Chapter 14

The Docks at night were beautiful—smelled like shit, but the view almost made it worth it.

Almost.

Berga typically only ever spent time on the outskirts of the parking lot, away from the crowds and drunkards, and even then, his only purpose was to support Bay.

As a professor at the most prestigious school on planet, Bay had to hide the fact he was an illegal racer, so he kept his helmet on at all times and went by the name Pandaveer. The racers were split into skill levels: Elite, League, Mid, and Rookie. As one of the top racers in League, Bay had gathered a pretty decent-sized fanbase, including some overzealous people who tried to follow him and catch a glimpse at what was beneath the helmet.

Berga and Flix took turns waiting until after his races with a loading truck to store Bay’s bike. He changed clothing there and then drove himself home with no one the wiser. Because all that needed to be done discreetly, there’d never been a genuine reason for Berga to travel further onto the scene.

“Is it too noisy?” Nate Narek leaned in and practically shouted into Berga’s ear. Considering how loud the crowd around them was cheering, there’d been no other choice but to, yet Berga still sent him a disapproving glare all the same before nodding his head.

The race tonight was for the Elites, which meant racers like Bay and Nate—who was only Mid tier—weren’t allowed to participate.

But Madden was.

He glanced around, scowling when someone bumped into his shoulder. As soon as that man saw Berga, he skittered off to the side, putting distance between them. Most people were smartly doing the same, giving Berga and Nate a wide berth.

Nate noticed and let out a low whistle. “Must be nice being a Devil. Usually, we’re all packed in here like sardines.”

“The smell is already intolerable,” Berga stated. The mixture of cigarette smoke, spilled booze, sweat, and grease had overpowered any pleasing scent that could have come from the ocean water on the other side of the street.

The track was made up of cordoned-off roads that didn’t get much traffic this late in the day. That was how Madden had gotten away with it and selected this area in the beginning when he’d first come up with the idea for the races. Now, politicians and the police helped to block those roads off whenever there was an official event. If asked, it was mere rumor and hearsay, but everyone knew the truth.

“They may as well legalize this,” Berga grumbled.

“I heard Madden is trying to get it to be,” Nate said. “He submitted the paperwork last week. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see if it’s approved by the high council.”

Berga snorted. “That? It’ll be taken straight to the Emperor.” Who would approve it immediately due to Madden’s close friendship with her brother, Kelevra. “I thought the fact it was considered illegal was half the appeal to him, though.”

He was pretty sure that’s what he’d overheard years ago at Friction. Madden had been talking about it with Baikal and some of the others, and Berga happened to be close enough to listen in on the conversation. He had no clue why it’d stuck with him, but the details returned now.

“When is this damn thing starting?”

“Right now.” Nate pointed to their left where the start of the race began, just as two riders stepped out from a small building.

The already boisterous crowd grew even louder, but this time Berga tuned them out.

The hovercars were already in position at the starting line, one neon yellow and white and the other black with streaks of maroon. The riders' motocross outfits matched their bikes, and even though they both already had their helmets on, Berga knew exactly which one was Madden just from his gait alone.

“Did he color match everything to his hair?” he clicked his tongue. How tacky. Even still, he couldn’t tear his gaze away as Madden swung a long leg over his bike and seated himself. When he waved at the crowd, lapping up the attention, Berga scoffed.

Why did he suddenly feel prickly all over?

This was stupid. What was he even doing here? Trying to get Madden’s attention? To what end?

The asshole had continued to ignore him since yesterday, and while it irked him, Berga couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to explain why that was. They’d slept together thrice now, and each time had been against the others' will. Tit for tat. As far as he was concerned, that should make them even. It should mean things could return to the way they used to be, with the two of them living their own lives away from each other.

And yet, here he was, breaking his carefully constructed routine to watch a hoverbike race he didn’t give two shits about, all so he could catch a glimpse of the man he was meant to have nothing to do with.

Was this a cosmic punishment, perhaps? Karma’s way of getting back at him for that stunt he’d pulled in the boathouse? The last time he’d made a mistake with someone he shouldn’t, he’d paid the ultimate price…

There was a flash of pink to his right, but when Berga’s head shot in that direction, it was to find a man around his age wearing a t-shirt in that color, screaming Madden’s name at the top of his lungs.

