26. Brittany

TWENTY-SIX

brITTANY

"Your vitals look good," the nurse tells me as she makes notes on the iPad. "I've given you more pain meds to help you sleep. They should kick in soon." With a final smile, she squeezes my foot through the thin blanket. "Remember, the sooner you rest, the sooner you'll be out of here."

She shuts the door on her way out, and I try to calm my heartbeat. Everything looks scarier in the dark. The lone lamp in the corner of the room isn't enough to chase away the shadows or the sensation of something lurking. I tell myself that it's all in my head, but as the drugs take effect, I become more fearful, and the room spins as the shadows grow taller, crawling across the walls. I struggle to keep my eyes open as my vision darkens at the corners.

I don't want to sleep in case it comes to finish what it started.

Pain radiates through my severed wrist despite the strong pain medication. I grit my teeth and wince as I try to sit up in bed. I'm too weak, my fingers tingling with phantom sensations.

My hand is gone, but it still feels like it's there. Now, a different kind of pain presses on my sternum, like a weight I'm unable to shift. I can't look at my bandaged arm without remembering that… thing inside me that enjoyed my terror.

It savored my friends' fear even more.

There was nowhere to hide.

The moment it entered my body, it saw everything—it knew everything: every thought I'd ever had, my fears, and the things I'm ashamed of, as well as every lie I've ever told.

My dreams are troubled. I drift in and out of consciousness, moving from one nightmare to the next.

Awaking with a start, I push up on my elbows, a layer of cold sweat clinging to my clammy skin. I become aware of movement to my left and slowly turn my head to the window, afraid of what I'll see.

The curtains dance in front of the windows, opening like a gaping void to hell. I can feel my chin wobble the longer I stare.

Another gentle breeze drifts through the room.

This is it.

There's no escape.

It has come for me and my soul. It wants my secrets. My memories of her.

"Your heart rate is picking up," a voice says to my right, and I whip my head around.

Doctor Walsh, the surgeon who performed the amputation, steps out from the shadowed corner. His eyes are as dark as the night outside, his movements measured, and his smile cruel and vicious.

A cold sensation slithers down my back, and I shift my hand closer to the panic button, hoping he won't notice. It's stupidity. Something so ancient can read me like a book. The monster residing inside my surgeon predates humanity. He's timeless, having roamed this plane for centuries.

He approaches the bed, sniffing the air, his eyes rolling back before he trains them on me again. The heart monitor speeds up, but all I can focus on is him as he tilts his head to the side.

He studies me.

My fingers brush up against the panic button, and I snatch it up, trembling with dread. Even my teeth chatter. There's no Heaven after this, not if I die at his hands. That thing will feed on my soul until there's nothing left.

He drops his eyes to the panic button in my hand, and the left side of his mouth quirks. I hold my breath, sweat beading on my forehead and trailing down the side of my face.

"You're so scared," he drawls, amused. "I can feel it pulse in the air."

"Get away from me!"

His smile slips as he glides his fingers over my legs through the quilt. I try to kick at him, but he grips me hard, bruising my tender skin.

He tuts. "Such a naughty girl."

When he rounds the bed, I glance down at the syringe in his hand. "What the fuck is that?" I scramble back, ripping the cannula from my hand and removing the wires attaching me to the heart rate monitor, causing it to flatline as I dash off the bed.

He's faster, pulling me back by my hair. My mangled wrist knocks against the bedframe, sending a jolt of pain through me, and I cry out as he hauls me back onto the bed.

"Please, no," I sob, trying to fight him off, but he overpowers me. I scream at the top of my lungs, his fingers brushing through my tears as he straddles me on the bed. "No one can hear you, little human. It's just you and me." He digs his fingers into my chin and shushes me. My heart threatens to break out from my heaving chest as I kick out at the sheets, bucking my hips. Nothing works.

He traces my trembling lips with his fingers and studies my face, touching me almost tenderly. "Human fear is delectable."

"Please, don't hurt me," I whimper, my chin wobbling. "I don't want to die."

"Say it again," he whispers, and my blood turns to ice when he opens his mouth to reveal a forked tongue.

"What the fuck?" I breathe, unable to believe my eyes. Then I let out another blood-curdling scream as he slides his serpent tongue up my throat and over my chin to taste the sweat on my skin. I struggle against him, sobbing uncontrollably when he grabs hold of my wrist and digs his fingers into the bandaged stump, a fiery pain spreading through my arm.

I'll vomit.

I taste it in my mouth as he looks me in the eye. I've never felt pain like this. Never felt it consume me.

Through the intense agony, I become aware of a sharp prick at my neck as he inserts the syringe, tracking every flicker of fear. Every wince and swallow.

He holds the syringe steady. "You can feel it, can't you? The life force draining from you."

When I whimper, he hushes me again, his deathly cold breath whispering over my lips. "Your friends will think your heart gave out."

"No, please," I plead, my eyes burning with tears. "Don't do this. I don't want to die."

He sniffs the air again, groaning deep in his chest. His forked tongue darts out and he drags it over my face in one long stroke. "I could feed on your fear for hours," he says, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. When he eases back to look at me, my eyes widen with terror. "It'll be over in minutes."

I whimper as he grips my chin and pushes down on the syringe, injecting air bubbles into my bloodstream.

"That's it," he whispers, caressing my mouth with his thumb. "There's a good girl."

"No…" My voice breaks. I don't want to die. My mom…my family…

He cradles my face the entire time, whispering sickening praise while we wait.

When pain begins to spread through my chest, my body seizes, and his smile widens as the black in his eyes intensifies until it bleeds down his cheeks like ink.

"Come to me," he urges.

Intense, burning pressure radiates through my chest as my body spasms.

I convulse. Horror has hold of every muscle.

The ink crawls up my legs, starting at my feet and moving over my knees and thighs like a million little spiders or ants in a sea of black. It rises higher and higher, over my lips and in through my nostrils, until darkness is all I see.