the responsibility. Everything I’ve done is at the expense of her slow death along with all the others I’ve armed to destroy themselves.
Walking past the remaining patients picking up their morning meds, I meet a few eyes, taking note of their visible fear and respect. Both emotions inextricably entwined. Luka, an anorexic from the sixth floor, even steps out of line to open the exit door for me.
Doctor Galloway’s office is located on the left side of the north wing, past admin rooms filled with dull-eyed staff and the heavy guard presence lingering in the reception area. I’m early as usual.
Leaning against the wall, I’m lost in the intricate swirls of ink that make up the landscape canvas mounted outside her office when the door clicks open. Her familiar lilting voice leaks out from inside.
“You know where to find me if you require additional assistance settling into life here at Harrowdean.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a rough drawl responds.
“We can make adjustments to accommodate your specific needs.”
“I managed fine in the last place. I’ll be alright here.”
“Well, as you wish.”
When the door swings open, Doctor Galloway spots me lingering outside. She’s mid-fifties at best, her wrinkled face usually pulled taut in a grimace that deepens her crow’s feet. Wearing her silver-streaked hair in a slicked back bun does her ageing appearance no favours.
Today’s outfit is another ill-fitting pantsuit and tweed blazer. This woman needs to hire a stylist already. Harrowdean must pay her enough to afford one. Silence is expensive, after all.
“Be right with you, Ripley.”
“Sure, doc.”
Summoning a tight smile of acknowledgement, she holds open the door to release her last patient. The moment he’s unveiled, my heart spasms in my chest. As he makes his way out into the corridor, the bright chandeliers overhead reveal all the details I couldn’t make out last night.
His haunting violin music has played on a loop in my mind ever since I found him in the music room. Staring at my mystery violinist, my breath falters. Goddamn, what a sight he is.
Golden hair slicked back, his perfectly proportioned nose and full, thick lips are front and centre. The razor-edge of his jawline is sharp enough to cut metal like it’s butter and covered in a light blonde scruff.
A pair of blacked-out glasses on the tip of his nose, his caramel-coloured eyes flick upwards for a brief moment. They’re unfocused. Darting around the corridor without ever daring to grace me with their honeyed magnificence.
He rushes to slide the glasses back into place and takes a deep inhale. I don’t know why I bite my lip and hold my breath, like somehow if I don’t dare steal a single inhale for myself, he won’t recognise me.
“No live performance today, babe.” The corner of his mouth quirks in an amused smirk. “You’ll have to gawp elsewhere.”
Eyes hidden from sight, he unclips a folded, plastic stick that was clasped in one hand. It reaches mid-chest, and the tip is red, extended to reach the floor. That’s when the penny drops.
The comforting darkness.
His unfocused gaze.
A strange awareness of my breathing.
He’s blind .
“See you next week for your next session, Mr Starling.”
“Raine is fine.”
Doctor Galloway continues to prop the door open for him. “Okay, Raine. Do you need assistance finding the exit?”
“I’ll manage,” he responds easily. “My friend is meeting me.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad you were all transferred together.”
“We got lucky,” he comments vaguely.
The unusual name befits everything I find weirdly fascinating about this golden-haired man. His seemingly perfect, almost angelic appearance tempered by the memory of his anguished music, played alone and in the shadows. Nothing but his violin and loneliness to hold his hand.
My curiosity is only heightened by the fact that he played like fucking Vivaldi without being able to even see where to place his fingertips. But as I scrutinise him, silently berating myself for being foolish enough to show an ounce of interest, I realise he can see.
Perhaps more than I can.
Perhaps more than any of us can.
“Hmm.” Raine tilts his head again in that strange, calculating way as he stares in my general direction. “Is it guava?”
“I’m sorry?” I splutter.
His mouth twitches again. “Your body wash. I couldn’t place it last night.”
I watch his tongue dart out to wet his full lips, almost like he’s tasting the air. Brain still short-circuiting, I mentally slap myself hard enough to knock myself back into gear.
“So?” he presses.
“I’m not sure how my choice of body wash is any concern of yours.”
