Prologue

Oliver

Two Years Ago

I am properly fucked. Not in a good way, either. I can’t even remember the last time I felt “normal.” The only time I feel even close to it is when I’m with my girlfriend, Danica. She makes the voices in my head disappear—for the most part, anyway. She silences the whispers telling me to do unspeakable things like lie, cheat, cause pain, or murder. The worst part is, she has no idea these things torment my mind every single bloody day.

I stare down at Danica’s beautiful face, her head resting in my lap. I stroke her hair lazily while we sit on the park benches outside our favorite hangout spot, surrounded by friends. She opens her eyes to gaze up at me, giving me the sexiest, most seductive smile, radiant in the sun’s rays. I twirl the ends of her long blonde strands between my fingertips, giving her a smirk as I do. If she only fucking knew the thoughts that haunt me every single day, she wouldn’t be smiling up at me. She, and everyone else, would think I was a monster.

I can’t remember exactly when I first started hearing the whispers in my mind. They’ve been there as long as I can remember. As best we can tell, I was born in South Yorkshire, England, but that’s just a guess since I never knew my real parents. I was adopted by a nice couple who happened to find me on their doorstep. They told me that they were trying for a baby for years with no luck. So, naturally, when they found a newborn swaddled on their doorstep, they perceived this as a sign from God. That their prayers were answered. I don’t think they ever thought that they would have gained a son who is more like the Antichrist, than a blessing from God. I don’t know anything about my actual birth parents. I have so many questions about them, starting with whether either of them were as fucked in the head as I am? S’pose I’ll never know the answer to that question. My adoptive parents were so patient with me. They wanted to help me; they knew I was different from other kids my age. Probably figured it out when they caught me in the backyard one day after school actively dissecting a squirrel with a knife I got out of the kitchen. I was swirling the blood between my fingers and staring at it like I was lost in a trance. It wasn’t my fault, though. The whispers told me to do it and that I would love it. And fuck, I really did.

Lie to them, Oliver, they can’t know how much you like it, if they do you can’t play with the pretty blood again. Wait until you taste it. Didn’t it look so lovely spilling from that squirrel’s belly? It’s always the same snake-like voice, hissing sinful words to me in an eerily sweet whisper. The voice consumes all of my thoughts when it speaks to me, compelling me to commit wicked acts against others—I won’t lie, it’s so hard to resist.

My parents tried everything to help me combat my inner demons- therapy, medicine, and talking to me about my feelings. Nothing ever worked, no matter how hard we tried. Before Danica, the closest I ever came to quieting my mind of unholy thoughts was when I started creating music with my mates in high school. We formed a band called Soulstorm Serenade, never actually expecting much to come of it, except to make some cool music in Noah’s garage. During our daily practices, my mind was quiet and sated. I couldn’t go out and commit atrocities when I was focusing on writing new lyrics for our next song. The music was fast, heavy metal with lyrics that would make your mother clutch her pearls and call us devil worshipers. Writing lyrics and screaming them into a microphone was my escape, the only way I had to express the thoughts that crippled my mind and blackened my soul.

The band consisted of Noah, our drummer and my best mate since primary school. Matthew is our lead guitarist, with Travis on rhythm guitar, backup vocals, and Adrian on bass. Although they knew me better than anyone else and spent more time with me than anyone else, they knew nothing about the thoughts that corrupted my mind every day. They just knew I wrote some damn good song lyrics. Eventually, we started taking our music more seriously and performing at small local venues—just pubs and shitty goth clubs for the most part. Over time, though, we gained a vocal fan base and began creating merch for the band, branding ourselves in a way that earned us tens of thousands of likes and follows on social media. We were becoming real rock stars, and things were going really great for us.

Until my father came home from work one day and told Mum and me that he had gotten a massive promotion at work. If he accepted, we would have to move to the States, to some town in upstate New York. The promotion would improve our lives and our financial situation, even though we got by and made do with what we had. But it was still a huge opportunity for him and our family. An opportunity my parents just couldn’t say no to. So my dad accepted the role, and my parents told me we were moving. When I learned that I had to uproot my whole life and leave behind everything I knew, the whispers increased tenfold, eating at my brain like a fucking parasite. They got more twisted. Darker. Sicker. Evil. A week before moving to the States, I killed a person for the first time—tasted blood for the first time.

