22. Chapter 22
The stench of copper and bleach clung to the back of my throat, a grim reminder of the mess I’d just left behind.
Another inmate had been brutally stabbed to death in their cell, and as Blackthorne's cleaner, the gory aftermath was my responsibility.
It always stunned me how how easily a single, violent tear in the flesh could paint an entire concrete room in shades of crimson.
Scrubbing the evidence of someone else's mortality off my hands and elbows had taken far longer than anticipated, leaving me running behind schedule.
But as I finally walked down the subterranean corridor toward his block, my ears were bare.
Despite a hasty decision to buy a new cheap pair, I had left my earbuds behind today.
There was no sense in deliberately provoking him.
My new strategy was simple: play along, de-escalate, and survive.
Especially now that I knew those heavy iron handcuffs were nothing but a polite suggestion to him.
As I approached the final threshold, I cast a wary, sideways glance at the two guards flanking me.
I studied their rigid posture, the blank expressions carved into their faces.
Which one was actually drawing a paycheck from Blackthorne, and which one was secretly drawing a salary from the monster inside?
The heavy steel door groaned, swinging open to reveal the dim, shadow-drenched cell. And there he was—chained to the wall, a slow smile already curving his lips.
"You're late, doll," the Jester murmured. He tilted his head. "And here I was, starting to think you'd stood me up."
I dragged my cleaning cart into the cell, keeping my expression flat. "Someone was murdered," I replied dryly, grabbing a fresh bottle of disinfectant. "It was bloody. It took a while to clean up."
The Jester chuckled. "Oh, isn't it spectacular how much a human being can bleed when you strike them in just the right place?
That's exactly why knives were always my favorite, you know. A gun is so loud, so detached. Anyone can pull a trigger from across a room. But a blade requires you to stand close enough to feel their heartbeat slow down. It’s just so much more...
personal." His eyes flitted closed, as if he was thinking back to a fond memory.
Fucking hell.
“Yeah, well... just another thrilling day on the Blackthorne payroll,” I muttered, tossing a glance over my shoulder before dunking the mop into the bucket. The wet fabric slapped against the stone floor with a heavy, rhythmic thud as I began working it back and forth.
“Tell me—how long have you been gracing these dreary halls with your presence?”
“Eight years,” I answered, keeping my eyes fixed on the gray soap scum.
The Jester let out a low, appreciative whistle that echoed off the damp concrete.
“Eight years? That’s practically a lifetime in a place like this. Impressive, doll.”
I offered a stiff shrug. “It’s steady pay.”
“But grueling, thankless work.”
I didn't answer. I could feel the intense, unblinking weight of his gaze tracking the precise arc of my arms, mapping every breath I took.
“It isn’t too bad,” I lied, my voice tight.
“Hm.” A dangerous, thoughtful sound. I could practically hear the gears turning behind those sharp eyes. “Tell me... does it ever bother you how truly hollow it all is?”
My arms froze mid-stroke. The mop remained pressed against the stone as I forced a slow, steady breath through my nose, staring hard at the floor. Ignore him. Just keep moving.
“I mean, spending your days wiping up the literal and metaphorical aftermath of these wretched souls?” The Jester dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, gesturing with a slight, elegant tilt of his chin toward the corridor.
“Let me be the first to tell you, sweetface... the people in this building are absolutely crazy.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep it from escaping. Hearing a notorious mass murderer casually judge the sanity of others was a level of dark irony I wasn’t prepared for.
But the Jester wasn't done.
"Think about it. You wake up, you drag yourself into this shithole, and you clean up blood and guts.
Then, you go home, you eat a solitary dinner, you sleep, and then...
" he let out a sharp, mocking little pop of his lips.
"...you repeat. Every single day. Is that really all you want out of this fleeting existence? "
I swallowed hard, gripping the mop handle until my knuckles turned white.
"We all have to pay the bills," I managed to say, though it sounded weak even to my own ears.
