Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
SOFEE
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
THUMP!
The rhythmic beat against my left temple draws me from a dark place where I've found solace. The steady pace is only interrupted by a loud thump coming from further away but still painfully close, making my head ache.
Drip…
Drip…
THUMP!
The sound in my temple blends easily with the loud slam of something blunt driving into a solid surface. A low hiss, like static from an untuned television, weaves intricately around the beat as if the sounds are merging as one, becoming some sort of disturbed melody that beckons me to open my heavy eyes.
Drip…
Drip…
THUMP! THUMP!
My eyes never open, but they still flinch as the loud racket becomes uneven with the rest of the tune only I can hear. I try to blink away this sleep that seems to have been forced on me. Bright fluorescent lights shine above me, the sterile bluish glow blurring as water runs into my eyes. My lids are too heavy, like someone is holding them down, but still, I attempt to blink the warm water away and roll onto my back, only to be halted by my own numb arms that are trussed together at an odd angle behind me.
Drip…
THUMP!
I wiggle my hands to bring life back to my numb fingers. My knuckles knock into what sounds like a metal table below me as I twist my wrists, discovering a coarse rope binding them together. The poisonous droplets of panic drip down my spine, infecting my muscles with a surge of adrenaline.
The strange static hiss reverberating around the room becomes louder as another loud wet, metallic clang sounds. Forcing myself to move, I lift my head. A cascade of water that had been collecting along the side of my head flows straight for my eyes, blurring the figure of a man standing with his back to me across the room. I shake my head and blink away the liquid in a desperate attempt to see my surroundings as I become more aware of my body.
A strangled whimper crawls up my throat as a sharp pain radiates from my lower back. Visions of pulling out a small, tranquilizing projectile from my back flash behind my eyes. I release a strangled groan and try to breathe through the pain as my vision rapidly focuses just to unfocus all over again.
The air is thick and musty here, wherever here is. The putrid smell of shit and death clings to my senses as the humidity settles over my body and into my lungs, making everything damp and heavy.
My tense shoulders scream in pain as I twist my head up toward the ceiling. I can barely see past the bright, sterile fluorescent light bars, but I manage to spot the source of the water dripping onto my head. An old, rusty, leaky pipe hangs directly above me, dripping stagnant water on me with a steady beat.
My breath tumbles from my chest rapidly as it continues to drip on me, splashing into my eyes again before I can avoid it. I try to move, try to sit up, but remain in my spot as I realize my ankles are also tied together. And when I attempt to pull my arms up, it becomes obvious that I’m completely hog-tied behind my back. With each wiggle of my feet, it tugs on the rough rope around my wrists.
“Oh good, you're awake.”
My heart beats wildly against my ribs as I recognize that painfully familiar voice from across the room. My vision is still blurry as I seek him out.
The backlight from the bright lights casts an eerie shadow of his silhouette as he stalks closer to me. I blink rapidly as flashes of his single dimple shining brightly right before slicing a man's throat play behind my eyes, as Miles steps closer until he is mere feet away.
I pull against my restraints desperately now, causing the coarse rope to chafe my skin. A deep ache radiates from my wrists as I pull, surely ripping open my own flesh in my attempt to free myself.
“I was afraid you were going to sleep right through the big finale,” Miles says with a wicked smile as he stares down at me, his eyes alight with a savage madness I’ve never witnessed before.
He’s still in his light blue scrubs, completely covered in someone else's blood. His hands and arms are also stained, but it’s not dried blood like on the rest of his clothing. This blood looks fresh, wet, as if he just dipped his arms into a bucket of the thick, dark red bodily fluid.
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. I feel the scream climbing up my throat, attempting to claw its way out from behind my tightened lips as I wildly search for help. And for the first time since waking, I finally get a good look at my surroundings.
Filthy wood paneling covers every inch of the walls in this clearly rundown shed-type building. Four small windows break up the flow of the walls, covered in a wire mesh material as if to prevent something from leaving this room. I squint as my gaze snags on a bright light shining above a newer-looking wall shelf filled with sharp blades.