Doctor Galloway is watching us like we’re some fascinating car crash unfolding. That doesn’t stop Raine from studying me with every sense available to him from behind those odd glasses.
“When you disturb my violin practise smelling like a walking smoothie, it becomes my business.”
Cocky son of a bitch.
“Then find somewhere else to practise,” I snap back.
Steeling my shoulders, I’m about to push past him when footsteps march down the corridor towards us. My back is turned to whoever is approaching as I move to escape into the therapy room.
I can’t see the newcomer—I only hear a sonorous, low-pitched bark.
“Raine! You done, man?”
No.
It can’t be.
“Yes,” Raine replies.
With the creeping agony of ice filling my veins, I’m forced to slowly turn to confirm the nightmare I’m living. As soon as I look, I’ll know it’s just my imagination.
Wake the fuck up, Ripley.
He isn’t here. He can’t be here.
I made sure of it the day I left Priory Lane and all its bad memories behind. Those two demons showing up in my dreams can’t have been an omen. I made sure they’d never see the light of day again for what they did.
The son of a bitch I buried alive is walking right towards me, those muscle-carved shoulders as broad as ever, bearing the weight of his sadistic cruelty. My demons have escaped their state-funded prison.
I’m staring at Lennox Nash.
Gorgeous.
Insane.
Categorically evil.
When his pale, seafoam eyes land on me, I have the pleasure of seeing his utter shock. Clearly, he also didn’t expect to be running into a ghost this morning. I have a split second to summon a perfectly blank expression.
“Lennox.” My voice is flat and emotionless. “It’s been a long time.”
We’ve played this game before. It doesn’t take long for his shock to vanish, replaced with his ever-present rage. Lennox is the definition of angry man syndrome.
He’s furious with the whole fucking world and out to solve all his problems with his fists. Those muscles weren’t made in the gym, though he spends most of his time in it. Lennox’s strength comes from a lifetime of fist fights.
Long overdue for a shave, his round jaw is smothered in dark-chocolate hair. Those furious, deep-lidded eyes sit above a slightly upturned nose, marred by a small bump above the bridge. No doubt cracked beneath knuckles during one of his countless fights.
A small silver ring glints in his left ear, matching the silver chains peeking out of his white t-shirt. The fitted sweatpants that hug his tight ass and bulging thighs should be prohibited. I hate that he’s so goddamn attractive.
“Tell me this is a joke.” He halts several metres away. “For your sake, I better be imagining this shit.”
My hands curl into balls at my sides. I’ll fight my way out of this if I have to. Make no mistake, Lennox isn’t the kind of man to allow his enemies to escape unscathed.
I went for the jugular the day I left Priory Lane behind, uncaring of the consequences of my actions. If he didn’t hate me before, he sure as fuck does now. I made sure they knew who arranged their misfortune.
“Shouldn’t you be dead by now?” I clip out.
Lennox’s lip curls, baring his perfect teeth in a snarl. “Was that your plan?”
“I’m disappointed that you thought I intended anything else.”
Our audience looks as bemused as I feel by his sudden appearance. Doctor Galloway is lingering in the doorway to her office, seeming conflicted as to whether she should intervene or not. Raine’s head swivels back and forth, tracking the sound of our voices.
Arms folded across his barrel chest, Lennox glares at me with enough fury to melt the skin from my bones. I can almost feel the individual skin cells catching alight and turning to liquid mulch.
Those light-green eyes once terrified me. But I needn’t have feared him or his best friend. In the end, it wasn’t my blood they wanted. They settled for stealing my soul and trampling it to pathetic, irreparable pieces.
“We were almost killed!” he yells.
“Well, Nox...” I unleash a sadistic smile. “ You killed me first.”
“Clearly, I didn’t do a good enough job of it.” Nostrils flaring, his voice is a spine-chilling warning.
“Clearly.”
“Don’t worry, Rip. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
It happens so fast, Doctor Galloway is powerless to intervene. He closes the distance between us in a flash. Raine is shoved aside as Lennox lunges forward to attack, his huge hands easily finding my throat.
