Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry # 6
I’ve met with Hudson several times since my last entry—Hudson is R-57’s real name, a fact I have promised to take to the grave. I admit, our outings have turned into a bit of a social hour. I can’t help it—I know I’m supposed to be asking questions about the Sanctum, but Hudson is just so interesting. He’s seen so many places and done so many things.
I might even consider dating him if he wasn’t a ruthless killer.
But the fact of the matter is that he is, so I have to focus. I have to keep the next meeting strictly professional.
Sometimes I question my choice to become a journalist .
Surprisingly, nothing strange happens for the rest of the week. I deal with the knowledge my mother was tortured before she died by actively not thinking about it. It’s gone well so far—the only downside is I’m a little jumpier than usual. Like I’m waiting for the boogeyman to jump from every shadowed hallway and corner I come across.
But there’s nothing. No more notes or mornings waking up to the scent of lemon cleaner and freshly laundered towels. I admit, my life has been a little dull without the daily heart attacks. Not that I’m complaining—it’s just different. Or the same. I’m honestly not sure of anything anymore. Things seem so upside-down since I found the Phantom’s DNA that day.
To prove my point, my floor-length ball gown snags on the point of my heel, nearly sending me face-first into the Capitol building's stone steps. Normally, I would be snuggled up in bed with a bag of greasy Chinese food and Venom, but here I am. All dolled up for the senator’s ball.
“Oh, fuck this,” I grumble, hiking the silky navy material up to my thighs before trying the stairs again. The dress isn’t bad—I actually really enjoy the way the material hugs my curves—but I have minimal experience in heels, and I feel a little more than ridiculous stumbling into the building with all these other women who look like they came out of the womb with Barbie feet.
A woman with an emerald broach the size of a baseball shoots me a nasty sneer, and I return the favor with one of the brightest smiles I can muster. She huffs, turning to say something to her friend—possibly to talk shit about me—and I honestly don’t blame her. I don’t belong here, and there’s absolutely no hiding it. But I have a job to do, and no amount of judgment from these snooty ladies will stop me from doing just that.
Just a few hours and this will all be over. I repeat for the thousandth time tonight. Focus on the target, and everything will be fine. I breathe a sigh of relief as I get to the top of the steps, and I scan the crowd of masked faces, desperately trying to recognize Jim’s jaw in the crowd.
The Phantom could be any one of these men, and there would be no way for me to know.
I quickly shake off the thought, knowing I’m being paranoid. He wouldn’t do that. There are too many witnesses. Too many chances of being caught. No Phantom would dare take that kind of risk.
“Damn, Brett. You clean up nice.”
I whirl around, jerking my chin in the air to face a tall, brown-haired man in a gold mask. The raised filigrees along the outer edge catch the light with each slight movement. “Jim.” I smile, taking a step closer to him out of impulse. “How did you know it was me?”
Jim’s lips tip in a sarcastic smile. “You’re the only one here who would risk the embarrassment to take the stairs easier. Dead giveaway, hon.”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh, rolling my eyes playfully. “Next time, you get to wear the heels.”
“Yeah, that’s going to happen.” Jim chuckles, placing his hand easily on my lower back. I jump at the contact and give Jim an apologetic smile when I see his face drop.
“Sorry. It’s just?—”
“Yeah. I know,” he grumbles, taking off toward the front doors without looking back. “Come on. I need a drink.”
I frown, following him slowly. What the hell was that? I spend little time thinking about it, because a server is thrusting a champagne flute into my hand in the next minute.
“Oh. Thank you,” I say, turning my head to give the man a small smile. He’s wearing a large black bird-shaped mask, reminiscent of the ones they used to wear during the plague. A large beak-like structure juts out, covering the upper third of his face. The only thing truly visible are his mouth and eyes. And those eyes…
I have to stifle a gasp as I take in the color of his irises. I’m not sure what to make of them—they’re the lightest blue I’ve ever seen—nearly white in color, like the color of peaked seafoam. And there’s a ring of violet around the pupil, making them appear that much more ethereal, clashing drastically with the opaque nature of the iris.
“I like your mask.” I grin, tipping my glass at the ornate headpiece.
