30. “I know where the bodies are buried.”

Chapter 30

"I know where the bodies are buried."

ZENYA

"Dark Signs" by Sleep Token

"Take Aim" by Sleep Token

"Hide and Seek" by Lizz Robinett

"Never Good Enough" by Citizen Soldier

I follow my past self down the prison hall, escorted by a bulky guard.

This time, we are all invisible to the individuals in the solitary room. Morpheus, Nyxion, and Hecate remain close behind me.

The cold, sterile environment suffocates my breath, a stark contrast to the tumultuous pulse thrashing in my veins, and the storm of thoughts inside my mind. Every step brings me closer to the solitary room where my father is being held, waiting for our first visit since he was arrested. Every pounding heartbeat reminds me of the confrontation that awaits me.

I pause at the door, my hands trembling as my past self enters the room. This younger version of me, hair dyed a rebellious purple, looks so fragile, but her determined shoulders show me her defiance, her strength. It was the first time she began dressing the way she wanted. The way we wanted. A vintage Gothic, black corset but a retro flared skirt with black butterflies swirling along the fabric. The contrast was during hiking excursions with sturdy clothes and appropriate gear.

After each challenge was accomplished, I'd go to antique shops, searching for my next fashion find.

My present clothes mirror hers but with a full flared dress in black with long lace sleeves and buttons along the center of the bodice.

A strange mix of sorrow and pride fills my chest as past Zenya steps inside, trying to mask her fear with her resolve. She tentatively steps inside while a guard closes the door behind her.

The distant clang of metal doors and the muffled voices of guards are the only sounds to interfere with the heavy silence of the private prison visiting room.

My father lifts his head, eyes expectant as he sits at the table, cuffed hands shackled to a solid metal ring in the center.

I stand against the wall, my eyes fixed on the greatest monster and killer in my life.

My heart clenches at the sight of my younger version of herself, a fresh 18-year-old, but still naive, hoping for some semblance of normalcy.

Morpheus and Nyxion observe from the nearby shadows. The God of Dreams presses his lips into a tight seam, his wings tense with anticipation. Nyxion is much calmer, his jaw hard but eyes a soft glimmer. Now and then, he turns his skull head toward me, and our eyes lock.

I don't know what happened to him to prompt the extreme change—or what Eclipse said to him while I was sleeping. But something was exchanged between them because disgust doesn't curl into my gut anymore. There is still caution and a grim determination, but I'm not choking on loathing anymore.

Nyxion is dressed in his three-piece suit as usual while Morpheus wears nothing more than his black slacks with his shadows trimming his abundant muscles, his slabbed chest. One new thing is the black strip of fabric around his eyes blindfold—his sight all but vanished. I wince but try not to consider how he would have full sight if we'd…gone to bed.

Hecate has chosen to guard the door outside, alert for any reavers or other invaders.

I remain against the wall, bracing myself for the memory of my first conversation with my father since he was arrested. Until tonight, he didn't know I was the one who contacted the authorities.

She's here to dig the knife in, claim her power from all his years of holding it with an unbreakable chain.

Zachariah sits up straight, his lean, predatory build rising higher than past Zenya's head as she takes her seat at the opposite side of the table. Acid burns my throat from his smirk, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of pride. "So, you finally dyed your hair," he drawls. "I remember you always wanted it, but I never let you."

Past Zenya needles her eyes onto his eyes. "I got a dog too," she says, almost daring him to laugh. "And my first tattoos." She raises her arms, the right bearing butterflies and the left etched in moths. Symbolic of her new path, her transformation.

He laughs, a cold, cruel sound that echoes off the walls. I stiffen, but Morpheus twists and curls his soothing shadows along the edges of my body, granting me his calm presence.

"Oh, sweet Zenya, your naivety is almost charming. Did you really believe you could ever be normal?" He leans forward as far as his chains would allow, his eyes boring into hers. "Your blood will always be mine. I'm too carved into your skin and bones for you to be anything less than following in my footsteps."

Expression turning grim, she shakes her head, her voice trembling but self-sufficient. "I refuse to believe that. I will be different, even if it means chasing a new high after high to stay away from the feeling of blood dripping down my arm and bones snapping beneath my hands."

His laughter grew louder, more mocking. "Go ahead, try to outrun your demons. But remember, I won't revoke your trust fund. You're welcome to it. And I'll enjoy watching you try to escape, knowing you'll come crawling back to me. Even in your nightmares, I'll be there."

"Hmm…" She folds her hands on the table, and it's the first time I come off the wall, relishing the next part. Nyxion's chilled breath drifts across the back of my neck as I pass him and circle my father.

"Are we having a staring contest?" Zachariah asks the younger me, tilting his head like the beast he is. She doesn't blink, and I lower one solitary finger along the back of my father's neck. He shivers, and I twist my smile, grateful he has some consciousness of my presence.

"What about your own demons, Daddy ?" She cracks a smile, her eyes gleaming. "Do you even know who your greatest one is? And how she betrayed you with a smile on her face and no hesitation?"

His hands begin to clench, the knuckles turning white with his suspicion. "Why?" His voice is firm.

I advance to the other side of him, studying the shadows of his face, his hardened jaw.

"You ripped out my flowers," she retorts, leaning back in her seat.

"The fuck?"

"The Zinnias I planted over the latest body you forced me to bury."

My chest tightens with the memory of his disgust since it was the first time I saved no bones from the corpse. I merely planted the flowers.

