Chapter 45 Riven
Riven
Last night was everything that I needed to confirm that Sloane has fully forgiven me and is wholly mine.
She let go of her restraint, setting her shadows free from their enclosure.
She showed me the most honest, haunting parts of her beautiful soul that match mine so perfectly.
There’s something poetic about her coming undone for me in the same place that gave me a glimpse of her shadows that first time. Sure, I wasn’t myself … not completely.
Wearing the mask of Vantros allowed me to hide the truth of my sins.
It allowed me to hide behind a facade where I was seen as nothing more than the front man that everyone loved.
No one saw the professor standing behind the podium by day, or the blood on the hands of a killer by night.
The only thing they saw was me and the music, the one thing that always sought to heal the hearts and the minds of the damaged.
The music was always the singular purpose, and it was so easy to be wanted by so many people.
It was all a bitter lie, though, because the person I was truly hiding from the entire time was myself.
That is, until Sloane came along.
Sloane not only saw me as the masked lead vocalist of Reverb, but also as the worst version of myself.
She saw every fractured piece of me, every single shadow that I sought to bury, and she never even flinched.
She chose to love me not despite those things, but because of them.
I am not worthy of her, not in this life or any other.
But I will chase her light for the rest of my fucking life to prove to her that I can be.
I’ll never release her from my grasp, and something tells me that she’s perfectly content staying right where she is.
? ? ?
I woke this morning entangled in limbs that I’d let strangle me to death any day.
Sloane rolled over, scrunched up her nose like she was about to ruin the moment, and then proceeded to tell me she had to meet with Lydia for brunch to talk about Callum.
I remained quiet, knowing the conversation would likely entail a certain text message.
I nearly considered tying Sloane up and insisting that she stay, but I know how much her friendship means to her.
Lydia is a safe space for her, a sounding board, and best friend that I’d never keep her from.
So, I watched Sloane leave, knowing that she’d be back in my bed tonight where she belongs.
I met up with the guys after Sloane left.
Now, Cal and I are unfortunately on our way back to Sonus Corp to deal with Dorian.
He’s still tied up in the torture room, awaiting his fate and hopefully going batshit crazy imagining all of the things I might do to him.
I won’t kill him. I made a vow to myself that those days were over, and I meant every word of it.
I don’t need that dopamine rush that came from killing any longer.
I have something better now, someone better.
Once we arrive, I park my Mustang, and we walk in, making our way toward the torture room.
The building is mostly vacant today. It will remain that way until all personnel have been screened for involvement in the Eden Frequency.
The employees who are found to have no part in any of it will be offered to keep their positions, and the ones who are found guilty will be fired.
David is nowhere to be found. Some of the staff are reporting that he ran for the hills as soon as shit went down.
I’ll let him keep his illusion of freedom, for now.
Sabel and Dorian’s replacements will come later on, and until then, the guys and I will see that things run smoothly.
The guys and I have concluded that we will continue playing.
We all love the music and what it brings to the community, and we want to continue pouring into Reverb honorably.
The Eden Frequency will be absolved, perhaps replaced by frequencies that promote healing.
Through my study and fieldwork while in school, I learned that certain sound frequencies can promote healing, calm, and even emotional states.
My mind goes wild with possibilities of using music therapy for anxiety, depression, PTSD, and many other psychiatric conditions.
I’ll have to look into it more, but I know there’s something positive to come out of all of this. Until then, Dorian.
Cal and I walk into the torture room, flicking on the harsh overhead fluorescent lights. Dorian lifts his pathetic head, squinting in our direction. He looks like shit, and I can’t help but grin. I walk over and clap a hand on his shoulder.
“How’s it going, Dad?” I ask, a sarcastic edge to my voice. Dorain scoffs, spurting blood-tinged sputum onto the white marbled flooring.
I grab a handful of his silver-dusted black hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look up into my eyes.
“I said, how is it going, Dorian?” I ask again through clenched teeth before tossing his head forward.
Cal walks over to the wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest. Cal lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh that earns him a glare.
He knows how these things go and how long they can go on for.
He will remain there, silently judging me until I need his assistance.
“How the fuck do you think I am, Riven?” Dorian speaks, glaring up at me like I’m the one who has the nerve. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me, would you do it already?” he asks, a defeated expression on his face.
“Now, why would I give you the reprieve of death?” I ask, eyeing Dorian skeptically.
“We both know you certainly deserve it, but that’s just not my style,” I say, walking toward him and stopping at his feet.
He looks up at me, and I see a man who’s grown tired.
I see a man who would gladly give himself over to the grave.
Too bad for him, I plan on keeping him as far away from the Grim Reaper as I possibly can.
I want Dorian to suffer. I want him to be forced to remain alive, knowing that it’s only because I allow him to.
“What do you want, Riven?” Dorian asks, growing bored with my little game already. We can’t have that, now, can we?
I nod once to Cal, tagging him in. Cal perks up at the opportunity, pushing from the wall and prowling over to Dorian with his large fists curled at his sides.
Dorian snaps his head in Cal’s direction, his somber expression quickly transforming into one of fear.
That’s much better. Dorian’s head snaps back to me, and I grin at him like the psycho that he thinks I am.
Dorian looks back in Cal’s direction just in time to get a nice fist full to the jaw.
Even I grimace, knowing Cal’s punch definitely comes packed.
“Ouch, that one’s gotta sting,” I say, walking over to Dorian and leaning down until my mouth is near his ear.
“That one was for touching what’s mine,” I whisper.
I stand back to my full height as his eyes trail me.
There’s blood pooling and pouring from his mouth, his jaw obviously broken where Cal hit him.
I rear my fist back, giving him a matching one on the opposite side.
Dorian groans, hissing and spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor.
Cal jumps back in disgust, nearly missing a shoe full of it.
I lean into Dorian’s ear once again. “And that one was for Mom,” I say.
He lifts his head to mine in haste, glaring at me through his inky black eyes.
He opens his mouth and then closes it, as if thinking better of whatever bullshit he was about to snap back at me with.
There’s nothing that Dorian could say regarding my mother that would benefit him in this situation, and he knows it. I stand, walking backward a few paces.
“Tell me everything that Sabel had planned for Sonus and the Eden Frequency,” I order. Dorian sneers at me and then sighs, likely considering how pointless it would be to hide anything from me now that Sabel is dead.
“You know the gist of it. Sabel was aiming for mass manipulation using the frequency created by the vocal range that you so graciously provided her with.” He grins up at me smugly, trying to insinuate that I’m as much to blame for this as anyone is.
Like I had a fucking choice in the matter. When I don’t react, he continues.
“The government is in control of the research initiative, but Sabel has been running her own little experiment. She was using Sloane as patient zero. Sloane was going to either rise to the occasion, proving to be the obedient little lamb that Sabel wanted her to be, or she would have Sloane’s mind scrambled to nothing to live out her days in a padded cell.
” I grind my molars, giving away enough for Dorian to grab hold of.
“If you ask me, the latter would have been much more fun. Don’t you think? ”
In an instant, I’m on him. I grab his tattered white long-sleeved button-down shirt in my hands and shake roughly, letting go as his chair tips backward and crashes to the floor with a loud thud.
I crouch over him, rearing my fist back and striking him in his ugly ass face once, and then twice, before that familiar rage takes over.
I feel myself losing control, pulling a knife out of my pocket, and flipping it open.
I’m not even sure what I plan to do with it; all I know is that Dorian must pay for his words.
A large hand grips my wrist, stilling the knife in midair.
“Riven,” Callum growls, peeling the knife from my hand and tossing it to the ground, “don’t do anything reckless. You said that you wanted to keep him al—”