* * *

Sever her head. Watch as the blood spills from her gaping neck. Kill her. Cut. Rip. Shred. Taste her blood on your tongue, Oliver—blood of my blood. You will finally know true bliss.

The voice in my head is eating away at me tonight, feasting on every ounce of free will I had left to claim. Infecting my mind with murderous thoughts to end a life. How could I say no?

My mates knew I always found some willing slag to fuck after a set. So many women were just so desperate to fuck a rock star, they fell to their knees instantly for me if I so much as looked at them. Anything to suck Soulstorm Serenade’s lead singer’s cock. It was so fucking easy.

So my mates all left while I waited until the venue was mostly cleared out and devoid of life, before making my move on the little birdie who had been trying to catch my attention all night. She practically threw her tits in my face after our set was over while I was at the merch stand with the band, meeting fans and signing autographs. She wanted my attention? Well, she certainly got it.

“Come on, I want to show you somethin’,” I say to the nameless groupie. I don’t care what her name is. She will only serve one purpose for me tonight. I’m holding her hand tight in my own as I drag her, rather forcefully, toward the back of the venue. She is stumbling over the rocky terrain in her platform high-heels as I quicken my pace to the woods on the outskirts of the building. Fucks sake.

“Oli, babe? Where are you takin’ me?” She giggles as she tries to keep up with my pace.

I pause my stride and stop in place, causing big tits to knock into me, she loses her balance, and I scramble to hold her upright. I couldn’t have picked out a more drunken, clumsy mess to claim for my first kill, could I? She has nice tits though, I always tend to make my decisions with the wrong head. With caution, I look around the deserted parking lot to make sure there are no witnesses seeing me drag this girl into the woods.

As soon as I see that the coast is clear, not a living soul in sight—besides this birdie and I. “We’re gonna have some fun in the woods, babe,” I smirk as I resume my stride, dragging her along with me into the woods. I know the voice in my head will be pleased with me tonight.

The groupie is following me deeper into the woods. I turn and look behind us, and all I can see are trees—we’ve gone far enough. I let her hand go and lean up against a tree. It’s late, if I had to guess it was close to midnight. Illuminated by the moonlight, the groupie giggles and bites her lip as she saunters over to me. She tries to kiss me, and I push her back. “Take your top off,” I command. Yeah, yeah. I know this isn’t part of the plan, but why deny myself a beautiful body to devour with my eyes?

The girl giggles as she takes another step back. She pushes her long black hair back off of her chest and reaches for the hem of her crop top. “Straight to the point, aren’t ya?” She says with a grin. I grunt in response and gesture with my head for her to continue. I’m getting antsy—I put my hand into my pocket and grip the base of the small pocket knife. The girl removes her top and her black lace bra and tosses them onto a fallen log.

I zone in on her glorious, perky breasts—my mouth waters at the sight. I wish I had more time to play with them. “Come here,” I growl.

The nameless groupie squeals with excitement and bounces up and down. I watch her tits bounce like I’m in a trance, and reach out to grab one into my hand as she walks closer to me. Fuck, can I really follow through with this? A shiver runs down my spine as I look into her bloodshot blue eyes. This girl has a family, people who love her, and who will look for her. I don’t think I can do this. I’m not even sure this is what I really ever wanted for myself, but the voice told me that I need to do this. Before my thoughts spin violently out of control, I place her nipple between my thumb and index finger and lightly squeeze. The girl moans softly as she begins to lean closer to me. Fuck it, I can’t do this. Fuck the voice. I’m going to have my way with this groupie and move on with my life, and she can do the same.

My grip loosens on the knife in my pocket, and I begin to relax. I glide the hand that was playing with her nipple further up, feeling her soft skin as I trail higher to her hair—grabbing a fistful into my grasp. My mouth crashes down to claim her ruby-painted lips, as my grip tightens in her hair. The groupie lets out a sharp hiss, and I am no longer able to focus on my sexual desires as the whispers slam into my mind. It is loud, commanding, and wracking my brain—bringing me to a halt.

