30. Chapter Thirty Shadows of Light
Chapter Thirty: Shadows of Light
Tess
I scanned the ballroom for anything useful. Once a place of grandeur, now it was splattered with blood and debris, the air thick with dust and sex. I picked up a baseball bat from the cold, dusty floor and then spotted a faded backpack, worn with age, in an inky corner.
At the same time, Reaper snatched up the gasoline canister. The liquid sloshed around inside when he tossed it into the backpack I’d handed him. He slung the tattered strap over his shoulder, and I tucked the matches away in my pocket.
The hinges creaked in protest as we pushed open the grand double doors. The smell of smoke and distant fires hit us, joining with the metallic tang of blood and sweat.
As we turned to leave the ballroom, fluttering and distorted shadows along the corridor made it appear to writhe and twist, fucking with our heads. It was exactly the kind of thing I’d expected. But still, the hallway ahead, stretching and warping in surreal, disorienting ways, destabilized my footing.
With a dizzying sense of encroachment, the wallpaper undulated like waves. They were only illusions, I reminded myself. Curses, not reality. It still made my head spin.
With each step, the floor rippled beneath us, transforming solid ground into treacherous terrain. Reaper stumbled beside me, his usual steadiness faltering under the assault of the phantasmagoric corridor. His expression remained impassive, lending me threads of tenuous false hope. The air pressed in on us from all sides, and every breath felt like inhaling smoke.
Paintings on the walls morphed into grotesque, shifting faces, their eyes following us with an eerie, malevolent intelligence. They whispered and laughed, the sound slithering into my ears, making it hard to focus. I willed my heart to calm itself, but it was no use. The red lights from outside plunged us into brief moments of utter darkness, only to snap back on and reveal the hallway had changed once again, stretching longer or curving in impossible angles.
I kept my hand on the wall for balance, but even that seemed to writhe beneath my touch. My mind raced, trying to cling to reality, to remind myself that these were just illusions meant to disorient and terrify. They were working.
“Stay close, délicieux monstre.” Reaper’s voice was steadying, despite the chaos. His hand found the small of my back, the contact a lifeline, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this nightmare. Not yet.
We drove forward by sheer willpower. I knew Ivan had to be somewhere. He would not have been killed yet. He was out there, waiting for me. The hallway was endless, each turn leading to more twisting, shifting madness. But my vision from earlier acted as a beacon, guiding me forward through the labyrinth, which proved to be every bit as horrible as I’d expected.
Finally, we reached a particularly distorted bend. The walls breathed in, the ceiling lowering menacingly, and never seemed to exhale. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on the image of the room we needed—the dusty, broken wood-paneled floor, the window to the left, and the fireplace straight ahead.
Panting and shaken, we emerged from the nightmare hallway into a grim antechamber. Shadows shimmered ominously as we made our way down the silent corridor, searching for Ivan. The air felt lighter, though still tinged with blood and dust. Anticipation was a tangible creature trying to escape from my chest.
Reaper’s sweaty face, partially hidden, was set in grim determination. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, every sense heightened. The bat in my hand felt like an extension of myself, ready to swing at any threat that might emerge from the darkness.
Every breath, every heartbeat, was a countdown to the next inevitable confrontation, and we would arrive ready to blow it all to pieces. As we moved past a mirror on the wall, I glanced at my reflection with hope and dread balled up in my belly.
What happened in the ballroom was a fading memory, replaced by the stark reality of the ultimate battle ahead, where every moment was a step closer to my inevitable demise.
We turned a corner, the dim light barely penetrating the murky hallway, but enough for the scene before me to slam me backward. Reaper leaned in, his hand on my back, supporting me enough to stay on my own two feet. Bodies hung upside down in a long line. At least ten of them, the ropes around their ankles tied to hooks in the ceiling above, their throats slit, blood spilling to coat the floor beneath them .
At the end of the hallway, behind the harrowing scene, he stood there, arms crossed, a menacing silhouette against the spasming red light from outside—his tattooed clown face, colors dull and drab, an unsettling masterpiece, each inked line exaggerating his features into a grotesque caricature. He glared at me, his eyes black as coal thanks to the wraithshade he hosted. His lips, permanently curved into that sinister grin, always mocking me.
Reaper moved swiftly, his hand shooting out protectively to keep me behind him, the soft rustle of his leather jacket the only sound in the suffocating silence. He stood tense, ready to spring into action. I stiffened my spine and locked eyes with Ivan, trying to block out the hanging bodies. My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythmic drumbeat of both hope and fear.
“You’re disgusting,” I whispered.
The clown laughed, and then his eyes darted to Reaper, dismissing me, that trademark mocking gleam in their depths. His voice was a sickly sweet croon, dripping with poisonous irony. “You got a friend, Tess?” He tutted, the familiar sound grating against my nerves. “You know that’s not allowed.”
