6. Ripley
CHAPTER 6
RIPLEY
MISFITS – MAGNOLIA PARK & TAYLOR ACORN
Laying on my back with my feet above me, resting on the padded interior of the cell, I toss the apple I was given for breakfast up in the air. Do they seriously expect this pointless, solitary shit to work on me?
I get it. Bad Ripley . My role here is simple. Incite violence, addiction, fights—whatever the fuck I want—and supply all these worthless sons of bitches with enough self-destructive shit to fan the flames, but do not get involved. I’m supposed to remain neutral.
The perfect inside man.
An inconspicuous weapon.
My role definitely doesn’t entail beating the crap out of someone and almost revealing my hand. Secrets and subterfuge, remember? That’s the name of the game. Instead, I ran my mouth and threatened to kick Lennox’s well-toned ass.
In front of a clinician, no less.
Real fucking clever.
Catching the apple, my hand stills mid-throw when a loud shriek lances through the morning’s peace. Even through the walls of my padded cell, I can hear it. The terror. Fear so horrifying in its intensity, it would make a grown man run like a scared puppy.
Taking a big bite of the apple, I crunch through the sharp tartness, unfazed by whatever is unfolding around me. Better them than me. You don’t get far in a place like this by having an ounce of sympathy.
But as the shrieks continue to grow in pitch and intensity, feeling soon slinks back in. Ever the deadly assassin. What if it were Rae in there? Or Holly? Everyone is somebody to someone.
A brother. Lover.
Father. Sister.
Just because I don’t give a shit about the screamer one cell over doesn’t mean they don’t have family out there, praying for their safe return from the brink of insanity.
How different would this world be if we all cared a little bit more? Or allowed ourselves to admit that we give a shit about other people, even when they refuse to care about us?
No, Ripley.
I cared before.
Look where that got me.
To pass the time, I imagine Lennox in there instead. Screaming like a red-faced toddler begging for a snack. Hmm, nope. What about Lennox attached to electrodes, convulsing as he’s shocked repeatedly?
Much better.
Add in some bulging eyes and wet sweats too. What an awesome image. I’d pay to see that motherfucker torn apart for someone else’s entertainment. I don’t even want the leftover pieces. I just want to see him suffer while his limbs are removed.
I’ve yet to see the almighty keeper of his short leash. Xander was the only person who could ever keep that rabid dog in check. If Lennox is here, then his psychopathic overlord won’t be far behind.
I meant what I said.
This time, I will be the one to take everything from them. As soon as they let me out of this goddamned cell, I’ll plaster on a pretty smile to get myself back in management’s good books, then let the games begin.
A sharp rap on the steel door is my only warning before it’s unlocked and clanks open. I jut out my bottom lip, pouting like a child at Elon’s displeased glower.
“Poor, Elon. Sent to babysit the naughty patient.”
“Get the fuck up, Ripley.”
“Maybe I quite like it here.”
“You wanna stay another night?” he snorts. “Be my guest.”
Turning his back to leave me here, I quickly scramble, finding my feet. He tosses my confiscated shoes at me to put on. They took them when I was dragged here, like I’d attempt to use the laces to string myself up or something.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he sneers.
Shoes slid on, I surrender my wrists to be cuffed. “Whatever.”
He easily restrains me, then I’m dragged from the padded cell, out into a well-lit corridor surrounded by other occupied cells. This is the wing rolled out for clinical inspections and investors’ tours.
Trust me—if you’re taken into the other wing, you don’t walk out. Cuffed or not. And that circle of hell sure doesn’t make it into the fancy brochures laid out in the reception area.
“I thought you were smart enough to keep your head down,” Elon says disdainfully. “You want to lose the privileges you’ve been given, inmate?”
“Nothing about this life is fucking privileged.”
With a hiss, he spins and slams me up against the white-painted wall. I squeak in shock as his hand clenches around my already sore throat, squeezing on top of the fresh bruising inflicted by Lennox.