"Ah, money. The root of all evil, of course. A tedious little human invention to keep the sheep in line. So let’s play a game, doll—let’s pretend the chains of capitalism don't exist. If you could have done anything with your life—if the world was entirely yours for the taking—what would you have done? "
I opened my mouth to answer, to fire back with something sharp and dismissive, but the words withered on my tongue. I stared at the murky water in my bucket.
What would I have done?
The truth was, I had spent so long just trying to survive the mundane loop of my life, so long hiding in the shadows, that the question felt like a foreign language. I had absolutely no idea.
Silence stretched between us.
A smug grin stretched across the Jester's face.
"See?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "My point exactly, doll."
I finally forced the words out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to be a veterinarian. I wanted to heal things, to save animals."
The Jester’s smirk softened, yet his sharp gaze remained analytical. "How noble," he murmured. "And what snatched that dream from your fingers?"
"College was too expensive."
"Ah. A tragedy engineered by design. Especially considering the so-called white knights of our fair city.
The politicians who quietly stripped funding from those programs, ensuring that securing federal loans for veterinary medicine is a bureaucratic nightmare.
And even if you succeeded, they'd shackle you to a lifetime of suffocating student debt.
A crushing weight to carry for the crime of wanting to care for the helpless.
I have absolutely no problem killing people.
But to harm a puppy or a kitten? Whoever could do something like that is the one who's truly evil. "
I stopped working, leaning the handle of my mop against the iron bars of his cell. A surreal wave of vertigo washed over me. Here I was, standing in the bowels of Blackthorne, debating the predatory nature of capitalism and higher education with a notorious mass murderer.
Yet, I couldn't look away.
"The reality is simple, doll," the Jester murmured, his voice dropping to a low, hypnotic cadence.
"I know what the papers print. I know my reputation.
They call me crazy. But the truth is, I simply see the world exactly as it is, stripped of its pretty illusions.
These politicians, these grand institutions—they hide behind shiny marketing, polished banners, and a false gospel of justice.
But look closer, doll. They are the true criminals. "
He shifted, the heavy links of his chains rattling like a grim applause to his words. His eyes burned with a terrifyingly clear conviction.
"They bleed the populace dry, dollar by dollar, until an entire generation is starving under the boot of debt.
And who reaps the harvest? The one percent and the corporate CEOs and university board members who profit off your shattered dreams, while people like you and me get trampled into the dirt. "
I blinked. “Uh, yeah. The system sucks.” It was the most logical thing I could say because I truly had to remind myself that this person in front of me was responsible for killing many, many people and nothing in my moral code justified that.
I went back to work, the rhythmic scraping of my mop the only sound breaking the quiet, until his voice cut through the air again.
“Come here, doll.”
I froze. In all the weeks I’d spent cleaning his cell, he had never once asked me to step closer. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m working.”
“Oh, Elara. There’s another thing you should learn about me I don’t like asking twice. Either you come to me, or I come to you, sweetface. The choice is yours.”
A shiver crawled down my spine. Everything inside my head screamed at me to remember who he was, to remember the danger coiled behind his eyes.
Yet, as if my body had mutinied against my brain, my legs moved on their own.
I turned and stepped into his immediate space, stopping just inches away.
His dark eyes tracked my every movement before he casually patted his lap, his legs stretched out in front of him.
“What?” I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Sit on my lap, doll.”
“No, absolutely not, this isn’t—”
I spun on my heel to retreat, but he was faster.
In a flash of terrifying speed, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a band of iron.
With an effortless tug, he hauled me downward.
I lost my footing, tumbling onto him with a breathless gasp.
To keep from crashing into the stone wall, I instinctively shifted, my legs straddling either side of his hips as I landed squarely in his lap.
Being this close was dizzying. I could smell the sharp, intoxicating scent of his skin, and for the first time, I could see the jagged, pale lines of the scars slicing through his skin.
Before I could even think to scramble away, the Jester tilted his chin up, his gaze dropping to my lips. He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as he closed the distance for a kiss.
“What—what are you doing?” I stammered, pressing my hands against his shoulders to hold him back, my chest heaving.