Chapter 21
FATED RUIN
GRAYSON
Gray cinderblock and iron bars. A trap of my own design. So familiar it should feel consoling—but I pace the length of the holding cell. A wild animal. This time it’s different. Because this time, there’s someone on the outside that matters.
I underestimated Nelson.
For that, I deserve my consequences. And I’ll willingly serve out my sentence and walk death row with my head held high, as long as London remains free and unharmed.
As long as a disgrace like Nelson doesn’t get anywhere near her.
It’s the loss of information that’s torturing me. Where she is…what’s happening to her. If I call the slovenly cop over and tell him there’s an unhinged FBI agent out there with his sights set on my psychologist, would he believe me? Or would I put her at even greater risk?
My design is simple: get caught, and escape. It’s what I do. The never-ending cycle of my fucking existence. Until I go bleeding mad. With short intervals where I get to touch her…taste her…experience the sweet glimpse of heaven through her—the unexpected variable that interrupted my routine.
She changed everything.
I’m a devil with a heart. Pure lunacy. But then, even the devil loves passionately, ardently, coveting this world…so much so that he rebuffed heaven. A manic laugh starts at the base of my throat, and I’m not sure I can stop it.
They’ve stripped me of my clothes, leaving me with jogging pants and a plain white T-shirt. Nothing left in the cell that I can use—they’re not sure what’s safe and what’s not—they’ve taken everything. Only a thin cot mattress and toilet with a sink atop in the holding cell.
I search again, going over every inch. Trying to find a change, upgrade, a revision, or something I overlooked before.
I’ve studied the schematic of this building, of this cage, for months. I compared every detail and possible outcome. And I know that there’s no way out. Not without London.
I was wrong to hinge so much on her, but then this was the least likely result. Planning for a potential outcome is different than expecting it. Truthfully, she wasn’t supposed to be involved at all. Just her existence has changed the course, and I don’t know if I can ever control it again.
London said our aim was too high. Nelson was too big of a mark. I’m not sure if it was my pride or desperation to be with her that did us in—but here I am. Again. I laugh. Push my palms over my head, as if I can stop the painful webbing cluttering my brain.
We didn’t choose Nelson; he chose us. He put himself in our path and made it possible. Only I wanted it too badly—I’ve never wanted anything before her, never craved to be free until her golden-flecked eyes really saw me.
And then she appears. My angel of mercy. Clearing the maddening fog.
“Fifteen minutes,” the guard accompanying London says. “Three feet away from the cell at all times. Try anything funny, and you’re out. You got that, Sullivan?” he directs this toward me.
I nod once, and the guard steps away, giving us the illusion of privacy.
I can’t take my eyes off her. In a matter of seconds, I’ve analyzed every cell of her body, looking for evidence of pain or suffering. She’s too well collected, her wall erected to keep everyone out.
“Seems like I’m destined to visit you behind bars,” she says. Her voice is raw, strained. I’m not sure if it’s the statement or the action of talking that causes her pain, but she’s hurting.
“Remove the scarf.” My voice is a coarse demand, fury barely restrained.
“No,” she says, averting her eyes briefly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you first, and I need you to hear me.”
Rage boils my blood. I stalk toward the row of bars and link my hands around the cold iron to douse the flames. “I’m listening.”
She looks down at her hands. Her thumb traces the inked key and the scar along her palm. “Why did you choose me, Grayson?”
When she finds my eyes again, I hold her gaze, unrepentant.
“I want the truth,” she demands.
The truth. Would she believe me if I told her that I didn’t realize the reason at first. That I was consumed by her, obsessed with the unknown—that she frightened me as much as she mesmerized me.
Scrape the reasons back layer by layer, until only one, blindingly obvious motive sparkles with clarity.
“Because you’re the best,” I say.
My response neither shocks nor insults her.
I’ve confirmed what she’s already puzzled out.
“Schizophrenia runs in your family,” she says evenly, pulling at the seams to unravel the truth of me.
“After our first session, I decided that you came to me because you wanted me to save your life. I wasn’t too far off, was I? ”
I breathe in deeply, savoring her scent. I set her free so she could lock my demons away. “There’s give and take in every relationship, doc.”
“There is,” she says on a breathy whisper. Then her eyes drill me. “I’ve reviewed your brain scans repeatedly. I’ve shown you the evidence. There are no signs of schizophrenia, Grayson. Your fear of inheriting your mother’s illness only goes so far.”
