Chapter Six
Two weeks later…
Chains clink against concrete, sharp and close.
My eyes snap open. The light floods in, temporary blindness, white and violent.
Disoriented, lost, I hear her. “Time to wake up, Sterling,” she says, as if she owns the moment.
I don’t even remember falling asleep. The voice sounds familiar, but my brain is so overstimulated and tired I can't place it right now. My eyes flutter shut again. “STERLING! I said wake up.” Pain lances up my sides, sharp and electric. My eyes shoot open, gasping. I stare at the face of the person who’s talking to me.
She’s elegant and beautiful, and the smile on her face makes her seem loving, but that feels far from the truth.
“Why?” The word tears out of me, raw. “What did I do?” Hot tears spill, unstoppable, burning tracks down my face. “I swear I have been a good boy.” The chain around my ankle goes taut, then pulls. Someone drags me closer, inch by resisting inch.
“A good boy?” She laughs, the sound hollow, edged with something wicked. “You think you've been good? Men don't cry. Men don't flinch. You're doing both.” A fist finds its mark, precise and final. Black rushes in, swallows me, pulling me down into nothing.
Waking up in a dark room, I feel around, trying to gather my bearings.
There are metal rods behind my head. I can still feel the chain around my ankle, the metal biting harshly.
Sitting up and taking a look around, I can make out a small bucket in the corner and some more bars to the sides of me.
The lack of light makes it hard to see anything beyond that.
Time dissolves in the dark, then the light explodes, harsh, unforgiving.
My eyes slam shut, head spinning. When I force them open…
she's returned. “Morning, Sterling. Time for your training to begin.” She moves closer, grabs the chain, and drags me out of the cage I was in.
“Why?” My plea is small. Broken. “Why don't you love me, Mom?”
Gasping, my eyes flying open, my lungs starving for air.
Stumbling, I rush to shower, making the water as hot as it’ll go.
Anything to wash the memory away. I turn.
The mirror holds the broken kid, eyes too old for his face, the one who just wanted love and learned to live without.
Guess life had other plans for me. Peeling off my sweat-soaked clothes, I step into scalding water.
If you want my love, be quiet. The words live in my head, rent-free.
He left before I was born—my so-called father.
Maybe that's her excuse. Maybe I reminded her of him, so she hated me on principle.
Her reason? Never told. Suffering was the only answer I received.
Sliding down the wall, letting the water roll over me.
You’re never going to amount to anything.
You’re just like him. Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths.
“I wish you would shut the fuck up. Not even around anymore, and you still just yap away.” Sitting there for a few more minutes until her voice fades into the background of my mind.
No longer loud, but like an annoying Chihuahua barking from far away.
My phone pings with a notification. “Guess shower time is over,” I mumble.
Getting out, I grab my towel and phone. It’s another email from Wade with the newest image.
Ohhh, Wade, don’t you know to delete the footage before someone gets ahold of it?
Wade may be a powerful man, but he’s definitely not as smart as he lets on.
Not only does this person have this image, but I do too now.
Checking the cameras at Kiera’s, I hear her talking to Lila about a horror masquerade opera that she’s attending tonight.
Guess I’ll be seeing you there, Thorn. I sent a quick response letting Wade know I’m on it.
I do another quick IP search, and another banner pops up.
“Fucking Christ.” Slinging on some sweats, I start making my way to Cam’s room.
“Hey, we got a new email. Different IP this time, but same problem.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Whoever this is, we need to hire them.” Cam turns back to his setup and starts running his traces. “FUCK!” Cam barks, suddenly and loudly. “This roadrunner again.” He spins, eyes wild. “How? There's no way they're better than my systems.”
I slowly back out of the room, sensing Cam is on the verge of a crash-out.
“Just keep working on it; I've got a thorn to remove.” Snagging my laptop from the couch, I head toward my room, turning on the printer as I walk by. I sit back against my headboard, pulling up the counterfeiting program. Logging into the opera house system, I look up what seats Kiera is in. Entering the info, I place myself a few rows back from her and print it. I grab the ticket before it falls on the floor. Best damn fakes I’ve ever seen; now I just need to get a suit and a mask.
Checking the time, I see that I have a couple of hours before I need to be at the opera house.
Grabbing a shirt and my keys, I slip on my shoes and head out to get what I need.
Pulling up to the tailor, I lock my truck behind me as I walk through the door. Looking through the racks of tuxes, an older, short, balding man comes around the corner. “Hello, son, how can I help you today?”
I turn to face him. “I need a tux for the opera tonight. I know it’s last-minute, but I’m hoping you have one for me.”