“You want to see the real horror show, Ripley? Don’t think for a second that you have it hard here. Watch your goddamn mouth, or you’ll lose it all.”
He tightens his grip until I nod, admitting defeat. I slump forward when he releases me, rubbing my aching throat. I’m going to be walking around like some kind of bruised up sex doll at the rate I’m pissing people off.
“Come on. The warden wants a word.”
“Fabulous,” I rasp.
He flashes me another warning look. “Attitude, inmate.”
This time, I have the sense of mind to keep my mouth shut.
I’m towed onwards, past the solitary confinement wing to the offices beyond. Warden Davis prefers to keep to himself far from the clinicians and patients alike. He’s paid far too much to lower himself to our level.
Gleaming linoleum turns to thick carpet as we enter the administrative side of the wing. At the third door to the left, marked with a small bronze plaque, Elon knocks politely then waits to be called in.
“Enter,” Davis calls out.
Inside, it’s as lush and pretentious as you’d imagine. Hardwood floors and thick, patterned rugs. A sprawling dark-wood desk littered with organised paperwork and framed photographs. Not to mention the middle-aged man of the hour in his fine grey suit and usual gold tie pin.
With salt-and-pepper hair, a neatly trimmed beard and deep set, coal-black eyes, Abbott Davis is the corporate dream. I’m sure Harrowdean’s PR team popped a fat boner the day he walked in. He’s the perfect poster boy for their pet project.
“Ah, Miss Bennet.” Davis’s usually professional tone is marked with annoyance today. “Take a seat.”
I have to bite back a sardonic response. “Warden.”
“I hear there has been some commotion.” His incisive gaze sweeps over me. “Care to explain yourself?”
Taking a seat opposite the desk, I wait for Elon to find his place in the corner of the room before responding. “It was nothing.”
“By Doctor Galloway’s account, you had an altercation with one of our new arrivals.”
Glancing out the window behind him, I try to act unaffected. I don’t want him to know how much power he holds over me. The fear he can so easily provoke. Before long, my eyes stray back to him though.
“Just… a little misunderstanding.”
“Is that so?” he hums with a slightly quirked lip. “Perhaps you’re also misunderstanding your role here, Miss Bennet.”
My heart hammers behind my ribcage. “No, sir.”
“When you transferred to Harrowdean Manor, I saw an opportunity for you. Has your time here not been… productive?”
The urge to scream in his picture-perfect face almost overwhelms me. Productive. I doubt the bereaved families of patients I’ve sold gear to would care for that choice of word. Frankly, I don’t either.
“Yes… sir,” I choke out.
“I’d hate to have to report back to one of my best investors that his niece isn’t behaving.”
I swallow hard, forcing down the hot ball of nausea making its way up my throat. Most days, I can forget that my uncle is the one who put me here. Or rather, his money did. He may be an investment banker by name, but that doesn’t mean all his enterprises feature on the FTSE 100.
Harrowdean and its sister branches run off the dirty money bankrolling their depravity and the carelessness of those splashing the cash while turning a blind eye. I just so happen to be related to one such piece of shit.
“If it wasn’t for Jonathan’s generous donation to facilitate your transfer, I doubt we would’ve accommodated such a volatile subject in this position.” Davis continues to study me. “I need someone I can count on.”
Panic takes root. I can feel my carefully laid plan unfolding. After losing Holly, I knew I had to do something. Anything to escape Priory Lane and the demons who took it from her. Begging my uncle for a quick transfer was a level I felt willing to stoop to.
Priory Lane could keep its new kings. I didn’t care enough to stop their ascension. But I wanted them broken, smashed to pieces and ground to a paste before they took their thrones. Then the world would see them as I did.
“I understand,” I reply.
“Do you?” He inclines his head, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then remind me. What is the purpose of a stooge?”