“Your authority over her is over,” Reaper stated. It was a declaration of war if I’d ever heard one, and even though I was onboard, I cringed internally on instinct.
Ivan chuckled. “Don’t be so naive, boy. You must be new around here.” Unspoken threats and the promise of violence lingered like a dark cloud.
Reaper glowered beside me like a thunderstorm, his hand clenched into a fist, and I could have sworn his entire body swelled bigger and taller. “Even so, you’re done with her.”
“I’ll decide when her time comes to a close, no one else.”
“I’m telling you now. Say goodbye. ”
The walls seemed to constrict like a python as the faint gleam summoned shadowy figures, making the clown’s grin appear to writhe and twist as if it had a life of its own. My mouth went dry, the taste of fear bitter on my tongue, and I knew he’d be enjoying every drop.
My senses were on high alert, every sound amplified—the muffled slosh of gasoline in the backpack as Reaper placed it on the floor, the faint hum of electricity outside, and the steady, ominous breathing of the clown before us.
In a flurry of commotion, Reaper literally flew down the corridor at him, right over the river of blood. They crashed into each other with a force that shook the structure, both roaring expletives, a blend of rage and fury. Reaper had Ivan’s back to the floor, his fists flying in a relentless barrage against Ivan’s face. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the hallway.
But Ivan was far from beaten.
He kicked Reaper off with a powerful thrust, sending him careening past me to the junction in the hallway. The sound of their struggle echoed around us, a cacophony of grunts, curses, and the splintering of wood. My boss held his own, but Reaper leaped with a speed that defied his size. Launching himself at Ivan, forcing him backward into the wall with a gut-wrenching thud, the plaster cracking under their force.
Yet, he wasn’t out. They continued to attack each other like wild bears, their movements erratic and unpredictable. Furniture crashed to the floor, splintering into pieces, and the bloody plasterboard bore the brunt of their fury.
I let out a scream that tore from my throat like a bloody knife and hesitantly padded after them over the blood, trying to maintain a safe distance and not slip. Falling face-first into a pool of blood wasn’t going to help matters. But at the speed they were going, there was no safe distance. They moved with a terrifying ferocity, their bodies a blur of motion.
The sharp tang of blood mingled with the musty odor of the old building, and my heart pounded in my chest.
I had to keep an eye on them.
If I lost sight of either one, I didn’t know what would happen.
But I feared the consequences would be dire.
Their fight took on a nightmarish quality, the faint illuminations shifting into long, jagged patterns, the sound of fists meeting flesh, the crack of bones, and the crash of breaking furniture filled the air—a violent symphony that threatened to overwhelm me.
I edged forward, my eyes darting between them, trying to anticipate their next move. The floorboards creaked under my feet, the noise barely audible over the din of their battle. The space seemed to constrict further, the narrow space becoming a dangerous labyrinth. Every step I took was fraught with tension, the need to stay near but not too close… a delicate balance to maintain.
As they barreled down the hallway, their fight dragging them further away, I forced myself to move faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, a gauntlet of chaos and destruction. I curled my fingers around the box of matches in my pocket, wondering if I should just throw one on the two of them as they fought.
That wasn’t in my vision, but where was that room?
How could I even find it when I had to keep up with them?
I had to stay vigilant to where they were yet avoid getting caught in the crossfire.
And then the noise stopped. The silence rang out in my ears, and I searched the pile of their bodies to discern what was going on.
Strike a match; throw it now .
The voice in my head had a point, but we still weren’t in the right room. Despite the vision, I prayed for Ivan to stay on the floor, but I didn’t know what to hope for when it came to Reaper.
Did I want him to get up and come for me next?
My heart skittered and screamed at me to run as far and as fast as I could.
But I stood there, watching the movement in horror, knowing the best result would be if they had killed each other, but I’d never be so lucky.
One body unfurled itself to stand over the other, and Ivan turned his head to stare me down.
He pointed at his feet.
“Get your ass here, woman.”
His voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
I lost all feeling throughout my body. I couldn’t answer him, nor could I move another step.
He roared at me again, and my stomach churned.
I groaned and gagged.
He called my name, and I retched.
My hands shook. I took a step. My legs were shaking, too. I took another step. I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to him.
My stomach heaved again, and I bent over and retched. But I’d already emptied all its contents onto the floor earlier.
“You disgusting bitch.” He lurched toward me, grasped my arm and dragged me down the hall, our footsteps echoing in the dark corridor.
Reaper lying on the floor, unmoving.
I watched for signs of breathing—or anything—as we passed by him, but he appeared very dead .
It was my worst nightmare, and I wasn’t even surprised. Ivan had killed my best hope for freedom. I knew Ivan. All my time with him afforded me that much, at least. He was obsessive, and now that he knew I was here, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. The air felt heavier with each step, the anticipation of his punishment coiling tightly around my neck.
