CHAPTER 63
I n the bathroom mirror, I twisted my face to the side, eyeing the bottom of the wound, where I recalled the blade scraping against bone.
Sickened by the thought, I turned away. Even if Devryck had meted out his own form of justice, I’d never rid myself of Angelo.
He’d always be there, every time I had to look in the mirror.
Every time I’d find myself desperate to forget that night, the vestiges left behind would take me right back to it.
I brushed my teeth with the toothbrush I’d rifled out of my suitcase, cringing each time the movement of my jaw stretched the stitches.
I’d changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and after relieving myself and applying some deodorant I’d scrounged from my suitcase, I decided to leave my room and explore the expansive mansion.
The crack created by my ajar door showed a dark hallway.
Spying an ornate light switch a few steps down from my room, I stepped out into the corridor and flicked it.
Antique sconces on the wall lit up, glowing as if a flame burned inside of them.
I padded down the hallway, passing enormous portraits, some of which were covered in white sheets.
From the paisley print runner across thick wooden floors, the beautiful crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling beyond the staircase, to the rich detail in all of the trim, the house carried a very regal appeal about it.
A far cry from where I’d grown up. I found it strange that Devryck had let the house sit unused. Abandoned.
When I reached the staircase, I turned toward one particularly striking portrait on the wall.
An austere man, with light hair and intense eyes, stood flanked by two identically handsome boys, perhaps no more than sixteen years old, by my estimates.
I couldn’t say that, with their serious expressions, I’d have been able to tell the two apart.
Trouble, for sure. Both boys carried a deviant glint in their eyes, one a slight smirk to his lips that’d probably turned a lot of girls into a gooey mess.
Tired wood creaked beneath my feet, as I made my way down the stairs to the foyer of the house. Nothing there looked familiar to me. I couldn’t recall one moment when I’d awakened to see anything, the night he’d carried me up to that room. I must’ve been out cold.
A den stood off to the right of the foyer, all the furniture covered in sheets, and as I made my way down the hallway, I passed a library, a small bathroom, a storage room under the staircase, and an empty utility closet.
A faint sound reached my ear as I stepped back from the closet, and closing the door, I frowned. I listened again, more intently. Closing my eyes brought the sound to the fore. An agonized scream. Crystals of fear skated down my neck, and my eyes shot open.
Go back to the bedroom , my head urged.
I knew in that instant what Devryck had done with Angelo. A wild fear shook my muscles, and I touched the wound at my face.
“He won’t hurt you again.” Devryck’s words echoed in my mind.
For reasons I couldn’t grasp, I needed to see for myself. I needed to know if there was even the remote possibility that he’d come for me again. I wanted to take something from him, so that if he ended up dying at Devryck’s hands, he wouldn’t haunt me in death.
While every muscle in my body warred with my head, my feet moved on their own toward the door through which the screams seemed to bleed.
My hand brushed against my thigh, an instinct to grab my pocketknife.
I lifted my gaze to the kitchen and dashed ahead, searching for a knife block.
Instead, I opened a drawer to a collection of fancy steel blades.
I opted for a thick cleaver, the edge of which looked sharp enough to cut bone.
Of course, I didn’t want to imagine that, but in the event that Angelo may try to attack again, at least I was armed. I tiptoed back to the door and listened again. The cries seemed fainter than before, but still carried a pitch of agony.
As I placed my hand on the knob, I tried to imagine what state he might’ve been in. Don’t do it. Leave it alone.
I couldn’t, though. The bastard had threatened to fuck me with the sharp end of a blade. And I believed he would’ve carried through on that.
I opened the door to a staircase that descended into darkness below.
A flip of the switch beside me brought the old-fashioned sconces flickering to life, lighting the path ahead.
Cold air sent puffs of steam from my mouth, and shivers only added to the anxiety pulsing through me, as I made my way down the cold, stone staircase.
Down.
Down.
Until the bottom finally opened onto a dark corridor that extended in both directions. I flipped on lights, illuminating the long stretch to my left, and waited. Listening. Anxiety crushed my lungs, and I breathed hard through my nose. Cleaver still in hand, I held my arms to stave off the cold.
