29. Alaric
ALARIC
“Almost done,” I tell Fraser from my place at his feet as I work on his third wound. “Hold still or I’m sewing your eyes shut next.”
“Mmm.” Barely conscious, he whines through the duct tape. “Mmm.”
It’s been like this the whole time I’ve been here. He passes out, stirs, jerks in his seat, then makes pathetic sounds.
All the while, I’ve been ignoring him, sliding my needle through his cheek first, his abdomen second, and finally his thigh.
As predicted, I’ve been sloppy. But I’m pleased with how fast I’m wrapping things up.
Faster means giving my future patients a better chance of survival.
It also means getting to Lilith’s at a decent hour.
If only this bastard would stop getting on my last nerve.
“Bitching, Mr. Robinson.” I guide the needle through his flesh for another pass, drawing the edges of his skin together until they meet. “Won’t do you any good. Not to mention, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Mmm.” He tries anyway, tears rolling down his cheeks and onto his naked chest.
That motherfucker, acting as if he’s earned the right to cry.
My hand twitches, begging me to jab the needle into his flesh just for the fuck of it.
Absolutely not.
If I do that, I’ll have to stay here longer than I intend to.
Without her.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, a heavy feeling settles at the base of my skull. It’s the same one I’ve had at the hospital.
“Goddammit.” I shake my head, refusing to give in to paranoia.
B1 is usually pretty empty. Even if someone did pass by, the room is soundproof.
No one’s stalking me. No one sees, hears, or suspects me.
The only logical explanation, then, for the pressure in my head, is Lilith. Every day, the pull toward her grows stronger, an unstoppable spiral down the sweetest rabbit hole.
That’s all there is to it.
“These won’t get infected.” Instead of stabbing Fraser with the needle, I weave another suture through his skin. “You’re not getting out of here any time soon.”
Fraser’s body jolts violently. Snot dribbles down his nose.
“Hold still, I said.”
Instead of obeying, he’s thrashing and screaming. As if that will save him.
“The more you move,” I warn, “the more painful it’ll be.”
Nothing stops him.
Fine with me.
I keep going until I tie a knot, then trim the excess thread.
What a mess, I think as I pour saline all over his wounds to the sound of his screams. A gnarly one at that.
I’d be ashamed of the final result.
That is, if I gave a fuck. I don’t.
I came here to improve my time and get to Lilith within the hour. With the sixth tap of the timer and a glance at the clock on the wall, I know I’ve accomplished both.
Next is removing my gloves and writing everything down in my notebook.
The depth of the cut and the knife I used.
How much blood he lost before I began stitching him.
The subject’s physical reactions, his vital signs.
The stitching technique and how long it took me to sew him back up.
Once I make sure I haven’t missed a single detail, I slap the notebook closed, then change out of my work clothes. While Fraser groans and throws his body left and right as much as the ropes allow, I slip into the clean jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie I brought with me.
“You’re wasting your breath.” After picking up my backpack off the floor, I give him a look that says you might be suffering, but I’m bored as hell. “After the stunt you pulled, I bolted the chair to the floor. Or have you forgotten?”
His bloodshot eyes stare back at me, his desperation leaking through his gaze.
“Is that a please, let me go, Fraser?”
“Mmm.” He nods.
“When Steven begged you to stop hitting him…” My keyring rests in my hand, my body already angled toward the door. “I’m willing to bet you never listened. You never stopped. That’s how I found him.”
I turn fully around, lowering my face to his.
“How I found you.”
At that, he starts crying all over again, louder this time.
The temptation to hurt him worse makes me stay rooted in place instead of leaving like I should.
After I come up with an idea, I go over to the table.
The syringe I pick up is already filled with a sedative, a precaution for the slim chance Fraser manages to work himself loose from the ropes.
“Sweet dreams, fucker.” I angle the needle toward the freshly stitched muscle in his thigh and push it in.
Before I even press the plunger, Fraser pisses himself. I helped him to the bucket earlier—the one I dumped into the acid barrel—but fear has a way of taking control of a person’s bladder.
“I’d stick around to clean up after you”—my thumb presses down on the plunger, emptying the syringe into him—“but I have somewhere else to be.”
His only reply is his head lolling to the side, hanging limp while I discard the syringe.
With that, I leave, locking up behind me so I can take a quick shower before heading out to Lilith’s.
The corners of my lips quirk the farther I get from my storage unit.
Then, when my thumb hovers over the elevator button, I hear it.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
The stairwell.
Someone’s there.
Someone might’ve been stalking me after all.
Adrenaline shoots through my blood, sharpening my senses. My instincts lock onto the threat, and in two long steps, I’m at the stairwell, yanking the door open.
As soon as I do, a silent whoosh bounces against the walls, then…
Nothing.
Whoever was down here just went out into the street.
It could be just one of my neighbors.
I would’ve believed that, if not for that feeling from earlier.
That fucking feeling.
Fuck.
My muscles spring into motion, and I take the stairs two at a time. The door to the back of the building opens with the same infuriating whoosh I heard downstairs when I pull on it.
Grinding my teeth, I storm out into the crisp night air, my eyes darting left and right.
Where did they go? Which way?
And who were they?
“Dammit,” I hiss into the night as realization sinks in. I’ll never get my answers.
The streets are too dark. New York is too big, with too many places to slip into and hide. The lack of cameras in the back of the building—one of the reasons I chose this building out of the dozens in the area—is another thing working against me.
What could they have heard, though? A voice whispers in my head, urging my racing heart to calm the fuck down. You spent plenty of money soundproofing the unit. You tested it yourself. You’re good.
A deep, steadying breath. Then another. A third.
After a few more, my pulse evens out.
My fight response dulls as reason takes over. I’m overworked; that’s why I can’t think straight.
At that, a strange yet not unwelcome thought filters in as I go back inside the building.
Maybe it’s time to cut back on my trials.
I can do it without risking my patients’ lives. If I lean harder into documenting domestic violence in my charts, order ultrasounds to highlight healed fractures, and run tests to prove a pattern, the police won’t be able to look the other way.
So far, I’ve taken pleasure in my work in the storage unit. I’ve learned a great deal from it.
But over the last few days, my priorities have shifted.
I’d much rather be with Lilith. Plus, I owe her a better version of myself, not one constantly worried about getting caught.
I can do that. I can be that person.
No, not can.
I fucking will.
Lilith’s apartment is quiet as I step inside.
My heart is anything but.
Something primal stirs in me as I look around me.
I can feel my claim on every wall, every counter, and every piece of furniture.
The feeling wasn’t half as strong when I arranged her surprise on the counter today.
Back then, my mind insisted it was about showing her how much I love her. How devoted I am.
Now that she’s accepted it…
I ball one of my hands into a fist, biting the knuckles to suppress a groan.
She’s letting me take care of her.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
The city lights filtering in through the large windows guide me as I cross her living room. I’m at the start of the hallway leading to the bedrooms…
When a thunk cuts through the silence, coming from Lilith’s bedroom.
With my heart in my throat, I break into a run.