Chapter 11

ELEVEN

AMETHYST

I stare up at the screen, where there’s now a slow-motion replay of Mom’s death. My chest burns, and the pulse between my ears pounds to the beat of my broken heart.

If Dolly hadn’t gotten to Mom first, I would be the one slashing her throat. Dolly manipulated me into thinking Mom was behind the attacks and those threatening notes. Dolly made me think Xero arranged for me to be gang-raped, just so I would turn on my protector, eliminate the one person who cared for me, and run into her trap.

“What are you going to do now, little ghost?” Xero asks.

I swallow hard, my head dipping toward my shoulders to wipe away the tears. “Xero, I’m so sorry. If I’d known?—”

“Don’t apologize to a figment of your imagination,” he snaps.

“Right.” I gulp. “Sorry.” I cringe at the words.

He snaps his fingers, bringing my attention back to his pale eyes. “Amethyst. This isn’t the time to zone out. You can’t keep thinking you’re stuck in a nightmare. You’re alone, surrounded by enemies. You need to stay alert.”

“Right,” I say, my voice breathy, my mind still whirring with these revelations. “So, that photo of me with the electrodes… Is that her?”

His eyes soften, and the pity in his expression makes my throat tighten. Maybe it’s because I’m asking questions where the answer is already obvious. Breathing hard, I force myself to stay calm, but my eyes still burn with fresh tears.

“It’s good that you’re acknowledging she’s real, but you need to open your eyes to think about what I told you earlier?”

Nodding, I remember Xero’s assessment of my blank memories. They’re consistent with suffering from medical abuse. My insides roil as I think back to the intensity of Dolly’s resentment. She remembers everything, while I hadn’t even known I had a sister. “That was me.”

He nods.

“So, I must have been at an institution like this when I was young, while Dolly got sent somewhere worse?”

“That’s how it seems,” Xero replies.

“Why would my mom do something so cruel?”

“Dolly hinted at the reasons when she called you a sniveling psychopath.”

“Mom believed me over her,” I whisper.“But she hasn’t explained what even happened. Now she’s going to make me die slowly for something I don’t even remember.”

“I’ll protect you,” Xero says.

Dipping my head, I force myself not to say the obvious in case he disappears. Figments of the imagination can’t break through locks. Nor can they fight off attackers. I’m trapped, all alone, and far away from home. The only person strong enough to break me out of this asylum is dead.

Because I killed him.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I can protect your mind,” he says.

“How?”

“Because, no matter what they do or say to you, no matter how they break your spirit, I’ll be here to piece you back together. Even when you don’t believe in yourself, you’ll believe in me.”

I shudder, the truth of that settling deep into my soul. Despite my bone-deep terror, despite everything that’s happened between Xero and me, his spirit is keeping me grounded. Even if he’s no more than a trick of my damaged mind.

“Okay,” I whisper, breathing hard to stave off the waves of guilt and grief and overwhelming dread.

He settles beside me on the cushioned floor and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his strong chest.

“You feel so real,” I murmur.

“Locke injected you with ketamine and DMT,” he says. “Now, you really are having a compound hallucination.”

All those times I thought my hallucinations were a mix of visual, auditory, tactile, and olfactory, it was Xero terrorizing me from the shadows. And I was so angry with him. I’d give anything for that to be true now.

“What’s DMT?” I ask.

“Sorry, little ghost,” he replies with a soft chuckle. “My knowledge is limited to what you know. You heard him say DMT, but you don’t know what it means, so I also don’t know.”

“Did he at least explain why?”

“Dolly asked him to dose you with something to give you a bad trip.”

Footsteps echo outside the room, growing louder as they reach the door. Freezing, I grip Xero’s arm. He tightens his hold around my waist.

“Whatever happens, remember that I’m here,” he says.

“What do I do?”

“Keep your eyes open, focus on survival, and don’t let them know you have me.”

The door creaks open, and the huge orderly from before steps inside. My gaze darts into the darkened hallway, and I calculate my odds of escaping.

“Don’t do it,” Xero says, his voice low.

“You haven’t eaten,” the man says.

I glance at the dog bowl across the floor, and my stomach roils at the prospect of consuming that gray, unidentifiable mush.

“It’s nausea,” I say, feigning a gag. “My stomach won’t stop heaving.”

He crouches down at my side, his gray eyes unable to meet mine. “Dolly will be displeased.”

“I’ll eat it later, when my insides have settled.”

The man’s gaze finally locks with mine, his eyes flickering with understanding. Beneath the mask obscuring the lower half of his face is the same strong jaw as Fen’s.

That comment he made about Mom being a MILF rushes back, as does Dolly’s disgusted reaction. At least that explains why she’s treated him like a scapegoat the entire day. If Fen has lost Dolly’s favor, then maybe I can take advantage.

“Don’t do it,” Xero murmurs.

“I don’t want to throw up all over this nice floor, knowing you’ll have to clean up the mess,” I say, trying to sound contrite.