Quiet moans directed me to the left, and I padded in that way. A door at the end of the corridor stood cracked. God, please. Let him be restrained, or something .
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I peeked inside. The moans grew louder. Pulse pounding, I widened the crack of the door.
Across the room, Angelo lay on a steel examination table. His arms had been removed and cauterized, leaving only a dark, burned stump.
Air sawed in and out of me, as my feet brought me closer and my eyes swallowed up the gore laid out before me.
I’d clocked some of it in my periphery, my head locked on the necklace covered in blood at his throat.
With a trembling hand, I reached out for it, curling it into my palm, and he turned toward me on a scream.
My breaths choked on a jolt of terror, as his body wriggled in panic, and a jerk of my hand tore the necklace away from him.
Blood streaked down his temples from eyes that had been maliciously gouged.
I trailed my gaze lower, toward the slaughter I’d avoided looking at directly.
His stomach had been cut open, his entrails spilling out.
Blood everywhere I looked. Body writhing on the surface, he opened his mouth and released a moan, and I caught sight of the sawed tongue still oozing blood, which he spat as he turned to cough.
A slithering cold stirred in my gut. I dropped to my knees, the knife hitting the cement on a clatter.
Acids shot up my throat, burning my nose, and poured out onto the floor, spattering over the surface.
Angelo’s moans heightened into a panicked howl.
Beside me, a piece of his bowels lay on the floor, and I upchucked again, arms trembling as I fought to remain upright.
A clammy, cold sweat settled over me, my head dizzy as I turned away from him. Necklace clutched in my hand, I pushed to my feet, and a wave of vertigo struck, knocking me to my knees again.
It was too much. Too fucking much.
Hands pressed to my ears to keep from hearing him moan, I stumbled toward the door, and once out of the room, I fell against the wall, every muscle quaking with fear and repulsion.
Not so much for the fact that Devryck had punished him.
I didn’t even want to imagine what the scene must’ve looked like to him, when he’d walked in on Angelo assaulting me, but I needed to.
I needed to force myself to imagine what could’ve brought a man to inflict such brutality.
My head pushed through the shock and summoned the horrible things Angelo had promised to do to me.
Slicing my throat. Cutting me up so he could easily remove me from the apartment.
Yes. All those things he’d promised to do. And he would’ve.
I didn’t doubt that.
With renewed anger, I pushed off the wall and made my way back toward the staircase. Another high-pitched scream from the room brought me to a halt. Icy branches of fear skittered down the back of my neck as I turned toward the room where Angelo lay.
His screams fell to an eerie silence.
I waited to hear if they’d start back up again.
A figure stepped out into the corridor.
Ripples of terror coiled around my spine as I stared back at the obscure form of someone in a long cape and a plague mask. In his hand was the cleaver I’d dropped, its surface wet with what I had little doubt was blood.
Air stuttered in my chest, and I closed my eyes.
Not real. He’s not real. He’s not real.
Except, when I opened my eyes, he was still standing there. And when he prowled toward me, my muscles seized up. Lungs locked. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. For what seemed like an eternity, I stood watching this apparition I’d made in my head trek toward me at a sickening pace.
The doorbell rang.
He ground to a halt.
I broke from the trance and glanced to the side, where a light shined at the top of the staircase. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I pivoted and dashed up the stairs. A tearless sob broke from my chest. I glanced over my shoulder to see him chasing after me, and I let out a scream.
The moment I breached the staircase, I sprinted down the hallway to the foyer and swung the door open on Professor Gilchrist, who let out a wild screech of flying hands.
“Please! Please, he’s after me! He’s coming!
” A light push knocked her sideways, as I bolted past her.
I damned near leapt down the stone staircase toward the gravely, overgrown circular drive.
It was there that I twisted around and waited for the masked man to come flying out at me.
Wheezing and gasping, I stood bent over myself. Waiting.
He didn’t appear.
Seconds ticked by, the air cold on my skin as an autumn breeze swept over me.
Frowning, Gilchrist tipped her head and peered into the house.
I imagined it to be the moment the killer cracked her in the skull with the blade, but instead she turned to me with a frown. “Lilia? Are you all right?”