Not her.

Not the girl in tulle.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his eyes back to the racers. It was about to start, and if he focused, he could block out the scratching sensation at the back of his mind. Sometimes he got it before an episode, a warning sign he was able to use to his advantage. If he could distract himself with something else, he could avoid slipping into the delusion.

A large electrical sign hovered in the air off to the side of where Madden and his opponent were, the green numbers starting to countdown from ten with the crowd chiming in.

“Sunday is really good,” Nate leaned in and told Berga, even though he hadn’t asked anything about the man in yellow and white. “He’s not from around here, and people are saying there’s a chance he’ll beat Madden tonight and ruin his winning streak.”

Berga grunted.

“The bets are actually pretty torn,” Nate continued excitedly.

“I know,” Berga said. “I put coin on that one earlier.” He pointed to Sunday just as the timer reached zero.

Nate looked surprised, but anything he may have been about to say about Berga’s betting choice was cut off by the sound of the bikes taking off. They zipped past the crowd, fast enough to kick up a layer of dust in their wake that had Berga coughing and waving a hand in front of his face.

No one else seemed all that affected, everyone’s heads turning to keep the racers in sight as they sped down the straight road and veered to the left, where they momentarily disappeared from view behind a set of tall bushes. This track went over the bridge that crossed the inlet and then straight on the other side before circling back to the starting line in a rather boring loop.

“How many times do they have to do this?” Berga asked, eyes catching the glare from headlights as the racers crossed over the bridge. “Three?”

“Two,” Nate corrected. “Usually they go once and they take the course that leads through the forest, but Sunday only had enough time for a quick race before he’s set to leave the planet again, so they’ll just do a half course and race by us twice.”

“How do you know all of this? ”

“I help organize the events, remember?”

Right. He’d actually forgotten for a second. Nate spent more time with Madden than Berga ever had. Yesterday, at the café, Berga hadn’t brought Madden up, not because he’d been embarrassed, but because there hadn’t been a logical reason to do so. He’d gone to Bay initially because he’d wanted help to explain the way he was feeling and why his latest delusion hadn’t lasted, but since the professor had suggested conducting a few more experiments…

“Do you have some time tomorrow?” Berga asked as the hoverbikes came around the corner and passed them for the second time. He was watching, but wasn’t all that invested. If Madden won, great, if he lost, then Berga would leave with more coin in his pocket. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you in a more private setting.”

“Sure, sure,” Nate bobbed his head, eyes locked onto the back of the bikes. Unlike Berga, the race had all of his attention. “Want to meet on campus around noon? I was going to swing by and return a book to Bay then anyway.”

“Perfect.” He’d skip lunch and still be able to make it to class after.

Nate slapped him in the arm excitedly all of a sudden, jostling him from his thoughts. “They’re coming to the finish line!”

Berga did what was expected of him and turned to watch with all the others, only mildly curious about who would win. Both bikes seemed to appear at the same time, fighting neck and neck as they approached the yellow line cast over the asphalt. Something weird in his chest tightened seeing how close they were, almost as if…he was nervous.

Why? He’d bet on Sunday. It’d be in his best interest if Madden lost. Two seconds ago, he hadn’t even cared, so what was this uncomfortable pressure he was feeling now?

And why did it loosen the second Madden took the lead and crossed the finish line? Everyone cheered, and he found the corner of his mouth tipping up of its own accord.

Everything else happened so quickly after that, though.

A group of fans instantly surrounded Madden, three women practically throwing themselves at him, while a male flung an arm around his neck and clung to him like—

“Berga?” Nate called after him but he hardly noticed, too busy internally fuming. “What are you doing?!”

Less than forty-eight hours ago, that asshole had him tied up, peppering his neck with kisses, whispering garbage about how “cute and good” Berga was, but he was just standing there laughing while all those people hung all over him like they had a right to it.

Like getting to touch Madden Odell was some sort of damn theme park ride.

