36. Drystan #3
“Mother always loved these flowers,” I say conversationally. “She used to say they looked like they belonged in a graveyard. I wonder if she knew you’d end up surrounded by them.”
Lawrence’s breathing is already ragged. The poison is working. Slow cramps, the burn spreading. I let the flower drop and stand up, pacing the small cell while thunder cracks overhead.
“You took my mother from me over nothing. Over a grudge or jealousy because she was happy with too little.” I stop and look down at him.
“And then you took Briar. My Briar. You touched her, forced yourself into her.” My voice stays even, but something darker slips into it.
“That was your biggest mistake. Not killing me when you had the chance. Not realizing I would never quit until I had her back. You thought that would never happen.”
“I’m your father! Your mother was insane, you are insane! And that girl–that sick obsession of yours is nothing but a slu–” I don’t let him finish, I slam my fist into his mouth, two teeth fly to the ground.
I crouch again, closer this time. From my pocket I pull a small glass vial filled with water and crushed hellebore root and petals. Dark. Bitter. Deadly if taken in enough quantity, but I’m not giving him enough for that.
“Open your mouth.”
He clamps his jaw shut as blood spills from the corners of his lips. I smile.
“Open. Or I’ll shove this through your asshole. Your choice.”
After a long moment, he parts his lips. I tip the vial slowly, making sure he drinks every drop.
“There we go. Good boy.” I pat his cheek twice, hard enough to sting. “That should keep the cramps going for a while. Maybe some vomiting. Hallucinations if we’re lucky. We’ve got time.”
I sit on the stone floor across from him, back against the opposite wall. The rain keeps falling. Thunder shakes the foundation.
“Mom was right.” I smile. “Hellebore does protect the ones we love.”
Lawrence starts to shake. His free hand clutches at his stomach. Sweat beads on his forehead. The poison is blooming inside him now. Slow, vicious, exactly how I wanted it.
“You know what the worst part is?” I continue, voice low. “I don’t even hate you anymore. Hate would mean you still matter. You’re just… leftover. A loose end I need to tie up before I can sleep next to her again without seeing your face every time I close my eyes.”
He gags suddenly, starts to murmur about my mother, about flowers, body convulsing as the hellebore works deeper. I watch without moving. Let him suffer. Let him feel every second of it.
When the worst of the spasm passes, he slumps, breathing hard.
I stand up and walk over, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back so he has to look at me.
“You made her scream,” I say quietly. “My Briar. That sound is going to stay with me forever. So now you get to feel something close to it. Not the same, of course. Nothing I do to you will ever be enough. But we can try.”
I force another crushed flower into his mouth, pressing my hand over his lips until he has no choice but to swallow. His eyes water. His body jerks again.
I step back, wiping my hand on my pants.
“Take your time dying, old man. I’m not in a rush.” I glance toward the stairs, thinking of Briar upstairs in our bed, finally safe. “She is upstairs, safe, warm.”
Lightning flashes through the high basement windows, illuminating Lawrence’s broken body surrounded by the crushed black hellebore. Thunder follows, rattling the old stones.
I sit back down against the opposite wall, playing with a hellebore flower in my hand and watching him suffer for hours. The rain eventually slows. The sky begins to lighten. Dawn is creeping in.
Blood starts pouring from his mouth in thick, dark rivulets. His body jerks violently. He looks up at me with glassy, desperate eyes.
“Kill… me,” he grunts, the words barely human.
I smile.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“You want mercy?” I let out a low, humorless laugh that echoes off the stone.
“I’ll show you the exact same mercy you showed my mother.
The same mercy you showed Briar. The same mercy you were giving me when you tried to poison me with this very flower. ”
I settle back against the wall, eyes never leaving his face, carving every twitch, every wet gasp, every convulsion into my memory.
His body spasms harder. Blood pours from his nose, his mouth, even the corners of his eyes. A guttural scream rips out of him as his back arches, eyes rolling back until only the whites show. The sound is raw, broken—almost beautiful in its agony.
Then… nothing.
The cell falls silent except for the distant drip of water and the first faint birdsong filtering down from above. The monster is finally dead.
I stay seated a moment longer, breathing in the metallic scent of blood mixed with the bitter hellebore. For the first time in weeks, the constant knot of rage in my chest loosens.
It’s over.
I rise slowly, wipe my hands on my pants, and leave the cell without looking back. Upstairs, Briar is waiting.
We’ll create our own haven again—quiet, dark, and ours. No one left to take it from us.