Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #10
Tonight, I met Hudson at his apartment in the city. I know, I know—how dumb can one woman be? But he was a perfect gentleman, as all Masks are trained to be—so Hudson says. After a nutritious, home-cooked lunch, Hudson and I sat on the couch, and he told me about his childhood.
To think someone so kind—so good—would be forced to do those things… After tonight, I’m more determined than ever to take down the Sanctum. They’re disgusting, horrible abominations against humanity, and they must be stopped.
God help us all if they can’t.
The only two things I know when I come to: my head feels like an elephant sat on it, and a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs are strapped to my wrists.
Wait, handcuffs? Fuzzy handcuffs?
A wave of adrenaline courses through me as I try to sit up, but the thick leather strap across my chest makes that impossible. Raising my head, I notice my legs are starfished, one ankle tied to each corner of the iron bedpost.
I shut my eyes tight and let my head fall back onto the—surprisingly—comfy pillow, focusing on taking deep, even breaths through my nose.
Calm the fuck down, Brett. Freaking out will not get you out of this mess. Just—think of puppies. Puppies are nice. Puppies don’t kidnap you and tie you to a bed in their lair. Puppies aren’t going to come in here any moment and brutally murder you…
Okay, thinking about puppies is so not helping.
I jerk as the door scrapes open, then force myself to remain as still as possible. If he thinks I’m asleep, maybe he’ll go away…
Sure enough, after a few moments, the footsteps recede, followed by the door closing. I breathe a sigh of relief, then immediately start to wiggle my wrists from the cuffs. I’ve seen several movies where they have to dislocate their thumbs to slip out of the cuffs, but I’m not exactly sure how to do that from this angle. I frown down at my hands, using the heel of my left hand to try to force the joint of my thumb of my right out of the socket.
“Please don’t do that.”
I scream, my body jerking painfully against the restraints as that distorted voice echoes off the walls. Oh shit, he never left. I’m going to fucking die.
His footsteps sound out, growing alarmingly close to the bed. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll kill you, I swear,” I snarl, hating the way my voice cracks slightly. In my defense, no amount of training could have prepared me for this kind of terror.
There’s a dip in the mattress, and I know he’s taken a seat at the foot of the bed. Is this it? Is this when I die? I always thought I would have a better death—a more noble one. Maybe in the line of duty, protecting someone else—but no. I’m going to die hog-tied to a bed with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs strapped to my wrists.
God, how embarrassing.
“Brett…” His voice is barely a whisper, and a moment later, something touches my leg.
I jerk my knee, though it does nothing to dislodge his gloved hand resting there. “Get the fuck off me, fucker! I’ll fucking kill you! ”
“Your vocabulary leaves much to be desired,” he murmurs, looking down at his hand for a solid minute before deciding to pull it away. “ Fuck is not an adjective.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck yourself,” I snarl, irritation lighting my veins. I don’t care that he just made fun of me for saying it. He can fuckity fuck himself with a cactus.
Ghost tilts his head. “I’d much rather you do it.”
Of course he would. “Well, tough toenails, buddy,” I snip, fighting the urge to cringe after saying it. Real threatening, Brett. He’s definitely not going to stab you to death now.
I close my eyes, waiting for the pain that comes with a dagger being shoved into my rib cage, but there’s nothing. Slowly, I crack one eye open to find him still sitting at the edge of the bed, his head cocked like he’s observing some strange creature at the zoo.
“What?” I snap, wriggling uncomfortably against my restraints. Why is he looking at me like that?
Still, the Phantom refuses to speak. He just keeps staring and staring and staring. I bet he’s not even blinking under that mask—assuming he has real eyes or eyelids. I know he has a mouth and a jaw, but above that… who knows? Maybe he’s part cyborg. Maybe that’s why it’s been impossible to catch this fucker.
Stranger things have happened.
“What does that mean… tough toenails ?”
I suppress the urge to laugh. I doubt psychopathic killers respond well to being made fun of. But it’s just so funny. “You’ve never heard someone say that?” He shakes his head. I sigh, wishing I could press my palms against my eyes to stave off this horrible headache.
“It’s just… it means tough luck. Like not gonna happen, buddy .” And now I’m explaining idioms to a serial killer. This day is turning out to be fantastic.
Not.
I lift my head when he doesn’t respond, noting how he hasn’t moved an inch since I last looked. He’s still sitting there, watching me.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I demand.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
He says it so matter-of-factly like he’s talking about the weather. And my stupid ass blushes. Get it together, woman. He is a violent, psychopathic criminal. I shake myself, forcing a glare onto my face. I just have to figure a way out of this mess, and then… and then…
It occurs to me there is no way in sweet hell I’m getting out of here alive. Not unless he willingly releases me. Meaning…
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my voice brave. “Why am I here? What do you plan to do to me?”
It might be a trick of the light, but I swear his shoulders tense just the slightest bit. For a while, I don’t think he’s going to answer me. But then he sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits, turning his head to the side. It’s the first time he’s looked away since I woke, and it sends a chill through me for some reason.
“What do you mean you don’t know? People don’t just kidnap other people for no reason!”
He shrugs, still not looking at me. “I am no ordinary person.”
Well, normal people don’t run around in masks kidnapping federal agents, so I guess that tracks. “Are you… are you going to kill me?” This time, I do cringe as the words fall from my mouth. Great, now I’m giving him ideas. How the hell did they let my ass into the bureau ?
The Phantom whips his head to me, seeming to stare into my very soul. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”
Think. Things are not looking good. “W-why not? What are you going to do with me?”