Fen’s gaze flickers between me and the bowl before he exhales a long sigh. Nodding, he rises and lumbers out of the room, pulling the doors shut.

“I don’t like this plan,” Xero says.

Fen’s footsteps fade down the hallway, but I wait for them to disappear before muttering under my breath, “Can you think of anything better?”

“Not until we gather more information,” he replies.

I nod. “Then this guy is our only shot.”

“Close your eyes and get some rest. You’re going to need all your strength tomorrow morning.”

The screen has stopped replaying footage of Mom’s death, leaving only a slideshow of the images like those I found on Xero’s crime board. When I glance up to find a picture of a ten-year-old version of me sitting in an ice bath, I drop my gaze to my lap and shudder.

His large hand brushes through my curls. “Go on. I’ll keep watch.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll wake you up if anyone approaches.”

Reluctantly, I lie on my side, curl up into a ball, and close my eyes, even if it’s to lose myself in the inky blackness of my mind. Anything is better than facing reality.

Xero’s larger body spoons around mine, warming my back through the straitjacket. His steady breath tickles the nape of my neck, the rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm against my spine.

It almost reminds me of that peaceful lull we had when he was stalking me from the crawlspace and used to climb into bed with me as I slept.

During the day, I would write, and at night, I’d sleep in the arms of what I thought was his ghost. It wasn’t so bad, especially since he’d started to allow me to come. But then everything turned to shit the moment Dolly’s men broke in through the front door and shattered the illusion.

I drift into a light sleep, my consciousness lingering close to the surface, ready to snap awake if Xero calls my name. His arms tighten around my waist, reminding me of his presence.

Hours later, as I’m slipping into a deeper slumber, Xero says, “Wake up.”

The click-clack of heels echoes through the hallway, accompanied by heavier footsteps. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and my heart slams against its cage. Eyes flying open, I scramble to my feet.

Xero rises, pressing a finger to his lips, his pale eyes burning with hatred.

I nod.

The door creaks open, and Dolly steps inside with Locke. She’s dressed in a lace camisole and silk shorts, with a sleep mask pushed against her hairline. Her curls are piled on top of her head. Despite the disdain twisting her expression, she appears well-rested and radiant.

The part of me that recoils at mirrors shrinks in her presence. No amount of drugs or electric shock therapy could erase the primal fear I have of Dolly. She might call me a psychopath, but my psyche screams that she’s evil.

Seeing her again is even more harrowing than the gruesome slideshow playing on the screen. Subconsciously, I always knew she existed. I thought of her as the creature that lurked behind every reflective surface, biding her time until she was ready to strike.

I glance at the space where Xero was standing, only to find it empty.

“Still refusing food?” Dolly points a taser toward the untouched dog bowl, her lips twisting with distaste.

“What do you want from me?” I ask. “Why am I even here?”

“Don’t you remember anything?” She cocks her head to the side.

“No.”

“You have three days to regain your memory before the extras arrive for the gang bangs. After that, it won’t matter what you remember.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest, my heart stuttering. Blood drains from my face, replaced by ice water. I expected only Delta and four others. The thought of more strangers arriving sends the room spinning.

“Would you like me to administer something to help her suppressed memories resurface?” Locke asks.

He’s wearing a white coat atop a navy, three-piece suit, with his golden curls styled into subtle waves. In his hand is an old-fashioned doctor’s bag.

Dolly turns toward the door. “Grunt. Take her to the gyno chair. We may as well use this for B-roll footage.”

The man from the night before ambles through the door, still dressed like an orderly with the lower half of his face still obscured by the surgical mask. As he approaches, Locke reaches into his bag and extracts a syringe large enough to overdose an elephant.

Gasping, I step backward toward the wall, my stomach twisting into painful knots. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me.”

“You told Grunt you were nauseous, so I wanted to make sure you keep down your medicine,” Dolly says. “Locke will shove a pessary into your cunt, so you don’t throw up anything to help your memory recovery.”

My heart lurches. “What the hell is a pessary?”

“Just another way to deliver a drug,” she replies with a smirk. “We’d stick a suppository up your ass, but where’s the fun in that?”

I skitter to the other side of the room. “Don’t do this.”

“Take her.”

Grunt closes the distance, but I duck beneath his arm and dart toward the door. The wounds Delta gouged into my skin split open, and I’m sure blood is seeping through the bandages. None of that matters. I can’t let them stick drugs in my vagina.

As I’m seconds from the doorway, a white-hot pain sears through my back, delivering several agonizing shocks. Breath flees my lungs as I crumple onto the padded floor, my muscles convulsing. I try to rise, but my limbs refuse to obey. I look around, frantic to find Xero, but he’s gone.

Grunt looms over me, his large hands reaching for my shoulders. Despair crushes my lungs, and I’m struggling for air as he gathers me in his arms.

Have I lost Xero forever?

I don’t think I’ll be able to survive what happens next without him at my side.