Do not defy me, Oliver. Kill her. This is your destiny. You want this. You need this. Shove your blade into her carotid artery. It will be quick and painless.

I exhale shakily as my body slightly trembles. I want this. Just like the voice said.

The girl’s face is close to mine, so close I can feel her warm breath against my lips—her cheap, fruity perfume assaults my nostrils. “Oli baby, are you okay? What’s the matter?” She yelps against my mouth. I can feel her body tremble when I answer her question with a raspy laugh.

“The voices want me to paint the ground the same color as your lipstick, babe. I can’t say no. Sorry.” Her eyes widen as the realization of my words sink in.

Her bottom lip trembles as she tries to plead with me. “Please! I will do anything! You’re my idol, and I’m your biggest fan, Oli. I’m in love with you, let’s just have some fun, huh, babe?” She says while trying to contain the tears that are forming in her eyes.

I pause. I focus on the fear consuming her facial features, caused by my own actions. “I CAN’T!” I shout, tilting my head towards the dark, starry sky. The groupie is sobbing, but I can’t let her go. I try to loosen my hold on her hair, but my arm is locked in place. She struggles and tries to break free of my hold, but my grip is firm.

Kill her. Shred her flesh and watch the blood fall. NOW.

My eyes zone in on the girl once more, and I know what I must do. She is crying and pleading with me to spare her. I will spare her… I’ll spare her from more of this torture. In one swift movement, I remove my hand from my pocket with the knife held firm. I flick my wrist and set the blade free, and I shove it into the side of her neck. The girl tries to scream, but the only sound that emerges is her choking on her own blood. Blood pools at a rapid pace down the side of her neck, flowing down her beautiful tits. I adjust my grip on the blade and drag it along the full length of her neck with all of my strength. The blade is small but sharp. The voice wants me to sever her head, but I don’t think I am strong enough to cut through bone. I cut as deep as I can manage and push her lifeless corpse onto the soil.

Well done. Didn’t that feel good? Kneel before your prize and taste her.

A wide grin spreads across my face as I look down at her body. The light has gone from behind her eyes, staring blankly at the sky. A deep gaping wound spreads across her neck, right down to the vertebrae in the cervical spine. I slide the knife into my pocket and get down on my knees, placing one knee in between her legs and one hand next to her head. Breathing the iron-rich scent in deep, I swipe my index and middle finger through the blood gushing out of her wound and place it in front of my mouth, playing with it in between my fingers. I pause, suddenly panicked. What the fuck is wrong with me? If I get caught, I’m ruined. I sit back on my heels, my mind spiraling through every worst-case scenario. How the fuck could I do this? This was seriously mental, 50 shades of fucked up, and I need to get out of here now. I didn’t actually want this! I don’t want to be this person. This isn’t who I am. Disgusted and horrified with myself, I scramble upright ready to make a run for it, when the voice slides through my mind, oily in its charm, keeping me stuck in place.

Place your fingers in your mouth, Oliver, and taste her blood. I promise, blood of my blood, it is intoxicating. Ingest her life essence spilling out onto the floor. It is your destiny. You must do this.

The whispers so much louder and demanding—so overwhelming. I can’t say no. I can’t even begin to stop myself from listening to its demands. I lose all sense of control and give into the voice, placing my bloody index and middle finger into my mouth slowly, pressing down on my tongue, letting it swish the blood around in my mouth. I pull my fingers out slowly, closing my eyes, tilting my head back, and letting out a loud groan as I feel the metallic taste invading my senses. It is fucking intoxicating. Surely, this means I’m absolutely mental. Maybe I would be better in America.

* * *

“Where did you go just now?” I must have zoned out, thinking about that final concert back in England. I did check the news from back home to see if that girl’s body was ever found. Far as I can tell, no one ever located her body. No one has shown up on my doorstep yet trying to deport me back to the UK for questioning, so it seems I’m in the clear.

