47. Chapter 47
I sort of thought Pitch would be inside of another asylum.
I was wrong. Because the cathedral that rises above me looms with the same air of excitement, but is entirely different.
Stone cuts out of the dark like a fossilized spine, all arches and ribs and ancient intent.
Stained glass windows stretch toward the sky, their colors muted now, and swallowed by the night.
The building looks less like a place of worship and more like it’s the place where all things come to die—horribly.
I swallow hard behind my mask and follow Alex through one of the side doors. There isn’t any spectacle or crowd for those who actually participate. One moment I’m outside in the cold night air, and the next I’m inside a narrow corridor washed in low red light.
They really do go all out for these things, including down to how we are expected to dress according to Alex.
Tonight I wear a crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks.
A fitted vest that hugs my ribs and boots that make surprisingly little noise on the stone floor.
When I lift my hands, gloved and steady, they don’t even look like mine.
And on my face rests a fox mask. Much to Alex’s great amusement when he had presented it to me in the car.
It’s gold and white, with elegant lines curving around the eyes, sharp where they need to be. It’s predatory without being monstrous, and I have to admit a little clever. A fine contrast to the mask that Alex wears as Plague; matte black with that unmistakably long beak.
Alex shifts closer to me as we move deeper into the cathedral, his hand falling to the low of my back as we walk. It’s strange the way the other staff members shift when we pass. The way they angle their bodies just slightly away or the way conversations soften, and die.
They’re scared of him.
I don’t need a mask to hide behind to observe that.
Whatever he is to them here, they are fucking terrified to be in his orbit.
Yet his hand still feels solid at my back, and there is something intoxicating being the person who walks beside the monster.
The person who gets to soak in some of that power that radiates off of him when the world simply shifts around him to make room.
He guides us through the space like we are little more than shadows, past the velvet ropes and iron gates, until we are suddenly inside of the mirrored room.
It’s not exactly the same as the one before, not that it could be with it being an entirely different building, but so much of it is the same.
It’s just this time I am standing behind them instead of being the focal point. It changes everything somehow.
The noise is dulled and the air feels cooler. The scent of antiseptic and cold stone wrapping around me like a memory I didn’t ask for. The room beyond the glass is empty for now. Only occupied by the settee at the center and the mirrors that sit warped and waiting.
Alex positions himself behind me, his hands slowly sliding to my hips possessively. Strangely anchoring as his beak ducks and brushes against the side of my head.
“I have something special for you tonight,” he murmurs, his distorted voice threading through the mask and straight down my spine.
I wet my lips nervously and nod, content to wait. Like it had before, time stretches here. Minutes feel like hours as we stand and wait. My breathing sounds a little too loud in my head and I try to focus instead on the steady pressure of his hands, the warmth of him at my back.
Then the door opens and I jerk alert, watching as a man enters.
He’s nervous. That much I can see in the way his shoulders sit too high and his eyes flick around the room. He’s masked of course, but it doesn’t matter.
Because I know him.
Every muscle in my body goes taut.
Alex grip tightens just enough to keep me from moving.
“Don’t,” he growls low in my ear.
Don’t what? Fucking run? Sort of seems like a hell of an opportunity to do just that.
The man clears his throat and a voice I haven’t heard in years—one that still crawls under my skin in the dark—breaks from him.
“Hello?” He calls.
“Sit,” Plague says calmly.
The man scoffs. “I don’t think so.”
“Stand,” Plague offers.
“That’s what I’ll do then,” the man replies.
My stomach churns and I don’t know if I want to be here anymore.
This wasn’t supposed to be about me. This was observation.
And now I feel like I’ve been cast a part in some sick side show.
Like he’s stabbed me straight in the chest and is waiting for me to figure out exactly how I want to bleed out.
Peter is older, but nothing else about him has changed in my mind.
My breathing turns hard, but Alex’s hands stay firm at my hips, holding me in place.
“Easy,” he murmurs, for me alone. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Right. Well, promising and doing are two separate things, asshole.
His hand slides forward to take my own, gentle as he leads me out from behind the mirror. The room feels different when I’m in it now, too bright and harsh. I swallow as Peter turns toward us, confusion flickering across his masked face as he takes us in.
I feel sick, but I don’t move from where Alex leaves me. He releases my hand and begins to circle Peter slowly, his footsteps soundless against the stone.
“You like to be in control, don’t you?” Plague starts conversationally. Not because he guesses it, but because he already knows the profile of the man from our sessions.
Peter shifts toward him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Plague tilts his head eerily. “You preferred them young and easier to mold. Easier to confuse.”
My fingers curl into fists at my side, my eyes darting between the two men. How the hell had he gotten him here? What did he say to lure Peter into all of this?
“You told yourself it was affection and that maybe you were helping. Teaching them.” He purrs and slides his hand behind the couch. I stiffen when he pulls out the very crowbar I had taken to him in that cabin.
My heart is beating too fast, my hands flexing nervously.
“You don’t know me,” Peter spits. But I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the uncertainty. He’s asking himself all the same questions I am asking myself.
What the fuck is he doing here?
“I know exactly who you are. A man who mistook access for entitlement. A man who took because no one stopped him.” He says quietly and circles back to where I stand. My eyes dart down to the crowbar that he studies in his palms.
I can’t breathe.
Alex turns then, his masked gaze finding mine. The world narrows until it’s just the two of us, reflected endlessly in the mirrors.
“This part,” he says, handing over the crowbar, “is not for me.”
My pulse roars in my ears as I reach out slowly, my gloved fingers curling around the warm metal.
“It’s for you,” he murmurs and steps behind me. “Entirely up to you from here, little fox.”
Peter frowns at his words, looking to me as he tries to puzzle out what is happening.
He must realize because he bolts, making a go for the seamless mirrors.
I flinch when he slams his hands into the glass and looks back to Plague who is waiting for me to act.
I swear I can see the brow arch beneath that mask.
“I…” I choke softly. My eyes darting back to Peter who is little more than a bird smacking against the bars of his cage.
“Be a monster with me, little fox.” He purrs and slides his hands down to my wrists.
“You want to understand what it is to be me? Become me.” He whispers and I nod. My eyes turn to Peter, and in that moment everything spins through my mind in a kaleidoscope of images.
Flipping one after the other. Memories of the years spent being mentally and physically tortured by this man. And it isn’t fear that settles in my chest, it’s a raw, ugly anger.
I step forward, Plague’s hands falling from my shoulders as I close in on Peter as he turns to me.
“I-I didn’t do it!” He screams.
My head cocks.
I know the rules. Alex had explained them explicitly when we entered about the masks, but it’s not going to matter anyways. Because the only person leaving this room that knows my face is Plague.
Reaching up, I pull the mask free and let it clatter to the stone at my feet. Peter goes still, his eyes rounding out.
I don’t give him a chance to make up excuses or push me for forgiveness.
I just swing.