Torture devices, clearly. My inner voice coos as if it’s obvious I’ve been taken away to a madman's torture dungeon.
Ripping my eyes away from all the sterile weapons, I continue to search for any clues about my location. The floor is made up of aged, warped, and grimy wooden planks arranged in a pathway encircling a large opening in the center of the room. An ancient containment fence, clearly past its prime, surrounds the pit that appears to descend several feet into the subfloor, revealing the swampy, wet earth below. The darkness within the opening obscures the true depth of the pit.
But just as I’m contemplating whether it leads straight to the depths of hell, multiple shadowy figures seem to slither across one another. The hissing white noise becomes impossibly loud as they writhe around in the mud.
My heart stutters in my chest as a deep tremble starts in my core and radiates out of me in panicked waves. Desperately looking for a door or any way out of this putrid cesspool, my eyes dart all over the place as genuine fear consumes me completely. I start to hyperventilate, the thick, heavy air making it impossible to get the clean breath I so desperately seek.
“You can scream if you want,” Miles says, catching my eye. I refocus on the man who looks so much like my best friend it hurts. He shrugs, as if kidnapping is routine for him. “Nobody will hear you all the way out here, baby girl.”
“Miles—” I try, but he cuts me off with a click of his tongue as he pulls his hands up, revealing a blood-soaked butcher knife in one hand and something truly sickening in the other. Bile rises in my throat as I stare at the large hunk of bloody meat before the flash of his knife draws my attention. My eyes widen as I see the weapon that is just as covered in blood as the rest of him. He stares at the blade before a bright smile splits his lips, his sole dimple creating a hollow in his cheek.
“No, sweety. Not Miles.” He shakes his head before stepping closer and lowering his knife toward me. The metallic smell of someone else's blood coats my nostrils and leaks down my throat, making me bite back a gag of repulsion.
“Matteo Pelosi,” he says before bowing in front of me. "The pleasure is all yours." His charming southern accent has been replaced by a deep New York lilt that now rolls from his tongue. His grin widens as he winks at me before standing tall once more.
I furrow my brows as the name bounces around my skull. No faint bells of recognition ring as I realize the name means absolutely nothing to me. He must see the confusion written on my face as he crosses his bloody arms over his chest, taking his weapon with him and allowing me to breathe a little easier. His lips purse as he stares down at me, something in his green eyes flashing as if he finds this humorous.
“You poor thing. They didn’t tell you anything about me, did they?” he asks. I can do nothing other than swallow thickly as terror closes my throat. He shakes his head. “Well, we’ll have to rectify this as soon as they get here.” He pulls his arms away from himself and attempts to wipe the blood off his wristwatch before squinting down at it. “They just finished about an hour ago.”
My lips form a question I have no chance to vocalize before he tosses his blade to the table next to my head. The loud clatter of it landing on the hard metal table below me causes my ears to ring. My breath threatens to stall in my chest as he squats in front of me and leans against the table, inches from my face. His breath fans over me as he speaks again.
“Oh, silly me. You have no idea what I’m talking about. Here,” he says before snaking his arm over my hip and fishing his phone from my back pocket. My face flames as I silently berate myself for not remembering placing it there before I left the hospital. I could have reached it with my hands tied behind my back and called for help.
He taps the screen and then faces it toward me. My eyes struggle to focus as the bright display renders me temporarily blind. “Watch your boyfriend and his little friends raid the place where I've been staying,” he says, smiling broadly.
I tear my gaze away from the madman in front of me and focus on the screen. Something akin to relief washes over me as I recognize Declan's back, dismantling my friend's home. Then I see Liam and Cooper following suit. Soon, the entire MC is shown on multiple screens, mercilessly destroying what remains of Miles’ place.
No, not Miles’ place, Matteo’s. Whoever the fuck Matteo is.
“I am definitely not getting my security deposit back,” Miles/Matteo murmurs before pulling the screen away from my face and tossing it onto the table beside me.
I glance at it, wondering how I can distract this lunatic long enough to get my hands on the device to call for help. I wiggle my fingers, testing the rope's tautness and assessing if I can free myself without drawing attention. However, it seems my thoughts are projecting loudly, as my abductor chuckles softly before pushing away from the table. He keeps his eyes locked onto mine as he rises to his full height and takes a step back.