Like anyone could just take him away whenever they wanted and leave Berga —

There was a flash of pink, the brush of tulle against his knee as he briskly made his way across the track. He batted it away, rubbing his palm against his thigh when a couple specks of blood appeared on the back of his hand from his efforts.

Oh no.

Blood.

Berga suddenly stopped, eyes wandering away from Madden and his groupies to the ground. A puddle was forming right where he stood, seeping up around his feet, the smell of copper pungent in the air. The shaking started before he could convince himself this wasn’t real, the fluttering of pink tulle dancing around him, pulling him in deeper. Someone giggled, the sound light and airy.

His heart broke—he could hear the pieces of it clunking around inside of him as it came undone, the sharp stabs of metal poking at his lungs, rising up his throat like acid. One hand went to his neck, the other continuing to rub off the red smears, but every time he did, more appeared until his arm was soaked up to the elbow.

This wasn’t happening. He needed to get a grip. This was a very public place. There were too many people around. If it got out that the Butcher of the Brumal was suffering from delusions, the Satellite would become a joke.

Berga would become a joke.

And then it wouldn’t just be his parents who no longer wanted him.

It’d be the whole damn world .

There were safe emotions, things he could feel without worry of consequences. Things like excitement for a new project or test results, annoyance whenever Flix didn’t call him back. Mild discontent. Elation was okay, too, usually since that also related to his work, and that drive to satiate his curiosity encompassed all else, including the psychosis.

So why now? What had he felt to set this off? To bring her back to him?

“ Oh no, you’ve hurt yourself, silly!”

“No.”

“ Come on, I saw mom put the extra bandages in the basement.”

“Stop talking.”

“ Bergie, hurry up, you’re getting it all over! Dad will be angry with you again!”

“Don’t go down there.”

The laughter came again, ringing in his ears, and even though he knew logically this was all in his head, he couldn’t stop his reactions. Couldn’t prevent himself from hyperventilating when she corporealized in front of him, crouched at his feet, poking at his knee.

“ Oh no,” it was like the entire crowd vanished, her voice the only thing audible as everything else faded into darkness, “ you’ve hurt yourself, silly!”

What did he have on him? There was a pill filled with nanites that broke apart white blood cells. One that would turn someone’s skin purple. A tranquilizer…Maybe that could work, but this wa sn’t a safe environment. He couldn’t just pass out any random place.

Someone grabbed his arm from behind and he shook them off.

In front of him, the girl in pink giggled and peered up at him with eyes filled with love.

The last person who’d ever looked at him that way.

He reached for her, freezing when he saw his bloodstained fingers.

“ Come on,” the apparition grabbed him by two of his fingers, seemingly undeterred by the crimson rubbing off onto her own skin, “ I saw mom put the extra bandages in the basement.”

“I don’t need a bandage,” Berga said, allowing her to tug him forward half a step before he forced them to a standstill. “I don’t need it, don’t go down there.”

Tranquilizer.

Right.

This wasn’t real.

He riffled through his right pocket for the correct vial, pulling out one with a gold cap which he discarded carelessly onto the ground. There was the brief sound of shattering glass, but that swept away into the abyss as swiftly as anything else.

The next one had a red cap. Not right either.

Maybe it had been the gold after all…

Shit.

He couldn’t think straight.

At least he found the syringe. He’d need that for when he—

“ Bergie ,” the tone was different this time, off and shaky. Scared.

His gaze snapped up and he gasped when he saw red appear at the center of her chest and begin to bloom outward. “No.”

They hadn’t gone anywhere. He hadn’t followed her!

“We can’t go down there.” He wanted to reach for her again, but if he did he’d get her dirty. Their dad hated when they were dirty. He couldn’t do it. He’d mess up her dress. “No.”

But how could he not grab her? There was a niggling in the back of his mind, something bothering him about the scenario. Like he’d made this choice before and it’d messed everything up.

What was it?

“Don’t touch him. He’s volatile in this state,” a male voice spoke close to Berga’s left ear, familiar.

Annoying.

He swatted whoever it was away.

Someone cursed and then there was pain in his cheek. The hit took him down and his palm landed in broken glass. It didn’t matter though. His eyes found the girl in pink again, desperately crawling toward her.

He had to do something before it was too late.