My heart pounded in fright, the rhythm quickening as adrenaline surged through my veins, and a cramping in my gut tugged at me. I continued along with him, each step deliberate and controlled despite the fear tightening my chest and the snag in my gut.
When we reached the doorway, the space opening into a room that matched my vision, I gasped. Dust danced in the rioting red light, filtering through the grimy window to my left. The aged and broken wood-paneled floor creaked underfoot from long neglect. The smell of something charred and smoking in the fireplace mingled with the mustiness of long-forgotten memories.
This was the room.
The wallpaper—faded and peeling. The window’s smudged and cracked glass. The fireplace’s ornate yet tarnished metalwork. A thick layer of dust coated everything. I took a deep breath, the air stale and heavy in my lungs. All I had to do was follow my instincts.
A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped further into the room with him, the sense of destiny intermingling with dread. The matches in my pocket seemed to bulge out impossibly conspicuously. Could Ivan see them? No, it was all in my head. He had no idea about my vision. Floorboards groaned beneath my feet, the sound resonating in the silent space.
Ivan’s footsteps were a harsh staccato, his fury as murderous as ever.
Allowing his grasp on my arm to pull painfully, I positioned myself by the fireplace, its embers an ironic comfort .
A sign things were still as they should be.
“Turn around, Tess,” Ivan demanded, his voice a low growl filled with anger and malice.
I could feel the physical intensity of his gaze boring into my back.
Turning slowly, I met his eyes, shivering at the grotesque grin stretched across his face.
My heart raced, but I stood my ground, the familiar yet eerie surroundings of the room lending me a strange sense of fortitude.
The stage was set. Now, it was a matter of executing the plan, drawing on every ounce of courage and knowledge I possessed.
The moment of confrontation was inevitable, and every sensory detail of the room—every creak of the floor, every shift in the dust-laden air—was etched into my mind, cementing my resolve in the face of what I had to do.
“Get on your knees, Tess.”
I shook my head. “No. Not this time.”
He stepped forward. “On your fucking knees. It’s time you’re reminded who owns you.”
He seized me by my hair and pushed down on my head. The sharp tug on my scalp and the pressure on my neck made me shout and stumble, landing me on my knees as he wanted. “Hands behind your back.” He tightened his grip on my hair so much I thought it would rip out. My throat tightened, and my mouth dried in fear. If I couldn’t get the matches from my pocket, I wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing what he had planned.
It didn’t matter. While he was cumming down my throat, as long as he didn’t snap my neck, I could get the matches.
“Look at me, Tess.” I did, and he smiled, the tattoo making it seem grotesquely wide, but no friendlier. Ivan couldn’t appear friendly if he tried. Even before the tattoo. “Lick your lips.” I let my tongue slide out along my top lip from left to right, keeping eye contact. He jerked my head back, and tears pricked my eyes. “Oh yes, I want to watch you cry as you gag on my cock Tess. You know how I like that, don’t you?” I nodded slightly. “Get it out.”
I reached up and unbuttoned his jeans. Pulled the zipper down slowly with shaking hands. His cock was already hard, of course. The psychopath loved terrorizing me. Sometimes he came all over my face while I was still pulling it out, before I even opened my mouth.
“Fuck, open up,” he snarled. But a noise from behind him caught my attention, and I swiveled. Ivan twisted around to check, too. But nothing was there.
A shout from the opposite side drew us in that direction in time to see Reaper sweep his hand down between us. Ivan shouted and fell backward.
Bewildered, I glanced between them, trying to figure out what was happening.
Reaper held the gas canister over Ivan, the liquid pouring out in quick glugs as Ivan writhed on the floor, moaning as if he was half-conscious. He peered up at me. “Now!”
I was frozen and disoriented.
“Do it, Tess!” I turned to him. “The matches! Now!”
I scrambled to my feet and shoved my hand in my pocket, pulling out the matches and striking one against the side. It wouldn’t light.
“What the fuck are you two up to?” demanded Ivan.
“Hurry!” Reaper barked.
“I’m trying!”
I struck another match. When it lit, my heart jumped. With the smell of all the gasoline, I almost expected the whole room to light on fire.
“Throw it! ”
I threw it, and it landed in the puddle of liquid around Ivan. The puddle grew a gentle flame, and Ivan started chuckling. “Jokes on you,” he rasped. I didn’t know why he would say that, but the guy was a psycho, so he didn’t always make sense.
“Fuck!” Reaper shouted. “He’s wearing a bomb!”
I looked down at Ivan and saw him holding his jacket open. Sticks of dynamite were taped to his chest. “Wha—”
I didn’t even get to finish that one word before it was all over. Reaper leaped, wrapping his arms around me. I waited for the impact of us both crashing to the floor.
But it didn’t come.