Lacing his fingers together, he props his chin on top and gives me his undivided attention. Does he want me to lay it out for him? Every last way I’ve corrupted my soul to avoid the torture I’ve seen inflicted on others?
If you haven’t figured it out yet, grab the fucking popcorn. How far does the depravity go? The answer would take far longer to explain than even I think I have left on this godforsaken planet.
And it starts right here. At the top.
“To be a secret participant.”
“In what?” Davis asks pointedly.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “In a psychological experiment.”
He smiles slyly. “The stooge acts like one of the patients, but their loyalties lie elsewhere. To further the aims of the research team and perform whatever task they may require of them.”
Tasks like selling drugs. Blades. Contraband. Whatever volatile elements the clinicians fancy throwing into the mix to elicit a new result. The more accelerant, the hotter the flames. That’s good for research and good for business. As long as it remains a secret. That’s why it’s all controlled from within by surveillance and the placement of a stooge to gain the patients’ trust.
I choose the perfect candidates.
Then sell to them so the clinicians can study the result.
I’m not just allowing them to hurt the vulnerable people in here for their own scientific purposes. No. Far worse. I’m the one hurting the patients here, people just like me, to avoid being hurt myself. Their pain is my protection.
The ultimate selfishness.
But don’t the selfish ones always survive the longest?
“You’ve been given a very comfortable life here, Miss Bennet. A lot of allowances have been made.”
“I understand that.”
“Then tell me why you’re attacking other patients and threatening Lord knows what?” Davis frowns like this whole conversation is an inconvenience. “When you’ve been explicitly told to keep your nose clean?”
I don’t respond. He doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say. It’ll only buy me a one-way ticket back into that padded cell. Or somewhere far worse. A useless stooge is a dead stooge. Rich uncle or not.
“We have to keep the program running as discreetly as possible. You signed yourself over to us the day you agreed to work for us.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat monotonously.
What I wouldn’t give to puppeteer him the same way that I do every other crazed, medicated patient in this place. I’m their God. But management? They’re mine.
“No more fighting.” He straightens, palms landing on his desk. “Do your job. I don’t want to see you in here again. Do you understand?”
His harsh tone brooks no argument. And fuck, do I want to argue. That broken, pitiful part of me, still convinced that we can piece the jagged shards of our morality back together, wants to stop this once and for all.
But I won’t walk away from Harrowdean if I do. This job offers me protection from the sickness the others must face. The truth behind the story everyone else is told about these institutes.
This isn’t just an experiment.
It’s far more sinister than that.
Behind the fa?ade—a successful, rehabilitative regimen for criminals and the insane alike—lies its true purpose. Camouflage for the program. An experiment of the sickest sort. The same torture I signed Xander and Lennox up for as a parting gift.
“Miss Bennet,” he barks, jerking me from my thoughts.
Nodding, I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood.
“Good. One more strike and I’ll be forced to re-evaluate your place here.”
It takes all of my self-control to summon a pretty fucking smile and plaster it in place. If I’m removed by management and subjected to God knows what, Lennox and Xander won’t hesitate to take my place.
It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve grabbed power. They saw what Holly was, the control she had. She didn’t stand a chance against them once they decided to take it from her. To become the stooges themselves.
“Get out of my sight.” Davis dismisses me with a terse nod. “And heed my warning, Miss Bennet.”
Keeping my lips sealed, I stand then scuttle from the room. He has to think that he’s subjugated me. That the threat of punishment is far greater than my desire for revenge. Little does he know, I’d sacrifice it all to taste blood.
The lives I’ve traded for my own mean nothing while those monsters continue to breathe air. I thought they were gone. Lost in the system. Broken by whatever the fuck Priory Lane’s special wing decided to do with them once I arranged their induction.
Yet they live.
But not for long.
I’ll have to do it myself. Tear them apart, chunk by blood slick chunk, until they beg to return to the purgatory they crawled out of. It will look like paradise in comparison to what I spent my night in solitary planning for them.
