14. Chapter 14
The confidence that had fueled me during my last work shift evaporated the moment I realized my pink earbuds were missing.
I had been certain, absolutely positive, that I’d left the small wax plugs resting on my bedroom nightstand. I had torn my apartment apart looking for them, checked every pocket of my jeans, but found nothing.
A sickening thought wormed its way into my mind—had my intruder taken them?
Either way, the wooden handle of my mop felt like a ten-pound lead bar as I lugged it down the corridor, the sloshing of the water in my bucket echoing off the mostly empty walls.
Given the absolute bloodbath he’d caused during his transfer, I had expected to find the Jester’s block locked down under military tribunal.
But this was already the deepest, darkest pit Blackthorne possessed.
What more could administration actually do to punish a monster who already lived in hell?
The two guards escorting me today weren't the familiar faces from last week.
They were strangers, their uniforms pristine and their expressions tight.
Word around the mess hall was that administration had purged the previous shift, suspecting that someone on the inside was feeding him secrets.
I kept my eyes glued to the backs of their heads, a new, sharp paranoia gnawing at my gut.
I watched the way they held themselves, the rhythm of their steps, trying to gauge their loyalty.
Who do you really work for? I wondered, my chest tightening.
Are you just cashing a paycheck, or did he already buy your loyalty?
We stopped outside his cell. When the mechanism disengaged, the iron swung open with a horrible, high-pitched screech that scraped against my raw nerves. I forced my legs to step across the threshold.
I didn’t dare look up. I kept my gaze locked firmly on the dirt and grime coating the stone floor, but through my peripheral vision, I could see he was still chained to the center wall, his limbs bound in heavy iron. And he was still wearing that smooth, featureless white porcelain mask.
I set my bucket down with a clunk and dipped the mop into the water, wishing desperately for the silence of my missing earbuds.
"You know, it is rude to keep someone waiting."
I kept my back to him, vigorously shoving the mop against the floor, determined to play the part of the unbothered cleaner.
"Oh, don't be like that, doll. I know you can hear me. I missed you terribly yesterday. The replacement they sent to clean my floors was dreadfully boring. He had no spark in his eyes at all–not like you."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I kept my jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
"In fact," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial hiss that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, "I missed you so much, I decided to send a little something to your apartment. Did you get my gift, sweetheart?"
I paused mid-stroke, the heavy, wet threads of the mop freezing against the stone.
My knuckles turned white around the wooden handle.
The air in the cell suddenly felt thick, smelling of old copper, stagnant water, and the faint, sweet scent of bubblegum that had no business being in a prison.
I swallowed thickly, forcing the lump of pure panic down my throat, and shoved the mop forward again.
Just ignore him. He thrives on the reaction. Just do the job and get out.
"Oh, look at you go," the Jester cooed, his voice swaying with a theatrical, sing-song rhythm.
"Such a diligent little worker bee. You know, you really are my absolute favorite person in this wretched place.
The guards are so painfully dull—all grit and no wit.
But I look forward to our daily chats more than my meals.
I really do. I lie awake in the dark, counting the hours until I get to hear the sweet, nervous sound of your voice again.
You have such a delicious way of speaking to me, even when you're just begging me to be quiet. "
I kept my chin tucked, my eyes trained stubbornly on a stubborn streak of grime near the corner of the cell. I shoved the mop back and forth, harder now, the sloshing water the only barrier between me and his madness. I wouldn't give him a syllable. I wouldn't even give him a sigh.
The silence stretched for a beat. Two beats.
Then, the playful, melodic warmth vanished from the air as fast as a snuffed candle.
A low, animalistic growl rumbled from somewhere deep inside his chest—a sound so raw and vicious it didn't even sound human. The chains violently snapped taut with a deafening, metallic crack as he lunged forward, the sudden motion casting a massive, terrifying shadow across the floor.
"LOOK. AT. ME!" he snarled, his voice dropping into a guttural, jagged register that ripped through the quiet cell like a serrated blade.
I couldn’t help it, the sound was so sudden that I flinched and dropped my mop. It landed along his leg and before I knew it, my eyes met his through the mask. There was a darkness there mixed with animalistic anger.
And I realized then just how much he truly hated being ignored.
“What do you want from me?”
The words slipped past my lips before I could stop them. I instantly hated how the final word fractured and trembled, betraying the raw terror I was trying so desperately to hide.
For a fraction of a second, the Jester’s entire posture locked.
His shoulders stiffened, the animalistic rage freezing mid-breath.