Slammed against the wall, pain radiates through my skull when the back of my head connects with the hard brick. His scarred hands are two huge clamps squeezing the very air from my windpipe, worsened by the sharp bite of his nails digging into my flesh.
I grab his wrists, attempting to wrestle myself free. My lungs are on fire. Burning. Smouldering. A scorching torrent blazing ever stronger behind my ribcage. He’s actually going to kill me this time.
Maybe I’ll enjoy it.
My empire of sin will die with me.
“Nox!” Raine yells.
At the same time, Doctor Galloway speaks up. “Stop it!”
But still, my attacker refuses to relent. He’s determined to choke me to death for every last ounce of pain I arranged to be inflicted upon him. I doubt any achievement of mine will ever compare.
“Do you have any idea what they did to us?” Lennox spits, his saliva hitting my face. “Or the twisted shit I had to watch them do to my best friend?”
Abandoning my futile attempts to overpower him, I settle for kneeing him in the dick instead. Thankfully, it’s far more effective, causing him to finally release me so I can breathe. Each inhale is an excruciating wheeze.
“He d-deserved to have his insides p-plucked out and examined!” I huff between gulps of air. “I h-hope they tore him apart and m-made you watch the show.”
Cupping his sore Crown Jewels, Lennox shoots me a glare. “I’m going to enjoy doing the exact same thing to you.”
The old Ripley would’ve run away screaming and locked herself in her dorm room. She would’ve let Holly protect her from the Big Bad Wolf and comforted herself with falsehoods like it’ll be okay.
But not this Ripley.
She isn’t the victim.
She’s the fucking predator now.
Catching my breath, I force my voice to steady. “I’m not a scared girl anymore. That person died alongside her best friend. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
The smug grin that overtakes his expression is yet another kick in the teeth. I’ll surrender every ounce of power I’ve carefully cultivated here for the chance to wipe it from his goddamn face.
“How is your precious friend?” Lennox taunts as he straightens. “What was her name again?”
Not even the distant sound of Doctor Galloway calling for security stops me. Hurling myself at him, I’m determined to drain every last drop of life from his veins.
Just like he did to me.
Just like he did to her .
“You know her name!” I tackle him to the thickly carpeted floor. “I hope her memory haunts you both!”
The sound of Raine’s shouts doesn’t stop us from battling. We tangle together and roll, both grappling for the upper hand. I know he won’t go down without a fight, but any ounce of self-preservation I had has been obliterated.
I don’t care about survival right now. Fuck the countless lives I’ve sacrificed to protect my own worthless hide. I’ll give it all up for the chance to draw blood. To repay him for the life he so cruelly stole.
Lennox Nash deserves to die.
And I want the privilege of claiming the kill.
Knuckles crunching and skin splitting, I inflict as many blows as I can before the thunder of security approaching causes me to falter. Lennox is beneath me, a stunning curtain of blood pouring from his split eyebrow.
“You’re in my institute now.” I lean close to whisper menacingly. “This time, I’ll be the one to take everything from you.”
“Like hell!” he roars.
“Be afraid, Nox. Be fucking afraid.”
With my parting shot fired, I let my body go limp. I’m easily plucked off him and dragged backwards by two guards. A bubble of hysterical laughter inches up my throat, and I gladly release it.
“Take her to the warden’s office!” Doctor Galloway demands. “Now!”
“She’s a psychopath.” Lennox swipes dribbles of blood from his face. “Put her in solitary and throw away the damn key.”
“You’ll be joining her for inciting violence, Mr Nash!”
Poor, foolish Galloway.
She has no idea what she’s dealing with. Lennox and his sadistic best friend only speak the language of violence, and a night in a padded cell won’t ever change that.
A pair of hands loop under my arms, then my ankles are seized. Lifted into the air, I don’t even fight it. Trying to run from Harrowdean is futile. Its irrevocable sickness gets us all in the end.
As I’m carried away to whatever punishment lies ahead, all I can see is the slight upturn of Raine’s lips. It isn’t happiness contorting his features. Not even amusement. He just heard me attempt to kill his friend.
And somehow…
He looks impressed.