Leading me back out to the reception, Elon pauses to unlock my handcuffs. The handful of patients floating around avert their eyes when I glower at them.
“See something that interests you?”
The onlookers quickly dissipate.
Elon snickers at the fear that fills their expressions as they scurry away. Rubbing my sore wrists, I spare him a nod then leave before he can change his mind.
The stairs leading up towards the residential floors feel endless. My legs are two concrete-filled pillars attached to my body after a sleepless night. Halfway up to the second floor, I hear their voices descending.
Familiarity is another sharp and unwelcome slap in the face. After a year spent trying to erase the memories that haunt me, hearing them so close feels like living a nightmare.
“The dickhead started it.” Lennox’s voice is a low grumble. “Who takes five minutes to decide which damn cereal to eat?”
“You can’t just go around punching people, Nox.”
“Says who?”
“Erm, the fucking law?” I recognise the raspy tenor of Raine responding. “Are you looking for trouble?”
“He doesn’t even have to look for it,” a voice responds.
The third voice causes a chill to break out across my skin. As if a snowstorm has swept over the staircase, the air is laced with frigid anticipation of his arrival. I knew he was here. But hearing him takes me right back to that night.
It was before my entire world changed. His cool, clinical touch brought me to life. A lash of pain. Soft, wet swipes of his tongue soothing the sting. Limbs pinned and spreadeagled. Powerless. At his utter, irrevocable mercy.
Fuck!
I turn and bolt back down the stairs before they can spot me. I’m no coward, but I have to play this smart. Facing off against Xander fucking Beck in this state will win me no awards. Plotting how to take down the king of cold calculation already took me several hours of pondering.
Ducking behind a tall potted plant at the bottom of the staircase, I hold my breath and wait. It doesn’t take long for them to descend. Xander walks at the head of the group. Lennox stomps behind, a hand grasping the cute violinist’s elbow.
“You know,” Raine begins. “If she?—”
“Not here,” Xander clips out.
Lennox steers his friend towards the south wing where the daily classes are located. They trade conspiratorial whispers that I can’t make out, and I keep my breath held until they disappear.
Shit.
I’ll never get close enough to inflict any amount of damage when they’re all together. Lennox has already had his hands around my throat. And I have no doubt Xander would happily give him another chance to choke me to death. As long as he could watch.
Breaking outside into the quad, it’s a bright but freezing cold January day. Those not in therapy or classes mill about, wrapped in wool scarves and bobble hats. Guards bounce on their feet, red hands cupped over their mouths in attempts to warm up.
I have a plan.
All I need is a sacrificial lamb.
Scanning the smattering of picnic benches, he’s in his usual spot. Noah likes the bite of cold air. He once told me it makes him feel something, if only for a second. His depressive episodes come more frequently than mine.
“Look alive,” I greet wearily.
His head snaps up as I approach. “Ripley. Heard you got taken to the hole.”
“News travels fast, huh?”
“In this place?” He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing much else to do than gossip.”
“Well, people better not get too excited. I’m back now.”
“They were probably more concerned about where to source their shit from than excited.”
I loop a leg over the bench seat. “Were you concerned about that too?”
“I’m not a junkie.” Noah sighs. “I have no interest in buying drugs.”
“Well, I don’t just sell drugs. Interested in a trade?”
A sparkle briefly lights his sad, lifeless eyes. Everyone has that one thing. A pressure point. Find it and you’ll own them, head to fucking toe. I just need to know what Noah’s crutch is beyond meaningless one-night stands with batshit crazy drug dealers.
“I have a job that needs doing.” I lower my voice, subtly glancing around. “You see the newbie yet?”
“Which one?” he replies. “I counted several.”
“Big. Bulky. A sour-faced bastard with a bad attitude.”
Noah snorts. “Saw him punch someone in the breakfast line this morning. That your guy?”
Fucking Lennox.
“Bingo.”