“I’ll save you the bloody wrists and defeat; they’re already on their way here,” he says, stealing my breath. He points to his discarded phone. “That was a recording. I watched the live-action version until they finally found the paperwork from the real owners of that house. Paperwork that would lead them to this little slice of heaven in the middle of nowhere.” He grins menacingly as he steps further back until he’s leaning against the strange rails that encircle the dark, writhing pit to hell. He glances back into the pit, his eyes darkening in a way that chills me to the bone. “I like to come here to get rid of problems.”
His ominous statement is softly spoken, yet I can still hear the derangement dripping from each syllable. He holds the bloody piece of meat up in front of his face as the hissing from the pit intensifies. I choke back my vomit as visions of blood spraying the inside of a car flash behind my eyes. My chest tightens as memories come flooding back to me, and heat lances my sinuses.
“Joel,” I breathe.
This stranger, wearing Miles’ face, dangles the piece of human flesh over the rail, causing a frenzy among the demons below. He nods, then cocks his head to the side, watching the blood drip slowly from the meat into the pit below. “Yes, Joel,” he murmurs, entranced by the blood until he finally drops the piece of Joel into hell.
Loud snaps of teeth chopping into the flesh fill my ears as I finally realize what the monsters in the deep actually are. Alligators . More than one of them fight over the slice of my would-be savior as if starved to death. The hissing and deep growls intensify as they battle each other in a primitive display.
Did this crazy fucker really take you to a goddamn alligator farm?
Terror grips me, causing me to pull on my restraints until I feel my own blood seeping from the slices on my wrists. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle any sounds of pain as the skin around my right wrist and hand tears open. A small sense of triumph washes over me as I manage to get my hand a bit further out of its confinement, my blood serving as a lubricant as I continue to pull.
“Somebody, please help me!” I scream as I try to roll off the table. But before I can get anywhere, Matteo grabs me, forcing me to sit. My back screams as he twists me on the table and shoves me against the wall with such force that my head bounces off it. My vision swims as the rope tightens, the position causing my back to bow awkwardly.
Once it’s clear I’m not going to topple to the side, he releases me and steps away again, watching me with intense observation to gauge my reaction to him killing a man I barely knew.
“Don’t look at me like that. This was always going to happen,” he growls in front of me, his handsome face twisting into something evil. “If things hadn’t worked out with you and Declan after your first date with that douchebag, I was going to have to do this anyway. Couldn’t have other men sniffing around muddying your path to him.”
“What are you even talking about?” I scream. Why would this crazy fucker want to keep my path to Declan clear? My anger and confusion quickly overshadow my fear as a raging inferno grows uncontrollably in my gut. “Why are you doing this?” I yell, my voice breaking under the strain as every muscle in my body prepares for a fight. If I’m going to die, I’m damn sure not going to take it lying down in a puddle of my own tears.
He cringes as he watches my mask of rage fully consume me. “You’re mad. I get it?—”
I bark a humorous laugh. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be mad?” I growl, still attempting to slowly twist my wrist out of the rope. I don’t dare look at it, but his butcher knife is still lying on the table next to me. If I could just free my hand, I could grab it and try to defend myself against this deranged person before he kills me. I just need to distract him first. And the best way to distract an attacker is to keep them talking. “I’ve been lied to, shot at, and betrayed by literally every single person in my life. And I don’t even know why!”
He stares at me, not a single twitch in his flat facial expression as he contemplates his next words. The silence grows between us, the only noise being the beasts still hissing and dragging their heavy bodies through the swamp sludge in the pit. Just when I think he will never answer me, he finally opens his mouth.
“Okay,” he nods, looking down at his bloody hands and picking at his nails. “Okay, I’ll take partial responsibility. For everything except you being shot at. I would never stoop so low as to take the easy way out. I prefer to see my victims' pupils dilating in terror as I sink in my blade.”
His words give me pause, confusing me completely. I still don’t have the full story, but as far as I’ve been told, Matteo is the only person who is supposedly targeting me. So if what he’s saying is true, who the hell was shooting at me?