Wait.

No. That wasn’t right. It was too late.

“Too late…” he mumbled the words, but they felt foreign on his tongue. When he turned his hand ar ound, there were tiny shards of glass sticking out of his palm. “…I don’t need a bandage.”

“Kaz don’t!” that annoying voice again. Why wouldn’t it shut up?! Couldn’t that person see Berga was trying to think ?!

A fist shot through the girl in pink’s chest, straight through like she was ghost. It landed against Berga’s nose. There was a crack and a gush of blood, but he shoved it away and got back up.

The girl held form for a moment longer, then she shifted, breaking away into colorful bursts of dust before his eyes.

“ Bergie .”

“No.” His bloodied hands grabbed at nothing, grains of pink slipping through his fingers like sand before vanishing in the wind. “No.”

She was here.

Right here.

She was here and then—

Berga lifted his head, mind finally processing another person there, a man, staring down at him with rage in his somewhat familiar eyes.

Rage?

“Bring her back,” he growled. What the hell did this person have to be angry about? She was here and then she wasn’t. A blink of time. A moment. The bursting of a bubble. The end of a chain reaction.

She was right here.

Maybe this time, he could have saved her.

Maybe this time, he could have.

If only this person hadn’t screwed it up .

Berga rose to his feet. He’d kill him. A life for a life.

A life for a life.

That was fair.

Fair.

Like a theme park ride.

He didn’t like knives. They were messy. But he was already covered in blood anyway, right? What did it matter. Knives were swift. Efficient.

A life for a life.

The thin one he kept tucked into his left boot came free with ease, and he brandished it with expert grace, darting forward even as the man before him cursed and shot back. He’d stab him in the eyes first. It was always easier to take down prey once blinded. Then he could take his time with the rest. Work on him slowly. Efficiency didn’t always have to equate to time spent quickly.

“Berga.”

The eyes first, then the tongue, then—

“Berga!”

“Enough of your screeching can’t you see I am busy!” He jabbed to the left at the insufferable sound, felt the tip of the blade sink past flesh and stick after only an inch or so. Movement in front of him caused him to turn forward again, and he frowned. The man who’d hit him was still there.

Unscathed.

Unscathed…

Berga glanced to the weapon in his hand, lodged into a shoulder covered in black leather. No, black with maroon detailing.

Oh. He’d hit the wrong person.

“Berga.” A palm settled over his, gently, the accompanying voice almost soothing. “It’s okay, baby. I’m still with you.”

“Still…” That was perplexing. No one was with him. Berga was alone. Berga was always alone. Even Flix had left him on some stupid vacation and— “Good Light.”

It came back to him all at once, with enough force it almost knocked him off his feet. He dropped the hilt of the knife and stumbled back a full three steps before a strong arm banded around his waist and pulled him in against a solid chest.

Shamelessly, Berga covered his ears and buried his face against whoever was holding him in a bid to block out the harsh lights as the abyss vanished and reality snapped back into place. Lights were everywhere. The stimulation was beating at him from all sides and it felt like his brain was going to explode out of his skull.

“Tranquilizer,” he somehow managed to mumble. “I need the tranquilizer.”

“That’s what he landed on,” the first voice from earlier.

Berga dared to pull back a little and see, frowning when he saw Nate standing there with a swollen cheek. “Who hit you?” He’d kill them.

“You did, asshole,” the man Berga had been aiming for growled and it finally connected that it was Kazimir .

Had he been about to murder Kazimir?

“Hey.” Madden was holding him, and he continued to speak softly, waiting for Berga to meet his gaze. “You coming back to me, baby?”

“Back…” He shook his head, not understanding. “People can’t come back. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. Once they’re…” A flash of pink to the right.

“Don’t.” Madden rested a hand on Berga’s face and redirected until they were facing one another again. “Stay with me. Just me. I’m right here.” He licked his lips. “Don’t you want me?”

“Want you?” Did he want him? Didn’t he want him? The dizziness rushed over him before he could make up his mind. “Oh.”

“The drug is kicking in,” Nate not so helpfully explained.

A second before Berga lost all feeling in his legs.

And was swallowed by the abyss for the second time that night.