Chapter 6 #2
And yet, I have no fucking clue who she is.
A feral monster crawls out of my skin, ripping the back of the picture frames off, searching for a name, a date, what god damn foundation we were dressed up for, anything.
Only to come up completely empty-handed.
There has to be something somewhere.
Tirelessly, I search through the entire office and scroll through my contact list on my phone. Over and over again. Obsessively. So sure that if I just search hard enough through the gallery or phonebook on my stupid phone, she'll magically appear.
Sure, there's a handful of names I don't recognize, but they're all employees.
And none of their ID photos match my beautiful mystery woman.
Girlfriend, fiancée, wife, whoever she was, I kept any proof of her far away from my business dealings.
Which can't mean anything good for what went on in my professional life if I was this determined to keep her away from it.
The longer I sit in this office, the more apparent it becomes that I was everything they say and worse.
Every employee's file is complete with blackmail.
Photos of affairs, thievery, gambling debt, anything I could gather to ensure no one could turn on me if they found something out.
Jesus Christ, I was a professional stalker.
Is this how I found my victims?
Digging through the last drawer, I find the undeniable truth.
Just as meticulously organized: files for each victim I'm linked to, complete with proof of how deserving they were.
Police reports that were scrubbed. Phone screenshots. Pictures of their misdeeds that make me fucking sick, sending waves of fury through my bones.
My mind rails against itself, almost wishing I did remember killing these fucking animals, wishing I could find them and kill them again for what they've done. There's not a single doubt in my mind about whether or not they deserved their violent ends.
According to the evidence, I didn't even really make them suffer.
They were full of a powerful sedative, unable to fight back, unable to feel any pain or worry about their impending death.
I just ended them.
Poetically, but swiftly.
The dead don't suffer, but they also can't cause any more harm, and truthfully, inflicting more pain wouldn't make any sense. It would only give them a chance to wake up and attempt to fight back.
Better to get it done quietly, leaving behind evidence of their sins, not mine.
Fear crawls into my throat as I shove the files back into their place and slam the drawer closed, the click echoing into the concrete room around me.
I may not remember doing these things, but the closer I get to them, the more sure I am that I did.
The dark thoughts plaguing my mind, the instinctual drive for violence, the paranoia of being caught, all add up to one dark truth.
I am the person who slaughtered these people.
I am everything they've called me.
Bás Dorcha.
Dark Death.
But why?
What the fuck happened that turned me into him?
Can I fix it?
Do I even want to?
Grabbing my phone from the table, I force myself to leave the cold, unwelcoming office without answering that final question.
In truth, I know the answer.
I'm just not ready to face it yet. I need to keep everything separate for a little bit longer, until I know more about the people in my past.
I'm far too restless to go to bed, and if I'm going to find any answers, I have to start with the only fucking clue I have access to right now.
Mingle.
A quick search shows it's an upscale bar downtown, only a seven-minute drive away.
Ah, fuck.
I don't even know if I have a car. Or if I'm allowed to drive yet.
There's not a ride service in the world that'll pick me up.
The fucking taxi driver on the way here watched me so intently in the mirror that he nearly crashed twice.
In a perfect world, I could at least change out of my court suit, but in this world, I may not have a choice.
Two at a time, I run up the stairs, hoping my bedroom is slightly less disheveled than the rest of my house.
Standing at the open doorway, my eye starts to twitch.
Every inch of my home is a message more than it's proof of an investigation.
They tore it apart, shredded my fucking mattress, destroyed any bit of comfort I had.
They even left behind their fluorescent tape and my clothes in piles on the floor like they knew I'd never be back here, and if I did, the mess they left behind would drive me even further into madness.
The police may not be the ones who attacked me, but they systematically destroyed what was left of my life, leaving me to pick up the pieces of their mistakes.
And they didn't even find the actual evidence they needed!
Fucking hell.
I rip the tie off, throwing it on what's left of my bedroom floor, knowing I won't be coming back here tonight if I can help it.