Just as I’m about to pose my ill-advised question to a madman, he chuckles. My gaze snags on his once more as a wide smile splits his lips, and he taps his nose.
“I’m not the only player on the board, baby girl,” he coos, making my stomach revolt. “That’s the problem with you people,” he says as he pushes away from the railing and starts to pace back and forth in front of me. “You think this is a poker game where everyone is lying simply for their own gain. And while some of that may be true, this game is more like… Clue,” he says as he gestures around the room as though there are more people than just us here.
“There are a lot of players, you just don’t know who they really are or what they want,” he says with a knowing grin. A shiver works its way down my spine as he walks over to the rack of torture devices and fingers a wicked-looking curved blade. The polished point clangs against the wall as he wraps his hand around the handle and pulls it down. His eyes droop as he inspects the sharp sickle between his hands. When he glances back up into my eyes, I feel the cold fingers of death whispering against the back of my neck, causing my hair to stand on end.
“And it’s up to you to figure out who the real enemies are before they slaughter you all,” he says ominously as he approaches me until he’s within arm's reach. Keeping the blade firmly in his grip, he leans heavily on the table, bringing his face inches from mine. “But the thing about Clue…” he trails off as his breath fans over my face. His dark eyes capture mine in a hypnotic dance with death.
“People always die regardless,” he promises before trailing his free hand up to my wet hair. I suck in a shallow breath and hold it as his fingers find the ends of my ringlets. He plays with them before his eyes soften a fraction. “If the bullets have started raining on you, it’s time to find the other players.”
The air around me stills at his foreboding advice. I feel as though my whole body is trembling as he finally drops my hair and stands to his full height again. He chuckles quietly before using the sharp tip of his blade to scrape away the dried blood from under his fingernails.
“Now back to your question as to why I’ve done all this,” he says as he shrugs. “I suppose you won’t accept ‘for funsies’ as an answer?”
I say nothing, letting my silence be his answer as I continue to glare at him. He rolls his eyes in the way my friend Miles used to do. Sorrow swells inside me, threatening to overwhelm me completely.
Is it possible to grieve for someone who never really existed?
“Fine,” he grouses as he turns away from me, stabs his blade into the beam beside him, and grabs the back of his blood drenched scrub top. Quickly, he jerks the ruined garment over his head and tosses it to the ground. I feel my eyes widen in shock as a huge tattoo on his back comes into view. The blue light above casts a sinister hue on the deep black, empty eyes sockets of a skull staring back at me, making me question if I'm hallucinating from the residual drugs in my system.
His rigid back muscles move seamlessly together as he grabs something black off the railing. Narrowing my eyes, I realize it's a button down shirt, I hadn't noticed until now that anything was hanging there.
I watch him wearily as he slides the silky fabric up his blood-stained hands and arms before settling it along his shoulders, releasing me from the staring contest with the demon on his back. Then he grabs the black trousers, still over the railing, before turning to face me. Not bothering to button his shirt as he places the dark fabric between his perfect teeth, holding it in place as his hands reach for his blood covered scrub pants.
He smiles around the waistband before winking at me and shoving the scrubs down to his ankles. I suck in a sharp breath and close my eyes, not wanting to see what lies beneath the ruined garment.
“Long story short, your big brother took my little brother away from me. So, I'm taking his little sister away from him. It’s poetic justice,” he explains simply as the sounds of clothing rustling ensues. A few silent moments later, he speaks again. “It's okay, baby girl. I caged the beast.” My eyes spring open, revealing a man I haven't seen since the day of the fire.
“I couldn’t make out his face. He was wearing all black though. Black suit, black tie, shoes, and hat. I thought the Grim Reaper had come for me.”
Echoes of the past haunt me as Matteo Pelosi finally stands in front of me, presenting himself proudly as he opens his bloody hands wide. Clothed in gore and darkness, becoming my very own reaper here to lead me into the underworld.
His blood-speckled grin broadens insanely wide before he turns, yanks the curved blade from the wood, and wraps his free hand around the beam attached to the railing that separates us from the beasts within. Then, he climbs atop the rickety old railing, using the beam to balance.
