Chapter 12 Elodie
ELODIE
Every step I take away from The Sanctum fuels the anger that’s been ignited inside me. Up is down, left is right, and everything in between is just as jumbled. Instead of stealing my breath like it usually does, it sends my pulse thrumming wildly, echoing in my ears.
I’m mad, I’m furious, but worse than that, I’m numb.
Not in the way I would usually shut down my entire emotions and pretend the world doesn’t exist, but in a sense of shutting down the pain and heartache, leaving only fury in my veins.
The interruption I expect as I march toward the portal doesn’t come, but as I stride through the magical vale, acting as though I know what I’m doing, I startle when it’s Institute Thirteen that comes into view instead of the dark, wooden halls of the academy building that I anticipated.
My breath lodges in my throat as a sense of déjà vu washes over me. It takes me a second to understand, but it quickly hits me like a ton of bricks when I realize this is where I had stood at Kael’s side when I first arrived.
That’s the first moment my magic burst from my palms, the first time I watched in horror as someone sank to their knees before me, life draining from their face, leaving them gaunt. My gut twists at the thought. Everything has changed since then.
Or has it?
I may have begun to trust Kael since that day, but I didn’t when I first arrived, and despite how much I let my guard down around him, I’m back, and the trust is gone again.
One thing that definitely hasn’t changed is the sense of loss that weighs on me. Now more than ever. As I blink at the gothic building, a sense of belonging still doesn’t resonate inside of me.
Wiping a hand down my face, I exhale slowly, willing for a clear path to my next step to appear, but all that lies before me is the walkway to the institute.
Why did I come back here?
I shake my head, the anger inside of me growing stronger as I silently berate myself.
I was so focused on hiding from Jude that I forgot the biggest betrayal of them all: Kael.
My ears burn as my pulse throbs in my ears, every emotion I feel turning into burning flames dancing in the rage that consumes me.
He’s probably on his way to retrieve me for his brother right now.
I’m sure of it. If not, I’m sure he’ll be a step behind me, waiting to gather further information for The Sanctum, as Anya revealed.
I hate how much pleasure she took in exposing his truth, but instead of getting mad at her, my frustration lies with him and me.
My head spins with the possibilities of what’s to come. They’re endless, and undeniably out of my depth. I need to run, but I know I won’t get far.
Pressing my fingertips into my temples, I heave a sigh as I blink up at the overcast sky. Even the sun doesn’t want to be present for the carnage coming my way. Pursing my lips, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and the second I do, a new sense of urgency claims me.
I don’t have to run. What I need is an outlet for the emotions churning inside of me. The moment I think the words into existence, my gaze snags on the building, forming a pit in my stomach as I recall what lies on the other side.
A door.
It’s not a magical door leading to a far-off world full of hope and excitement.
It’s a dark, sinister door that leads to pain and destruction.
Instead of taking the few steps up to the entrance and hurrying to my room, my feet carry me around the building, my steps slowing slightly as the flash of a memory comes to mind.
My father, bound and beaten at the hands of Kael and Rion. If what Thorne says is true, his role was to heal the captured man so they could unleash hell on him once again. It’s not the vision that plagues me; it’s the emotions that took root.
I didn’t give myself a chance to process anything in that room. I did what I do best: I ran. But now I know my emotions were not aimed at the right person or people; they will be next time. They will be now.
I reach for the door handle. Not a single breath of air parts my lips as it twists, unlatching a second later to reveal the dark and dingy staircase that leads down to my father’s prison.
Tension ripples through me as I leave the door hanging slightly ajar, my focus set on the stone steps leading me into what feels like the pits of Hell.
It’s only when I reach the bottom, the second door appearing before me, that I manage to exhale, but the reprieve is short-lived as I recall the tingle of emotions that plagued me the last time I was here.
Before I can think better of it, I reach for the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Panic ensues as I desperately try to open the door, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s locked.
Fuck.
Dammit.
Taking a step back, the door is barely visible with the sliver of light coming from above. The obstacle that stands before me turns my chest into a raging inferno as my emotions collide with one another, but the core objective remains the same.
I have to get on the other side of this door.
Now.
Trying the handle again, it’s not really a surprise when it doesn’t budge, but it still continues to make me mad as a frustrated scream parts my lips.
Slamming my palms against the door, my snarl is interrupted as a thunderous clap sounds around me.
In slow motion, the door falls away from me, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
My chest heaves as I blink in disbelief, the barrier no longer standing in my way. Running my tongue over my lips, I blindly reach for the swinging light switch, and the room quickly comes to life.
The dim light casts more shadows than it illuminates. My gaze falls to the center of the room, where a familiar figure is seated, bound to a chair in filthy clothes, and the stench of urine hangs heavy in the air.
His forehead crinkles as his eyebrows gather, his head lifting just enough for his gaze to capture mine. My breath stutters as I stare at the beast before me, and for the first time in my life, when it’s just the two of us, I’m not the one in the compromised position.
Slowly, he sits up straight in his chair, a hiss parting his lips as he grinds his teeth together, but he manages to keep his composure as he glances around the room. It takes him a moment to understand it’s just me, and I watch as a familiar grin spreads across his face.
He’s celebrating a victory before he’s even been declared the winner.
“Elodie, thank God,” he grumbles, rolling his wrists, but instead of easing his muscles, it simply grinds his skin against the bindings.
“Untie me,” he commands, and his words kick me into action.
Yet my feet don’t carry me toward him, but off to the right of the room where the wooden workbench is pressed against the wall.
A ragged cloth is rolled out along the wood, housing an abundance of tools, each one more blood-stained than the last.