The man tilts his head, the tray of glasses remaining eerily still as he does so. Those full lips part, revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth. I’m sure they would look fucking fantastic biting into an apple. Or something else…
I jerk back to reality after that last thought. Am I seriously attracted to this guy's teeth? Maybe I do need to get some sleep.
I want to ask what his name is. I have a strange desire to know where he came from and how he came to work here tonight. But by the time I recover enough to ask, the server has disappeared in the crowd. Shrugging, I take a large gulp of my champagne and am pleasantly surprised to find they spared no expense on the drinks.
I take a smaller sip this time, my eyes darting around the room of unfamiliar faces. The reddened cheeks, the slanted gaits of the guest well past the two-drink limit of the event. If the Phantom actually were going to kill one of these people, he would have a pretty damn easy time doing it. Even with all the FBI sprinkled throughout the crowd.
It’s only been a few minutes, but I’m halfway through my glass by now—and feeling it. I kick myself for not remembering to eat beforehand but still take another sip. Crowds are just not my thing, and one glass of champagne won’t hurt. Just one glass to dull my nerves. That’s it.
As it turns out, one little glass is all it took to get me absolutely toasted. How do I know? Because all of a sudden, words like toasted sound hilarious to me. Seriously, just ask the coat check guy. He thinks I’m a fucking riot, I tell you.
“Whoooo!” I cheer, my face spreading in a wide grin as Mark—is it Mark?—twirls me in another circle, causing pieces of long black hair to fall from my updo. How long has it been since I’ve let loose like this? Fuck that, when’s the last time I went dancing? “Mark, this is so fun!” I giggle, taking my hand from his and pressing it against my hot cheeks. Hot. I’m so hot. Would it be rude to ask them to turn down the thermostat?
“I’m not Mark. My name’s actually Mi?—”
“Not-Mark? Do you know where the thermostat is?” I inquire, my tongue strangely heavy in my mouth. Like a slug. A mouth slug.
I start cackling like a hyena, and not-Mark gives me a look like he thinks I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have. Would that really be such a bad thing? Reality is so overrated.
“Um… maybe in the lower level? Do you want me to ask someone to…”
I don’t hear what not-Mark wanted to ask because as soon as he directs me to the basement, I start stumbling toward the red exit sign on the far end of the room.
Hot. So fucking hot.
I stumble down a short hallway, smacking straight into the doors to the stairwell. My arms feel like lead at my sides, but I’m able to muster the will to bring them up and force the door open. Heavy. Why is everything so heavy here? Heavy and hot. Hot and heavy.
Another giggle wracks through my chest, and I clamor down the metal steps in the dark, letting my gut guide me where I need to go. After all, not-Mark told me this was where it was, and he wouldn’t lie.
When I reach the last step, I stumble forward, barely having time to catch myself before I face-plant onto the concrete basement floor. I swing my eyes around wildly in the pitch black, holding my arms out straight and stumbling around, desperately trying to find a light switch.
Not your brightest idea, Brett. Very dim, indeed.
And now I’m talking to myself—great.
I sigh, dropping to the floor in a crisscross. “This sucks,” I mumble, resting my chin on one of my fists. “Why did I come down here?” As the words slur from my lips, my eyelids droop—as they suddenly weigh five thousand pounds.
“Why the hell am I so sleepy? I only had one-one glass of champagne,” I grumble, hiccuping in between. “And why the fuck is it so hot? ”
“That would be the Molly, darling.”
I scream, scrambling back on my hands until I hit something hard. The back of my head smacks into a concrete piling, and stars spark in my eyes as I instinctively reach for my weapon.
“ Fuck,” I whisper, swinging my gaze wildly around the dark. “Fuck. Fuck. Fu?—”
“There’s no need to be frightened. I mean you no harm.”
A shudder runs through me as his honeyed voice echoes off the stone walls. No harm? Yeah, right, buddy—because people with good intentions lurk in dark basements. I may be drunk, but I still have a working brain cell or two.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I snarl, blinking wildly in hopes my eyes will adjust to the dusk. “I’m armed, just so you know.”
