16. Chapter 16
You’re mine now, doll.
I bolted upright, tearing a ragged gasp from my lungs as the phantom echo of the Jester's voice slithered against the reality of my bedroom.
I was suffocating, my chest heaving as if the air in the room had suddenly lost all oxygen.
Sweat slicked my skin from head to toe, leaving the tangled sheets damp and clinging to my limbs like a second, feverish skin.
I sat frozen in the gray morning light, the silence humming in my ears. Two minutes. Maybe three. That’s how long it took for the static in my brain to clear, for the horrifying, intoxicating realization to settle in.
I had dreamt of the Jester.
And the worst part? It was far from a nightmare.
No—in the dark theater of my mind, his touch hadn't been a threat.
His lips had wandered to places that should have been intimate, burning trails of ruinous pleasure across my skin until the world narrowed down to a blind, dizzying heat.
I could still feel the phantom weight of him pinning me down, still hear the low, wicked purr of him voice praising me, urging me to be louder, shattering my composure until my toes curled and—
Work.
The word slammed into my thoughts like a bucket of ice water. I needed to get to work. Now.
“Get your shit together,” I snapped at the empty room, my voice sounding hollow and desperate.
I pinched my cheek hard enough to leave a mark, a sharp burst of pain to anchor me to reality.
It was just a dream—a glitching, illogical byproduct of a stressed mind.
Why the hell would I dream about a monster?
He terrified me to my absolute core. He was unpredictable and unhinged.
He did horrible things to people and deserved life in prison, or the death penalty.
And yet, as I pulled myself from the bed, my skin still tingled where his ghost had lingered… and I couldn't quite shake the terrifying suspicion that he was officially getting under my skin.
“Cleaning the Jester’s room, huh?”
The gravelly voice cut through the hum of the fluorescent lights just as I reached for my mop bucket. I turned to find another cleaner, a heavy-set man with grease-slicked black hair scraped back into a tight ponytail.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, keeping my response brief as I shrugged.
He scoffed, crossing his thick arms and leaning against the concrete wall. There was something predatory in the way his eyes tracked me, a deliberate appraisal that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
He was sizing me up.
“That must be one hell of an assignment.”
“Definitely wasn't on my bingo card this year,” I muttered as I grabbed the handle of the bucket.
I tried to brush past him, but a sudden, iron grip clamped onto my elbow.
The sheer force of his pull caught me off guard, dragging me sideways into one of the hallway's deep architectural alcoves.
It was a known blind spot—a little pocket of shadows where staff snuck off to send texts because the reception was good, and more importantly, because the security cameras couldn't see around the corner.
“Listen,” he hissed, his breath smelling faintly of stale coffee. “I need you to do something.”
“I need to get to work—”
“No, look at me. Hear me out.” He cast a frantic glance over his shoulder, checking the empty corridor before stepping flush into my personal space. I retreated until my shoulder blades hit the cold, unforgiving brick.
What the hell?
His hand ducked into his pocket and emerged with a faint, metallic clink. My heart misbehaved in my chest when I caught the dull silver glint of a crude, deadly shiv, its edge filed to a wicked point.
“What the hell? No way!” I snapped.
“That lunatic deserves to be put down,” he snarled back, glaring at me as if I was the insane one. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Think of the lives you'd save.”
“I’ll lose my job! I'll go to jail!”
“Not if you aren’t caught.”
“How wouldn’t I be caught?” I threw a withering glare at him and tried to duck beneath his arm, but he shifted his weight with surprising speed, cutting off my only escape.
“You get close to him every day. I hear he’s chained to the floor when you’re in there. He's helpless.”
“Back the fuck up.”
He ignored me, stepping closer until his chest almost touched mine. “You have the chance. Any one of us would do it if we were in your shoes. Take one for the team.”
“Leave me alone!”
I shoved my palms against his chest, trying to force a gap between us, but he didn't budge.
Instead, his hand flew out, slamming me backward.
The back of my head cracked against the brick wall, sending a white-hot flash of pain behind my eyes.
He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a dangerous, unstable grief.
“That monster killed my sister in one of his attacks. I’ll do whatever it takes to get justice, because our system is pathetic. And you're going to help me.”
Fear spiked through my veins, but a sudden, hot surge of adrenaline burned it away. I wasn't going to be his sacrificial lamb.
“I said,” I hissed through gritted teeth, “no.”
Before he could react, I drove my knee upward, aiming straight for his groin.
The blow clipped his inner thigh—not a perfect hit, but enough to make him grunt and stumble back a half-step.
Seizing the opening, I threw my weight forward, raking my fingernails across his face.