Then, slowly, the tension melted away. He tilted his head back against the cold stone wall, letting out a long, ragged sigh of absolute ecstasy, as if he were listening to the most beautiful symphony ever composed.
“Oh, I love the sound of you begging.”
Don’t do it, a frantic voice screamed inside my head. Don’t rise to the bait. Drop your eyes, finish the floor, and get the hell out of this room.
But the memory of my violated apartment and the terrifying reach of his influence sparked a sudden, reckless heat in my chest. I gripped the mop handle like a weapon, squaring my shoulders as I forced my gaze up to meet that blank, chilling porcelain mask.
“Since you love talking so much, why don’t you actually answer me? What the hell do you want with me?”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Behind the featureless white mask, I could feel his eyes scanning me, dissecting me, peeling back my skin to see what lay underneath.
“I’ll make a deal with you, doll. I’ll answer your little question if you answer mine first. It’s only fair, right? A piece of me for a piece of you.”
I didn't say a word, my jaw locked tight.
"Tell me, sweetface... when you're scrubbing the blood off these floors, do you ever find yourself thinking about the night your family was slaughtered by that mob? Do you ever look at the stains and wonder how it would feel to make their murderers scream just as loud?”
The air was instantly sucked from my lungs.
The entire cell seemed to tilt, the gray stone walls rushing inward until I couldn't breathe.
My mind went entirely, terrifyingly blank.
I hadn't told a soul at Blackthorne about my past. My records were sealed under the highest tier of judicial clearance.
“I’m a pacifist,” I whispered.
The Jester let out a sharp, mocking scoff that echoed off the damp walls. He waved a heavily chained hand offhandedly. “Nobody’s a pacifist. There are just some people who haven’t been given the right excuse to squeeze a throat or twist a blade.”
“No, not everyone is a monster like you. I don’t believe in killing anyone.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, doll.”
I inwardly flinched at the pet name, the casual intimacy of it making my skin crawl.
I knew he was throwing those words around like barbed hooks, just waiting for me to pull against them and tear myself open.
He wanted a reaction. He wanted me to scream, to rage, to prove him right.
I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat and forced my features into a mask of cold, rigid steel.
“Okay,” I sighed, my knuckles aching from how hard I was gripping the mop handle. “I answered your question. Now it’s your turn to keep your end of the deal. What do you want from me?”
The cell grew entirely still. Even the ambient noise of the prison corridor seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of our breathing.
Slowly, the Jester leaned forward, the heavy iron collar around his neck straining against the wall. The playful, manic edge melted from his voice, replaced by a sweet, gentle coo that made my blood run colder than any of his growls ever could.
“What do I want? Oh, it’s so delightfully simple, doll. I want to break you.”
He reached out as far as his restraints allowed, his pale, dirt-stained fingers flexing in the empty air between us, as if he could already feel my skin beneath his nails.
“I want to tear down every single wall you’ve built inside that pretty little head.
I want to crack your ribcage open, snap your precious little morals one by one, and shatter you into so many jagged pieces that you forget who you ever were.
And then when you’re nothing but pieces, I want to pick up those pieces with my own two hands and put you back together into something new. ”
What the hell?
For a moment, I almost dropped the mop again. At my expression, he let out a shaky, ecstatic breath, a low titter bubbling up in his throat.
“You see, everyone else out there is so painfully boring. But you’re special. You’re my masterpiece. You belong to me now, sweetface, and we are going to have so much fun together.”
“No,” I said, the word coming out sharper and faster than I intended. “Never. You need to leave me alone.”
The Jester didn’t shrink back. Instead, my rejection seemed to feed the fire in his eyes, making them dance with a sickening, manic glee.
“‘Leave me alone,’” he mocked. "It’s far too late for that. We are destined to be, you and I—two dark stars colliding in the deepest trench of the earth.”
“That’s ridiculous! You’re delusional. You don’t know me, and I certainly don't know you. You’re just a inmate in a jumpsuit, and I am the person paid to scrape your messes off the floor. That is the only 'destiny' we have.”
“Delusional? No, no, no. I see clearer than anyone in this entire prison. You think the jumpsuit defines me? You think a paycheck defines you? How wonderfully, tragically blind.”
He flexed his pale, stained fingers again, tracing the empty air between us as if he were mapping the contours of my face.
“You can call it ridiculous all you want, doll,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
“Fight it, deny it, scream it at the walls—it won't change a thing.
You stepped into my world the second you cleaned my blood.
You breathed it in. You can't scrub me out of your head now, Elara. We’re locked in this cage together, and I'm never letting you go.”