I continue to pull my hand out of the rope, nearly crying out as my thumb joint pops under the tight restraint. “Why would you go through all this trouble?” I blurt to cover my pained expression, hoping the tone of my voice will push him over the edge and into a starved gator's waiting jaws. “Why not just kill me? You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
“Because that’s no fun, Sofee!” he yells, making me jump. The craziness practically drips from him as he grabs the support beam and twirls around it like a stripper, his unbuttoned shirt flapping in the putrid breeze like a villain's cape. He tilts his head back dramatically, taunting the creatures below with a fresh meal.
“You see,” he says as he stops spinning. He holds his arms out wide to balance himself as he walks along the railing. I take advantage of his attention being elsewhere and pull hard on my restraint, only stopping when it feels like my thumb is about to dislocate.
“My real issue is with my mother. Hashtag mommy issues,” he jokes, making the ridiculous hashtag symbol with his fingers before spinning in his place and heading back toward me. I still my arms, not willing to give myself up just yet.
“Back before I decided to push that bitch down a long flight of stairs, she had all these rules,” he says in a calm tone as if he hadn't just confessed to murdering his own mother. He jumps down to the creaky floor and stalks closer to me. “Stop playing with knives, be nice to your brother, find a nice girl, don’t play—” he trails off and places the tip of his blade against the hollow of my throat. I resist the urge to swallow as he presses the sharp tip against me, my delicate skin struggling to remain intact. “Don’t play with your food,” he murmurs as the blade slices me open.
I suppress a whimper as he slowly pushes it in a little deeper, cutting me open just to watch me bleed. His mouth falls open, and his eyes cloud with what I can only describe as desire as he watches the blood pooling and trickling down my throat toward my breasts.
Suddenly, the faint rumble of a motorcycle echoes in the distance, causing my heart to skip a beat. A surge of relief washes over me as I recognize the rumble of multiple riders coming to save the day. But one look into the eyes of this murderer tells me he planned for this exact moment.
He jerks the blade away from me and steps back. “Well I said fuck that,” he growls before reaching for me in a rush. I don't hold back from fighting now as I attempt to kick him, only to be restrained by the rope tightly binding me. I grit my teeth as I thrash away from this complete stranger. But my efforts are in vain as he grabs my hair and pulls me forward. My scalp screams for reprieve as he drags me to the edge of the table, his butcher knife sliding to the edge with me. The motorcycles are much closer now, the roar almost deafening before the unmistakable sound of gunfire fills my ears.
Panic threatens to choke me as Matteo’s blade flashes before he brings it to the rope tying my ankles to my wrists. In one swift move, he slices through the rope and pulls me to stand. I yelp in pain as I stumble on numb legs, and he uses my hair to keep me on my feet. I pull on my wrists again and nearly black out as my thumb finally dislocates. Fighting back the urge to vomit, I struggle to stay conscious as he positions me in front of him like a human shield.
“I could never follow those rules, Sofee,” he growls right in my ear as he places his curved blade to my throat, preparing himself to slit me from ear to ear. “I really like sharp things. I've put my brother in the hospital more times than I can count. I prefer cock to pussy, and I always play with my food before eating it,” he admits, his hot breath ruffling my dripping wet hair. “You get where I’m going with this?” he asks.
Even if I wanted to answer, his tight hold on me would never allow it. I gnash my teeth together as I keep pulling on my right hand. I can barely see the knife still covered in Joel’s blood next to us on the table. If I can just get my hand out, I should be able to grab it and defend myself.
“Your brother was my intended main course, baby girl.” The rain of bullets outside the building hits a crescendo, the sounds of people dying filtering inside. I try not to dwell on the fact that some of those bodies hitting the ground could very well be my brother.
That could be Declan.
My eyes are drawn to the only door in this rundown place as shadows dance underneath. “I didn’t kill you right away because what better way to make your brother suffer than to fuck with his clearly traumatized best friend and perfect little sister?” Matteo whispers in my ear just as the door explodes open, merging the chaos outside with the madness within.