He shrugs, that faceless oval moving off to the side again. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know! That’s?—”
“ I said I don’t know! ”
I jerk, my chest heaving as that distorted voice echoes off the stone walls. A heavy sigh tears through him, and he stands from the bed, making his way toward my head.
“What are you doing? Get away from me!”
He acts as if he doesn’t hear me, reaching toward my chest and loosening the strap with a flick of his fingers. I blink, ceasing my struggle as I realize what he’s doing. He pulls a slim silver key from his breast pocket and inserts it into one of the restraints on my ankles. There’s a click as the lock comes undone, and I breathe a sigh of relief as blood flows freely to my toes.
“Thank you,” I whisper, sitting up as soon as my other ankle is free. I hold out my wrists to him, but he shakes his head.
“I do not trust you with your hands free. Besides…” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “I like seeing you in handcuffs.”
I frown, throwing my legs over the side of the bed clumsily. The Phantom jerks his head to the far end of the room and takes off, leaving me to stumble after him.
He stops in front of a plain stone wall, and my mouth pops in a question. It dies in my throat, though, when he presses the back of his wrist to it, and a secret door slides open.
“Whoa. That’s pretty badass.”
He whips his head to me, seemingly surprised to hear me say something other than a threat. “You think so?”
I shrug awkwardly. “Sure. That, or I’m easily impressed.”
A snort sounds from that eerie black oval. “Come, Brett. Watch your step.”
He jerks his head, motioning for me to head up in front. My hackles raise, but it’s not like I have another option. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulder back as much as the cuffs will allow, and I ascend the stairs.
I don’t need to look back to know the Phantom is staring directly at my ass the whole way, and it fills me with a strange buzzing feeling. I shake my head. That’s it—I’ve definitely lost my marbles.
“Brett?”
I jerk, my foot sliding from the step and sending my body reeling backward. I close my eyes, waiting for the smack of my head against the steps, but there’s nothing—nothing except a warm pair of arms wrapped tightly around my waist. That strange electricity returns, emanating strongest from the places his hands rest on my hips.
“It’s okay, darling. I have you now.” His voice is so soft. So… I don’t really know the word to describe it. Reverent , maybe.
I pry my body from his grip, frowning when I’m left utterly empty by the loss of sensation. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“You have a lot of questions,” he says, ushering me up the last few steps. I’m about to point out that I have a right to be, but then I step into the main room, and all previous thoughts fly out the window.
A massive chandelier hangs from the thirty-foot vaulted ceiling, complete with hand-carved stone ornaments along each of the arched hallways. The room is cast in a gentle orange hue from the light of the chandelier bouncing off the sandstone, giving the entire space a cozy feel despite the size. A grand piano sits in the center of the room—a Steinway, by the looks of it—and stacks on stacks of sheet music are sitting on the top, their edges frayed and yellow from age. I move toward the massive instrument in a trance, running my fingertips lightly over the worn ivory keys.
It’s so quiet here that I can hear my heart beating. And if I listen closely, I swear I can hear waves crashing in the background. Curiously, I float over to the window taking up the wall on the left of the room. It’s dark outside, so I can’t see out, but the closer I get, the surer I am of what I heard earlier.
We’re by the ocean.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, listening to the waves crash against the stone cliffs. My best guess is we’re somewhere in the northern part of Moriton—possibly inside the cliffs that break off into the ocean.
I shudder, the severity of my situation hitting me tenfold. If I’m where I think I am, then there’s no possible way for me to escape. We’re deep in the wilderness, with no sign of civilization for miles. Even if I somehow managed a way out of this stone fortress, I wouldn’t know which direction to start running .
“I’m trapped,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes tight. I’m going to die here, aren't I?
“Brett?”
I jump, knocking my head against the glass with a loud thunk. I bring my hand to my forehead with a wince, then twist to face the Phantom.
“Yes?”
The Phantom shuffles his feet against the stone floor, his head slightly downcast. “Would you—would you care for a tour?”
I lower my hand, trying to make sense of him. He seems nervous… why?
“Sure.” I shrug, looking off to the side. “Sounds nice.” And maybe I’ll find some way to escape.
The Phantom nods, turning on his heels and gliding toward the hallway to the left. “Come, Brett.”
I frown but still follow at his heels, unable to help my disbelieving gaze as we walk through the grand archway. “So… who built this place?”
He doesn’t respond immediately, and I cringe, thinking I might have offended him somehow. Maybe I’m not supposed to ask questions…
“I did. Well, I designed it. I had some… help with the actual infrastructure. ”
Cryptic but impressive. “And where are we going now?”
“To my office.” As soon as he says it, we come to another seemingly innocent stone wall. That is, until he presses his wrist against the wall, and another secret door slides open.
Damn. I think I need one of those.
He steps through the opening, gesturing for me to follow him with a flick of his gloved hand. I do, stepping into a room that seems to be filled wall-to-wall with computer monitors. Several of them showcase black screens, but a number of them also have a live feed of people’s houses—people’s bedrooms.
I swallow, realizing he must have had a similar feed to my house. No wonder it felt like someone was watching me. He literally was.
As if sensing my thoughts, he speaks up. “Yours was one of my favorites.” He gestures nonchalantly to the wall of screens. “All of these are for business. But yours, darling…” He takes a step closer to me, clearly forgetting his earlier nervousness as he takes a deep breath. “Yours… was all for pleasure.”
I shuffle back, suddenly anxious with how close he’s gotten—and more importantly, how my body seems to be reacting to it. I want him to touch me, want to feel that strange, heated electricity coursing through my veins at the contact. It’s so different from when other people touch me. There are no crawling ants under my skin, no desire to light the area on fire to get rid of the horrible sensations.
Oh, fuck me. I have a crush on the Phantom.