My nails caught the flesh near his eye, leaving three jagged red welts.
He roared.
The grief vanished, replaced by an explosive, violent rage.
Before I could slip past him, his massive hand shot out and clamped around my throat.
The impact drove me back into the wall a second time.
His grip was a vice of solid iron, his thick fingers sinking into the soft tissue of my neck, instantly cutting off my airway.
I gasped, but no air came.
Panic roared in my ears. I thrashed wildly, my hands tearing at his wrists, my fingers clawing at his skin to break the hold, but he didn't even flinch. He leaned his entire weight into his arm, pinning me by the throat, lifting me just enough that my toes scraped uselessly against the floor tiles.
“You stupid bitch,” he hissed, his face contorting. “You’re going to let a monster live? You’re just as bad as he is.”
The world began to blur. The edges of my vision frayed into a heavy, creeping blackness, and the hum of the fluorescent lights faded into a distant, underwater ringing.
My limbs grew heavy, my frantic clawing slowing down to a weak, useless fluttering against his sleeves.
My lungs burned, begging for a single molecule of oxygen.
I'm dying, the thought drifted through the fog in my brain. I'm going to die.
Just as my eyes began to roll back and my strength completely failed, the crushing pressure vanished.
He released me.
I hit the floor hard, my knees buckling beneath me as I collapsed.
The sudden rush of air back into my lungs felt like swallowing glass.
I curled into a ball on my side, clutching my bruised throat as violent, chest-heaving coughs tore through me.
I retched, gasping and sobbing for breath, tears blurring my vision as the sound of his heavy, retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The metallic tang of blood and the sterile scent of floor wax filled my nose as the coughing fit finally subsided, leaving my chest aching and hollow. I laid there for a long moment, my forehead pressed against the cold floor tile, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
Get up. The command was a weak whisper in my own mind. You can’t stay here.
Clutching the rough concrete wall for leverage, I dragged myself to my knees.
My legs felt like lead, trembling violently as I forced my weight onto them.
I staggered out of the blind spot and lurched down the corridor, keeping one hand flat against the wall to anchor myself until I reached the staff washroom.
I hit the push-bar on the heavy metal door and practically tumbled inside.
The room was empty, save for the hum of the ventilation fan. I threw myself over the first sink, turning the faucet on maximum. Cold water rushed over my trembling hands, and I cupped it, throwing it over my face once, twice, three times, desperate to wash away the suffocating heat of his grip.
When I finally braved a look into the cracked mirror above the sink, the breath caught in my throat. The skin of my neck was a canvas of mottled violence. The faint, dark outlines of a thumb and four thick fingers were blooming across my throat, a stark, angry purple against my pale skin.
If the supervisors saw this, there would be questions, maybe even an investigation. The Jester’s room would be stripped from me, or worse, I’d be fired for getting into a altercation. And the man who did it knew where I worked. He knew my shifts.
I needed to cover it. Now.
The heavy door groaned open, and Sarah, one of the dietary aides, walked in to wash her hands. I instinctively pulled up the stiff collar of my uniform shirt, tucking my chin down.
“Hey,” I croaked, my voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. I cleared my throat. “Hey, Sarah. Quick question... do you happen to have any concealer or foundation in your locker? Like, a heavy-coverage one? I’m having a serious acne breakout.”
Sarah stopped, a look of confusion crossing her face before she shook her head. “Are you serious? You know the rules. No makeup, no jewelry, no artificial anything on the floor. Guard-comm issued a write-up to one of the night shift girls just Tuesday for wearing tinted lip balm.”
Right. The facility’s strict hygiene and security protocol banned cosmetics entirely—partly to prevent contraband smuggling, and partly so staff couldn't conceal injuries, infections, or illicit behavior.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” I mumbled, turning back to the sink to hide my face. “Just... broke out this morning. Forget I asked.”
“You okay? Your voice sounds awful,” Sarah asked, her eyes narrowing in the mirror's reflection.
“Just a dry throat. The dust in the east wing is brutal today,” I lied, keeping my chin tucked firmly into my chest.
“Tell me about it. See you at lunch.” She grabbed a paper towel and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
I was on my own. I looked back at the mirror, pulling down my collar to stare at the worsening bruises. They were darkening by the minute, a perfect roadmap of a madman's grip. I couldn't hide it with makeup, and a high collar wouldn't keep it covered if I had to move around or lift equipment.
If I went to management, I’d be sidelined. But there was nothing else to do but avoid him, and it was then I realized I didn’t even get his name.
But I guessed it didn’t matter.