I look down at Danica, my first and only girlfriend, her head still lying in my lap as she looks up at me. It’s not that I couldn’t get a girlfriend before, I just didn’t want one. Really, I didn’t need one. Not when I had pussy overflowing for me on tap as the lead singer of a band growing in popularity by the day. But that all changed the day I met Danica at school during the beginning of our senior year. The minute I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to have her. That girl was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

Danica is short, standing about 5’1 in height in contrast to my 6’1, fit with curves in all the right places, with long blonde hair flowing down her slender body to her waist. Her large brown eyes are warm and inviting, drawing you in with their depth and beauty. Paired with her radiant smile and the two dimples in her cheeks to match, she is absolutely striking. I love seeing those dimples, making her smile just so they make an appearance. It is literally the best part of my day being with her, making her happy. Making those dimples of happiness show up.

Danica looks like the stereotypical cheerleader girl—makeup always done perfectly, nails painted in pretty pastel colors, with bright clothing choices to match. She is the ray of sunshine to my dark, gloomy storm cloud. I look like a bloke she wouldn’t usually give the time of day- tall and slender, tattoos scattered around my body with one full sleeve on my arm and working on the sleeve for my other arm. Even being as young as I am, I began covering my body in ink at the age of thirteen—mostly shitty pieces done by my friends that I later covered up with professional work, but I enjoy the feeling of being under a needle. When I feel the pain of getting a tattoo, it tends to soothe me, rather than cause me extreme physical pain. The stark difference in appearances between Danica and I don’t stop there. I have shoulder-length, wavy brown hair that I usually straighten, with my bangs covering half my face. My wardrobe generally consists of band T-shirts and skinny jeans. We’re certainly an odd pair, but she is the only love I’ve ever known. The only love I’ve ever wanted.

When I’m around her, the voice still taunts me, but it’s much quieter- almost drowned out by her presence.

“I’m right here, babe, I was just thinking about the party later.” I give her a sheepish grin and grab her hand, interlocking her fingers between mine. The lie rolls off my tongue easily, they always do. Another thing the voice loves is lying to her. Any lie would do, but cheating on her makes it happiest. Fuck, I’m such a shit person. She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve the raging lunatic that I am. I just can’t seem to stay away from her. She’s the only person in my life that can make me feel somewhat normal.

I try to be better every single day, I really do. I know lying to the person I love is wrong, and I don’t want to do it. She deserves a throne to sit that pretty ass on, so I can grovel and worship at her feet. All I can really give her is half-truths, half of who I really am. How could I possibly tell her I do such terrible things, all because some voice in my head told me to? How do I explain that I can’t keep myself from fucking around on her, lying to her, because a whisper slips through my brain, delivering a huge high whenever I do something awful? Fucking mental.

“Oi, this party is huge for us! I never thought our band would take off like it did. We made it! I’m gonna get so fucked up and bang the hottest chick I can find!” Matthew beams proudly at me with his arms raised in the air. Since I moved to America, our band blew up on the internet, our fame grew immensely among the heavy metal community. Our teaser single, which we released only a few months ago, titled “Until The World Ends,” is dedicated to Dani. I want her to know how much she means to me, that I would release something so publicly. The song took off, and the money is flowing into our pockets. So much so that my mates are able to fly back and forth to America quite often, to record new music and practice. I never wanted to travel back to the UK, though, because Danica is here in the U.S. And wherever Danica is, I plan to stay— I barely ever let her out of my sight as it is. I crave being around her, I’m addicted.

It’s been one year since we’ve all graduated high school. We’re about to release our highly-anticipated second album, and the whole band has flown over so we can celebrate our success by drinking like it’s the end of the world.

“You’re taking the fucking piss, mate. You’re such a lightweight you’ll be passed out on the floor before you can even get your dick wet,” I mockingly say back to him, as I give him the middle finger with a shit-eating grin on my face.

Matt just laughs at me but doesn’t fight. He knows I’m probably right.