The older man glances over me, sizing me up in his mind.
“I think I might. Do you happen to know your sizes, so I don’t have to measure you?
” Nodding, I rattle off my sizes. “Give me just a few moments,” as he darts off to the back room.
Coming back, “Luckily for you, I have one left that’s perfect for you.
” He opens the garment bag, revealing a deep black suit accented with a silver lapel.
It’s perfect for the mask I have in mind.
“This will work perfectly,” I say, following him to the register.
Paying for the suit, I stroll a few stores down to a little thrift shop that happens to sell masks of every type.
Stepping inside, I beeline it to the mask section.
There are Ghostface masks, an LED face mask, and the one from that one shooting game everyone's always talking about. The basic ones the guys use in their thirst trap videos. That won’t work for her. It needs to be more original.
Scanning the lined wall, a flash of silver catches my eye.
Taking a closer look, I immediately know that it’s perfect.
The mask is a silver-colored skull piece with a metallic sheen.
Vines with thorns twist around the face of the mask, making it look like the vines are trying to smother the face.
The eyes are made of black fabric, allowing me to see out, but everyone else sees only soulless voids.
If it isn’t just fitting for my thorn. I see a pair of gloves that match perfectly.
Grabbing it quickly, I hurry to the register, running on a time crunch.
With everything paid, I make my way back to the truck and head back to the house. Tonight will be a fun night.
Smoothing the lapel of my tux, I grab my mask and pocket the tickets.
Cam crashes into me at the door, “Hey, you got a few seconds before you head out?” I nod as he motions for me to follow him.
“So I did some more digging, and I think I got a little closer before I hit another roadblock. Look at this.” He pulls up a new picture.
This time, it’s the coyote with words scrolling across it: ‘Close but not close enough.’ For fucks sake, this shouldn’t be that hard.
Sighing, I look toward Cam, “Keep trying. I'll tell Wade about the issues that are arising.” Walking back to my room, I dial Wade. “Hey, I have somewhat of an update.”
Wade’s quiet for a moment. Finally speaking, “Well, did you find them?”
“Not yet; we’re hitting a roadblock. We’re working on that, but I wanted to keep you updated.”
“I’m not paying you to almost find them, Ghost. I am paying you to fucking do it.
Now get it done.” Wade hangs up the phone.
That man is a royal pain to work with. Not my fault, you pissed off the wrong person.
Trying to get my excitement back up, I head out the door.
Time to see how the thorn acts when the ghost haunts.
Loading up, I double-check that I have everything for tonight and head to the opera house.
Twenty minutes later, I’m slipping on my mask and gloves as I make my way toward the doors.
The theater has a vintage feel, even though it was built just a few years ago.
Gold crown molding silhouettes the ceiling, accenting the blood red walls.
Not the bright red that’s fresh, but the dark red that comes from blood drying.
An usher looks over my ticket and guides me to our box that I had bought out.
I see Kiera sitting there a few rows down, choosing a seat in the shadows.
Her mask, itself, only covers her eyes. It is a dark silver with skeleton hands attached.
One hand comes up and holds the top of her head, and the other one is dropping down, lying across her cheek, the fingertips grazing her lips.
Like it’s cradling her face, getting ready to twist. There's that darkness.
Her dress is a simple, sheer black lace gown with a nude lining underneath.
The lights lower, giving the shadows more room to grow, and I take that as my cue to move forward. The opera singers gather on stage and start with a haunting spell. Making sure every inch of me is covered and the voice modulator is on, I lean closer to Kiera. “What a pretty thorn.”
Kiera whips her head toward me, “And who might you be?” She takes a glance around, finally noticing no one is here but us, “Umm, excuse me…I have a friend missing. I should go find her.” Lies.
Grabbing her wrist, “I don’t think you do.” I hop over the row of seats to the one directly next to her. “In fact, I know you don’t, Thorn.”
She tries to wrench her wrist free. “I think you might have the wrong person.” Her fight is not over—she continues trying to get free.
I lean closer, the distance closing, and her scent finds me—lavender and peony, delicate and dangerous.
“I don’t think I do, Kiera.” I let her wrist go.
It takes her a second to realize I’ve released her, but as soon as she does, she runs.
Giving her a few seconds, I follow her and snatch her by the waist. Pinning her against the wall, I whisper in her ear, “Ah, Ah, Ah.” I taunt.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The shift is subtle.
A darkness steels behind her eyes, and I know I've touched something I shouldn't have.
You may just be my new favorite plaything.