So she’s discovered Mother dearest. “And how is Becky these days?”
“Nonresponsive.”
I nod slowly, absorbing the information.
London doesn’t stop. “After your official diagnosis,” she says, “you could’ve left. Ended the sessions. You didn’t need me, not in that way anymore. You’re feeding a deluded fear of an illness that doesn’t exist. May never exist—”
“It will,” I cut her off.
She wets her lips. “And when it doesn’t, when you never fall victim to your madness, how will I fit into your puzzle then?”
I can’t help the smile that steals across my face. “Do you honestly believe you’re expendable to me.”
She shrugs with a shake of her head. “I believe that everyone becomes expendable when their usefulness runs its course. You chose me because I was the best?” she says in a mocking tone.
“No, Grayson. You chose me because I was good enough, and I had a secret you could exploit. A means of manipulation for if and when our arrangement was no longer beneficial to you.”
I don’t deny it.
Her arms hug her slim waist. “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why?” she demands.
I breathe out slowly. “Oh, London. Don’t tempt a man. It’s cruel.”
“Where are the copies of my patient tapes?” she suddenly asks.
My expression hardens. “With your confession footage, of course.”
My admission doesn’t faze her, either. I figured she’d eventually put it together; I wasn’t hiding it from her—more like saving the best for last.
“Insurance policy?” She arches an eyebrow.
I huff a humorless laugh. “Not the way you think. I was protecting you.”
“From whom?”
“From yourself,” I say, voice dropping, lethal. “From Lydia, apparently. We’re human, London. We waver. We doubt ourselves. I couldn’t risk losing you.”
She nods harshly. “You couldn’t risk losing your investment. After all, you put in over a year of hard work. What good would Dr. Noble be to your cause if she was broken?”
I run my fingers up the bar, wishing I could touch her. She’s fire right now.
At my silence, she glances down the corridor. The guard is surfing his phone. London lowers her voice. “Manipulation is like foreplay to you.”
I release a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll give you flowers.”
Her eyes spear me. “Next time?”
The way she says it, so incredulously, sends a current of livid heat whipping across my skin. “Why are you here?”
She doesn’t answer right away. The question hovers between us, a live wire that, if severed, will detonate our suddenly fragile connection.
“Because I saw your home, Grayson.” Her eyes glisten, forcing me to drop my gaze.
“I saw where you were raised…how you were raised. Since the moment you designed your first trap, setting yourself free, you’ve been seeking an answer.
I understand what my initial purpose was to you.
Fear of your mother’s illness, of losing your mind, made you cling to the hope that I could treat you.
But there’s something else. What are you searching for? ”
I move away from the bars, putting more distance between us. It’s a physical pain that I still have yet to comprehend when she’s too far away. The pain feels real. Tangible. I use it.
“Five minutes,” the guard calls out.
“Maybe it’s a curse,” I say, voice low, searching.
“Maybe it’s my punishment. Maybe it’s fate.
Maybe it’s chaos theory, and nothing has any rhyme or reason at all.
But whatever the purpose of this insanity, it’s the design for my life.
And I have spent a lifetime reworking that design.
Remastering the puzzle…and the only answer I’ve ever been given is you.
” I step closer. “You’re the closest thing to freedom I’ve ever tasted. ”
“You’ll never be free. You’re doomed to repeat this self-inflicted cycle forever. The madness won’t take you—these bars will. You keep putting yourself here again and again, trying to escape, but you’re still locked in that dark room.”
“Get the fuck out of my head, doc.”
She studies me, undeterred. “If you fear it enough, you’ll manifest it. Your mind will make sure of that.” She takes her glasses off, letting me see her eyes. “And when that day comes, I’m not sure I can help you.”
“You have to.”
“Because you helped me?”
“Yes. It’s the price. The tradeoff.” I tilt my head. “Are you not grateful for everything I’ve shown you? If you could take it all back, would you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I wouldn’t, but I don’t know how—”
“You will.” My hands clench into fists. “If the day comes where you have to kill me, you will.”
A horrified expression crosses her face, but it’s gone just as quickly. She’s thought of this before. She’s had to. We’re as much of a threat to each other as we are each other’s sick salvation.
Even if my mother’s illness doesn’t claim me, my love for London might.
Love is madness.