Hours later, we- and everybody else in attendance at the party- are piss drunk, toasting to the band’s success. Music is blaring loudly, the bass vibrating the whole house. My adoptive parents know how huge this is for me, my band, and our family. They are fine to overlook some underage drinking so that we can celebrate our rise to rock star status. Even though the legal drinking age in the UK is eighteen, and we’re all at least nineteen now, U.S. laws view the legal drinking age very differently so we have to be careful. So my parents went out for the night and left me alone in the house, saying they didn’t need to know everything that we were doing tonight.

I’m completely drunk off my ass already. I lost Danica somewhere in the madness of the party; the last I saw her, she was running off to play beer pong with her best friend, Elijah. Of course, when I’m drunk, I’m even worse at denying the voices—but I won’t stop drinking because of this, I try to fit in with my friends. Like a “normal” person. But this also means that when Hannah came on to me, after Dani left, and the whisper purred at me to fuck the little whore , I didn’t even try to fight it. I led that slut back to my bedroom without a second thought. She had been eye fucking me the whole night, even before Dani went to hang out with Elijah, and this wasn’t the first time she had tried to get on her knees for me. Once, I had to hold Danica back from beating Hannah bloody, and she isn’t usually a violent person. I never really had any interest in Hannah before, but tonight, the voice chose her, commanding intensely that I find the whore .

Now, lying here in my bed, Hannah is sucking my cock while I grip her hair in my hand, forcing my length further into her mouth.

“Oli, your cock is so big,” she slurs around me. “Does my mouth feel good, baby?” Truthfully, she isn’t very good, even if you ignore that my dick was going half limp in my inebriated state. Plus, she isn’t my beautiful Danica; I really want Danica- I crave her touch. Instead, I’m here with Hannah- just another in a long line of whores I’ve cheated on Dani with, their mouths wrapped around my cock, slowly destroying me inside. Shh, feel her mouth on you. Take what you rightfully deserve. A pulse of adrenaline shoots through me at the command, causing me to grip her hair tighter in response and drive myself deep into the back of her mouth. She lets out a sharp hiss as I hit the back of her throat, but I don’t fucking care.

The door rattles with a loud bang, the sound of a body collapsing against it, followed by laughter. “Oli, are you in there? I couldn’t find y-you baby. I don’t reeeally care, I’mma come in there anyways, even if you’re not in there.” Oh, fuck. Danica is slurring her words and clearly very, very drunk. Elijah must have found some bloke to suck off and left Danica alone. This isn’t good. My brow creases in panic. Did I lock the door?

The door swings open, and Danica stumbles into my room, turning the light on in a single clumsy motion. As she turns to my bed, smiling brightly, dimples fully on display, I watch her take in the sight before her, happiness instantly dimming. Her smile slowly fades, her glossy eyes filling with malice and pure rage.

My cheeks flush as panic and shame rush through me, flooding all of my emotions in one fell swoop. I throw Hannah off of me and stumble out of the bed, trying to quickly pull up my pants, but the damage is already done.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Dani shouts in my face as she shoves me onto the bed. I honestly think she’s going to attack me, but she sprints towards Hannah instead and grips her by the hair, screaming, “You stupid fucking bitch! I knew you always wanted my man. You’re such a goddamned whore!” I roll off the bed and grab Dani off of Hannah, lifting her away before she can do any real damage, besides ripping out a few strands of hair.

Before I can even set her back on the ground, Danica twists her body around and slaps me in the face. Her lips start to quiver, and I have a front-row seat to watch her heart shatter right in front of me. I finally broke my sweet angel. She finally knows the truth, that I’m a monster. And I hate myself for it. “How could you do this to me? I loved you! I gave you my whole heart, and you just ripped it out of my chest! For what? For her?” Danica covers her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she slowly backs away from me and then runs from the room.