A callous chuckle echoes in my head. “No, you’re not. I can practically see every inch of you in that dress.” There’s a long pause before that voice speaks again. “All I want is to talk.”
I shake my head, feeling the piling behind me for support as I stand. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is a man in a mask—and one who wishes to remain that way.”
My throat bobs as I feel behind me, praying the handrail is within reaching distance. No luck. “You-you should leave. There are a dozen federal agents upstairs. They’ll wonder where I’ve gone, and?— ”
“The only person of any consequence to me in this building is the one standing in front of me.” He interrupts, his voice much closer than before. “Some would say the whole wretched world.”
I jump, smacking my head into that same pillar when I have nowhere else to go. Suddenly, a gloved hand wraps around my neck, using the thumb and middle finger to squeeze my jugular veins. My breath hitches as my vision swims, and a delicate heat builds in my core. This feels good—too good.
“You—”
“Shhh,” the masked man murmurs, brushing the tip of his mask against my cheek lovingly. It’s pointed and hard…almost like a bird's beak.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “You’re the server. In the plague mask.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “You smell heavenly. Good enough to taste. To eat.” His voice drops at least an octave as he utters the last word, and every last hair on my body stands on edge. Whether in desire or terror, I’m not quite sure. “God, how I’d love to take just a little…”
“Ow! What the fuck!” I screech, jerking back to no avail. “Did you—did you just bite me?” I reach up to the crook of my neck, wincing as my fingertips make contact with the area. I pull my hand up to my eyes, and though there’s no light, when I rub my fingers together, there’s something slick. “I’m… bleeding…”
The man takes another deep breath, this one accompanied by a moan that has my knees trembling. To my surprise, he grabs my hand and forces my fingers into his mouth, where he sucks them clean, making the same euphoric noises as before.
I’m frozen in disbelief—in crazed, unadulterated desire as his tongue swirls around my digits, savoring me.
“Fuck. This is so wrong,” I moan, arching my head back as he steps forward, pressing the length of his rock-hard body against mine. “So, so wrong.”
The man doesn’t answer, just loses another infuriating chuckle. His hand reaches up, palming my breast before slipping past the thin material of my gown. His fingertips dance over my nipple, toying gently with the sensitive nub while his mouth descends on my neck. I let out a cry as his mouth covers the fresh wound, the pain of contact intensifying when he sucks at the area.
“I—what the fuck?” I yelp, stars sparking in my vision as my face is pressed roughly into the pillar to give him more access. A minute later, he yanks my head back, and his mouth crashes against mine, a metallic taste mingling on my tongue with each sweep of his.
“You taste so… so…” Instead of words, the man lets out a growl , pushing his abdomen impossibly tighter against my chest. “I’m going to die if I can’t be inside you in the next five seconds.”
Whoa, hold the fucking phone.
I shake my head like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over me, blinking desperately to clear the fog. When I’ve regained a sliver of my senses, I push against the man, needing some space before my body decides I need to do something impulsive like that again.
“I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t do that,” I murmur, suddenly grateful for the darkness so he can’t see the color of my cheeks. To reiterate my point, I push against him again.
He doesn’t budge.
“Um. Hello? You gonna let me go?”
“ Not if I can fucking help it.”
Okay, I must have imagined that last part. “What did you say?”
“I said you look very beautiful tonight, Brett.”
I frown, unable to help but notice how he still hasn’t given me any space. “Um. Thank you. I—” My face pales, and a shudder runs through my body as a terrifying thought crosses my mind. “I never told you my name.”
“No, darling, you didn’t,” he whispers, brushing his lips lightly against mine. To my horror, I find myself closing my eyes and wishing he’d close the rest of the distance. “I am one of many. The many are me. Who am I?”
I jerk away, my appendages going numb. Oh my God, no. No. No. NO.
“I’m enjoying this game very much, Brett. But we’re only just beginning,” he whispers, planting soft lips against the apple of my cheek before pulling away—body and all. In the next moment, he’s gone—lost to the shadows from which he came. Leaving me to deal with my state of mind or lack thereof.
I groan, closing my eyes as I rest my head against the pillar. The room is spinning, even in the dark, behind my eyelids. It's spinning, spinning, spinning.
And I fall into oblivion.