“What about him?”
“I want you to pick a fight. Make it look like he started it. You’re gonna get hurt, enough to get him thrown into the hole for a good while.”
His brow line raises. “Why would I do that?”
“Name the price. It’s yours.”
Noah’s mouth opens and closes several times before he finally responds. “You’re serious?”
One day, people will stop underestimating me. Until then, I have to justify myself to idiots like Noah who see nothing but a mousy girl playing a game she doesn’t understand.
“Do I look like I’m kidding around?” I gesture angrily.
While he chews over my proposal, I feel my plan begin to solidify. I can’t get to Xander while his rabid pet is around. He serves his master too well. Remove Lennox from the picture, and Xander is free game.
That is how I’ll win.
Break their family, and I break them.
“Well?” I push anxiously. “What’ll it be?”
Gnawing on his lip, Noah seems to decide something. He nods to himself, not quite in defeat but with a look of satisfied resignation. I tap my fingers against the wooden bench and sigh.
“Noah?”
“I don’t care what it is, but I want enough of it to OD. That’s my price.”
Taken aback, I feel my spine stiffen as shock coils within me. “To overdose?”
He watches me stoically. “Yes. In exchange, I’ll let him fuck me up so bad, he never sees the light of day again.”
My mind whirls. “So this OD… We talking hospitalisation or… you know, night-night?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in what is almost a smile. “Well, let’s just say we better make our next booty call the last.”
With icy dread pulsating through me, I simply stare. Not at my hook-up. Not even at my fellow patient. He’s just another human, another sufferer, without an ounce more to give to this world. He wants me to kill him.
A life for a life.
Is revenge worth that price?
“Noah…”
“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t bother.”
“But—”
“No.” Noah holds up a hand. “I know you’ve been where I am.”
“Look, this isn’t?—”
“I said no. I’m done, Rip.”
“I can get you anything. Just… not that.”
“That’s what I want,” he reiterates.
Taking a moment to consider, I stare at him. Every last telling detail. Who am I to tell him what he should do? I’m nothing to him. Not really.
Only someone who’s been at the bottom of that black pit, the crushing weight of the earth pulverising their bones to ash as it bears down on them can understand how truly bleak it feels.
Like I said, doctors don’t want to advertise the benefits of being high, and feeling invincible, like the whole world is your oyster. But at least when you’re manic as fuck, you don’t want to kill yourself. I’ll take that sweet deal any day.
If I take his life, am I depriving him of the chance to feel that euphoria again? To find hope, peace or even a life without all this misery? Can I live with myself knowing that he’ll never have the chance to find out?
Yes.
Yes, I can.
Because I told you... I’m not the good guy. I’m not even the misunderstood but morally redeemable fuck-up. The troubled kid with a good heart. There are enough stories out there about that person—go to the damn library and see for yourself.
I’m the monster they made me. Born from blood and thirsty for revenge, enough to sacrifice an innocent to achieve that goal. For some, redemption isn’t realistic. All we have is our rage to keep us warm at night.
“If we do this… I can’t have it lead back to me.”
“I’m sure you can figure out the details,” he replies in a bored tone. “Not like I’m gonna be here to deal with the repercussions.”
“Yeah, hilarious.”
But Noah isn’t laughing. He holds out his hand towards me. Would you hate me less if I say I hesitate? Because I don’t. Not even for a second. Our hands link as we seal the deal.
It’ll take a while to sneak enough of what he needs from incoming batches of contraband. I can’t exactly request a nice little cocktail on his behalf. Even Harrowdean has its standards, and typically, test subjects have to be alive to be helpful.
“I’ll need a while to source everything. When it’s go time, you better be ready.”
“Not like I’m going anywhere, is it?” he counters.
“I guess not.” Feeling like I need to say more, I dare to allow a sliver of emotion into my voice. “I’ll remember you.”
Lips thinning, he shakes his head.
“Please don’t. Not like this.”