“Hurry up, Elodie,” he gripes, rocking in the seat so it grinds against the floor, but it doesn’t seem to move.
Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I shake my head. “I’m not here to rescue you,” I breathe, swiftly turning my attention back to the workbench, letting my curiosity about the tools get the better of me.
Walking the line, I delicately run my finger across each steel tool that sits along the edge.
Pliers, hammers, screwdrivers, blades, and spanners.
There truly isn’t a single clean one here.
I wonder if all the blood is his. Tilting my face, I peer over at him once again as my hand gets comfortable on top of one of the hammers.
“I’m not playing around, Elodie. You’d better release me now before they come back,” he warns, the veins in his neck protruding as he tries desperately to restrain the anger that lives in him, but it’s too late; I can already hear it in his voice.
Usually, it would make me tremble and encourage me to cower away from him, but for the first time, with the power balance firmly clear between us, I feel empowered.
“You’d better consider your position right now before you proceed to shoot orders at me,” I retort, cocking a brow at him.
His nostrils flare as his fists clench, but to my surprise, he drops his head, letting his chin fall to his chest once more as he exhales, a defeated huff drooping his shoulders.
“Please, Elodie,” he whispers, a tight sniffle ringing through the air as he looks up through his lashes at me.
“Please help me. Your mother will be worried sick. It’s not safe here for either of us, and you know it.
” My chest tightens at his words as he mentions my mother, and I feel myself on the brink of folding, until I recall exactly how she didn’t protect me when I needed it most.
Would it have been different if I were their biological child? I’ll never know, and that’s a reality I have to live with. I’m already overwhelmed enough as it is, so instead of letting another what-if fester away in my mind, I compartmentalize it and save it for a rainy day.
I tap the hammer beneath my hand, considering my next step, but before I can doubt myself, I wrap my fingers around the handle and carry it loosely at my side as I approach the other wooden chair in the room that sits directly across from my father.
I don’t say a word as I kick it a little closer before taking a seat, my weapon resting in my lap.
My spine stiffens as I let my anger take control, burning into an air of confidence that feels like uncharted territory. “So it’s true, you’re not my father,” I state, and he sighs, pleading eyes finding mine, lined with unshed tears, but I don’t waver.
“Elodie, please, can we discuss this on the way home?” he begs, and I shake my head.
“We have time. Answer my questions, and we’ll go.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth, agitation bunching his shoulder muscles together. “You don’t call the shots around here, girl. I—”
“I’d say I do, actually,” I interject, feeling the weight of the hammer in my hand as I peer at him. “I’d say it’s you who needs to follow my orders.”
He gulps, but the sense of uncertainty evaporates instantly as he bares his teeth, snarling at me.
“Listen here, you wretched little bitch,” he starts, but before he can finish whatever bullshit was about to fall from his lips, I stand, taking two long strides toward him and let the hammer fall on his thigh.
A hollow cry fills the air, rage burning from his lungs as a sense of amusement tickles up my spine.
“I’m so sorry, what were you about to say? I can’t quite hear you,” I muse, bringing the head of the hammer to his chin as I widen my eyes, blinking at him expectantly.
“You’re going to fucking pay for that,” he promises, and I grin.
It’s wicked, it’s promising, it’s… psychotic.
Spinning the weapon in my hand, I let it fall for a second time, crushing his hand a moment later as he howls in pain.
Delight churns in my stomach, unknotting all of the tension that has lived inside of me for as long as I can remember. Trying to contain my joy at his pain, I crouch before him, resting the head of the hammer under my chin this time.
“Did you ever regret it?”
It’s the one question I can’t quell my curiosity over. The rest, I know it doesn’t matter. I know in my heart of hearts that I was a golden ticket placed on his doorstep, offering him cash and a punching bag. A man of his caliber, what more would he want?
Just like earlier, my brain can’t comprehend the amount of what-ifs that revolve around this man, and crouched here before him, euphoria warming my soul at his demise, I have everything I need.
But this one damn question won’t go. I feel like a child, like the small girl who just wants her mom and dad to love her desperately but only ends up in more pain, no matter how hard she tries.
This question isn’t for me, it’s for her. It’s a piece of her healing, mine too, and after everything this man has done to me, I can’t deny that little child the one answer she seeks.
“There was nothing to regret,” he grunts, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as his nostrils flare.
Instinctively, I’m swarmed with the sense of deflation that comes with a truth like that, but instead of giving in to the excruciating ache that threatens to split my soul in two at his admission, I offer the kind words to myself that I so dearly sought from him.
You were enough, Little Elodie. Just like I’m enough now. That pain has shaped us into who we are. Let it forever be our strength.
It’s a vow, a promise, a mantra. To drive it home, I let that small part of me that still clings to childhood hope rise to the surface as I tighten my hold on the hammer. My gaze is locked on his, my heart calm for the first time in forever as I smile softly, contently, truly.
“I’m going to make sure you rest in pieces,” I breathe, defiant as his eyes widen in horror, tracking the hammer in my hands.
Effortlessly, I swing all of my strength into the metal in my hands, relishing in the crunch as it meets his skull, blood splattering over me like a burst pipe.
There’s no cry of pain or howl of rage this time. There’s nothing but silence.
It’s not enough, though.
I lift the weapon again, and again, and again, each blow meeting its target until he’s unrecognizable.
Certain he’s dead, I let the hammer fall loose at my side as I sway on my feet.
I stumble back two steps before I’m met with a firm but warm embrace.
Arms wrap around me gently as a familiar woodsy scent engulfs me.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”