I've got a credit card with no limit and countless hotels to choose from.
I use the walk to think through everything that's happened in such a short time.
Just this morning, I was sure I'd spend the rest of my life rotting in a cell, or an institution, or worse, my life would be cut extremely short without me ever really understanding why.
Now, not only am I free, I'm 100% sure that I shouldn't be.
The city looks mostly the same, save for a few new businesses that seem to be wearing the bones of what was there before.
A block from Mingle, the world suddenly seems quiet.
The shops between here and there are dark, without even an interior light to show what they might be during the day.
A parking garage across the street hums with electricity, and as I step closer and closer to the busy lounge, the music shakes the ground, joining in with the buzz of the lights to create a symphony, immersing me in the heady beat even before I've stepped inside.
I peek ahead, searching for the end of the line, my brows rising up as I see at least a hundred bodies waiting to get past the man standing guard at the door.
I mutter under my breath, thinking to just turn around and try again tomorrow, when a low, booming voice stops me.
"Mr. Fomori?" the bouncer yells.
I come closer, hoping that his recognizing me is a good thing.
He holds up his palm to the line, yelling again, "Are you here for Skyler?"
"Uhh, yeah." There's no way I'm going to be lucky enough that he's here.
"Alright, I'll let him know you're here," he speaks quietly into the transceiver on his collar. "Head on in."
The door opens, the loud music assaulting my senses, making my fucking eyes hurt from the pressure.
But I won’t find answers without facing some pain, so I force myself through the steel door, closing my eyes against the light bouncing off every wall.
My head throbs to the beat of the music, every step agony until I find a chair at the bar to the side.
"Mr. Fomori," a nervous woman appears in my line of sight, timidly placing a napkin in front of me. "I thought we might be seeing you soon. Your usual?"
I chuckle, rubbing my hand over my scalp. "I have a usual?"
"Yeah," she grins, holding up a finger to the man beside me, loudly demanding a refill, silently requesting his patience. "We call it The Bees Knees."
"You're kidding."
Her smile grows, "I'm not. Honey shine, lemon juice, and lavender syrup."
"Sounds great," I nod, fighting the urge to put my head on the sticky bartop.
Her eyes flick behind me for a second before she turns away, starting on my drink.
A man plops lazily into the seat beside me, knocking his knuckles on the counter.
My left eye twitch returns with a vengeance, the repetitive noise making everything in my head throb with annoyance.
The man laughs, and I fight to ignore him.
A self-satisfied sigh falls from his mouth, "That always drove you nuts."
"We know each other?" I ask, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or worried that at least two people here know me within seconds of walking through the door.
A drink appears in my line of sight, sliding within reach. Without hesitation, I snag it, taking the whole thing down in one go, needing to numb the ache even if only for a little while.
He laughs again, "Holy shit, that whole amnesia thing was real?"
"Unfortunately."
"I thought for sure you were just fucking with 'em," he slaps a hand on my shoulder. "Well, in any case, I'm sorry about this."
Before I can ask him about what? a brown bag lands on my head, followed shortly by several arms grabbing me, dragging me off to god knows where.
The discombobulation makes my head spin, everything making me fucking dizzy. Spots of light slip through the seams of the bag, only making it worse. The tiny world I'm trapped in turns fuzzy, and all sound muddles like I'm under water with no way to fight back to the surface.
After what might be one minute or might be ten, I'm forcefully placed in a chair, and the bag gets ripped from my head, the light in this room far brighter than I was prepared for, leaving me blinded.
As I blink repeatedly, trying to manually force my eyes to adjust, the man comes into focus again, his jet black hair, sharp jawline, and dark eyes, features that look suspiciously similar to the woman who just served me a drink, becoming clear as he peers down at me with mild amusement.
"I take it you're Skyler."
He grins, the playful expression bordering on manic as he tilts his head to the side, "Welcome home, Cormac."