“Dani, baby, I’m so sorry!” I shout after her. “Please come back. Just let me explain!” I’m following her out of the room, running after her without any real plan for what I’m going to do or say if I catch her. How the fuck can I even explain this? This isn’t a miscommunication or misunderstanding; she saw Hannah sucking my dick, and there’s nothing that can make that right. What would I even say to try to explain it? Sorry, love, the voice in my head was whispering to me all night and told me to get my dick sucked by someone who isn’t you? Yeah. That’s gonna go over real smooth. I’m going to lose her. My whole heart, the only person I have ever loved, the only person who made me feel some sense of normalcy in my fucked up head. Losing Danica would be like having my heart ripped from my chest—I can’t survive it. My life is forfeit without her in it—all that I am, would be nothing. I am going to lose her for good. I can’t let this happen. I’ll fight for Dani every single day, give up my band, the fame, the money, all of it for her. I’ll get prescribed downers, uppers, anything to crush the voice that demands I destroy her by being the absolute worst version of myself. I love her so much. I just… I can’t just let her go.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I finally catch up to her after pushing through what feels like every single person in the house. “Dani, please! Don’t run from me, baby. I’m so sorry. I know I fucked up so bad, but please just come talk to me! We’ll get past this!” Fuck, I’m about to cry for the first time in years in front of this crowd of people. I need her to talk to me, though, and if that means crying, I’ll do it for her.

She turns to look at me, tears streaming down her beautiful face, makeup smeared across her cheeks. I want to wrap my arms around her and bring her closer to me, but even as I try to do so, she’s already pushing me away from her. “Fuck you, Oliver! I never w-want to see you again!” she’s sobbing, slurring her words, but meaning every single one of them. She shoves into my chest, hard, trying to get away from me.

I’m so drunk I get knocked off balance, and I go crashing down, hitting my head on something hard. The last thing I see before losing consciousness is the horror on Dani’s face after she realizes what just happened. I slip away, and the world goes black.

* * *

I wake in the hospital, my head pounding. The lights are blinding, boring into my skull and making it hurt to even open my eyes, much less try to see what’s around me. I feel a sharp pain in my head when I try to sit up. With a grimace, I give up the struggle and just lay there, unable to speak. What the fuck happened? Why am I here?

Looking around the room, I see my bandmates all staring at me, solemn looks sitting uneasily on their faces. “Hey, look who’s finally awake. How you feeling, mate?” Noah asks.

I try to open my mouth to speak, but I fail. I’m in so much pain that I don’t even want to try to form an answer to his question. So I just stare at them, hoping they’ll just tell me what the hell happened.

No one’s talking, but out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see something move. I try to turn my head to see who is standing there, hoping to see my sweet Danica- but she probably hates me. I would hate myself for what I’ve done, if I were her. And she only even knows about this one time I’ve cheated on her. It’s happened countless times, all thanks to that fucking voice in my bloody head . I deserve to die for how I’ve hurt her.

I’m still trying to turn my head to see who moved when the lights start flickering in the room. Matthew is looking around wildly, terror starting to settle on his face- on all of their faces.

“Who the fuck is this bloke, and what is he doing in here? I told the nurse to not allow any visitors in here!” Matt shouts at someone I still can’t see. The room goes completely dark and deadly silent. My breathing quickens, and I feel like my heart is going to pound through my chest. If the lights were on, and the machinery I’m hooked up to working, the heart rate monitor would be lighting up like it was Christmas.

The lights blaze back to life, and there, standing at the end of my hospital bed is a man. I’ve never seen him before, but something about him feels familiar. Dressed in a designer suit that probably cost more than most people make in a year, the sleeves of his jacket are practically about to burst at the seams due to his strong, muscular frame. His jet-black hair is slicked back, and his eyes… Oh, fuck, his eyes. This guy must be on something because his eyes are a deep, hypnotizing red. He holds my gaze in an intense stare. Probably seeing the shock on my face at the sight of him, he grins at me—more a baring of teeth than an actual expression of happiness—revealing straight white teeth and his two elongated canines. Are those fucking fangs? I try to get up, to run, maybe shout for help, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed, only able to stare at this scary ass looking bloke. What happened to my mates? And what is this asshole planning to do to me? Heart stuttering, I take a shaky breath. I’m preparing to say something when he says, “Hello, Oliver. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. Oh, we’re going to have such fun together.”

I swear I’ve heard this voice before, but where have I heard it? He descends upon me, so fast I almost don’t register it. One hand lifts me by my hospital gown, his fangs glisten in the shitty fluorescent lights, and they’re all I can focus on. Oh fuck, I think he’s going to kill me. I’m going to—