"Of all the reasons you could have?—"

"It was enough," she interrupts, crossing her arms over her chest while I slide my fingers along the metal. "Because enough was enough. Never forget, Daddy dearest,"—she winks playfully, seizing her power—, "I know where the bodies are buried."

He snarls, brows screwing low. "You won't reveal the locations. Not when you could be tried now."

"You still don't get it." She shakes her head with an airy laugh through her nostrils. I arrive at her side, grinning down at my younger self, who reminds me of my evil twin. "I negotiated immunity in exchange for me testifying at your trial. Hell, they offered me witness protection because of all the fallout. But I declined. We both know I can take care of myself, and I'm going to help myself to that big, fat trust fund—another part of my negotiation. It's in my name now, Daddy-O." She spreads her arms, palms open.

My blood pulses quicker with the reminder of the control I took back and how the blood drains from my father's face.

The cold presence at my back startles me, and my breath hitches at the proximity of Nyxion. His skeletal hand draws the bony fingers along the left side of my arm, and I fight back tears because I wonder if he senses—or even knows—the personal and private fallout that happened in this room. The one that stalked my nightmares. I lower my chin, trying to control my quickening breaths.

"Well, now, my sweet flower…the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, does it?" It's his turn to lean back and laugh. Oh, he tips his head back and laughs maniacally.

Nyxion's fingers linger at my wrist. When shadows swarm around my body, I look up to find Morpheus before me, his dark eyes on me while his fingers cup my chin. I shiver from Nyxion's skeletal fingers capturing my hair. Tremors ripple through me. Gooseflesh buds on my skin. Both Gods hem me in, sensing my need.

"Your betrayal is great, Zenya. But you've betrayed yourself far more." He chuckles darkly and opens one palm toward me. "From now on, you will carry me with you. No matter how much you try to hide from me, I am the ghost in your blood who will always find you."

Drumming his fingers on the table, a twisted smile playing on his lips, he stares back at Zenya. "You think you've escaped me by coming forward? By revealing where the bodies are buried? You've merely fulfilled my eventual death. Lethal injection. Do you think the thought of the needle entering my flesh will ever leave you? Your invisible hand will be there when it spears my flesh. It will forever haunt you, Zenya."

My lungs burn from my withering breath, and I work my hardest not to turn away from Morpheus—and leaning back ever so slightly to feel Nyxion's chest beyond his suit coat.

Zachariah takes perverse pride in past Zenya's actions, his voice dripping with malevolent satisfaction. "You've ensured that I will be the greatest monster in your mind. You will always be broken, Zenya, because I broke you long ago. But you…you have shattered yourself into a thousand pieces."

Anger flushes her cheeks, her rebellion surging through her as she stands up from the table, her eyes blazing with opposition. "I will collect all the pretty pieces." Her voice is steady and unwavering. "And I will turn them into diamonds until they shine."

Her father's laughter is cold. It mocks her. "Diamonds? You will never be a diamond. You are iron , Zenya. I have forged you with my fire and sharpened you into the fierce girl you are now. No matter how hard you try to polish yourself, you cannot escape your true nature. You are hot blood and icy bones. And the slice of a knife across the weakling throat."

She says nothing, but I know she's dying a little inside. She thought—I thought I could take back my power. But he stole it from me, implanting the images in my mind. I never stopped running from them.

He leans closer, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "You think you can transform your pain into something beautiful, but you will always carry the scars I left on your soul. You are a weapon of my creation, carved from my violence like one of my lovely bones, sharpened by my hands. Every time you look in the mirror, you will see me staring back at you."

Zenya takes a deep breath, her eyes locked onto his with unyielding strength. "I may be iron, but I will forge myself into something new, something better. I will shape my own destiny, and I won't let the nightmares you created rule me. Like you always taught me: grow your claws and teeth and kiss the horror within you," she repeats his lessons.

"Who do you think grew those claws for you?" He winks.

"Train to fight," she goes on while defeat ices my veins. Nyxion and Morpheus become my touchstones, shadows and bones surrounding me. "Be as strong as the kind that can grow through cement. Break the stone before the weaklings throw stones at you." She blows furious wind through her nostrils, a storm brewing in her eyes, turning them into a dark ocean. "How does it feel to be the stone I break?"

"Poor little girl. You are an adorable stone. And I…" His eyes turn black with malevolence, ready to proclaim the words that sealed my fate for the next ten years—"am the mountain."

She turns her back to him so he cannot see her eyes weakening, her spirit crushed beneath the gravity of his oppression. His laughter echoes in the cold, sterile room. "You can run, Zenya. But you cannot hide. You are and always will be a product of my making."

I dig my fingers into the skin of Morpheus's chest and grip Nyxion's phalanges so much, one snaps. He stiffens but says nothing, leaning closer in offering.

My past self walks away, the sound of Zachariah Myre's laughter fading behind her.

I follow her. I want to hold her, talk to her somehow, and show how far she will rise, how high she will climb.

We became more than the sum of our broken pieces. How that fire burned those pieces to ash, giving us the ability to rise from them and burn with unbreakable wings.

Visiting hours end, and past Zenya storms out in a huff, trying to shake off the feeling of her failed meeting.

Just outside the door, Hecate touches my shoulder and nods to me. "Let her go, sweet dreamer. You won't find what you need there." She gestures to my father being led back to his cell.

With the three of them remaining close, my heart pounds with anger and sorrow. I follow him, my invisibility granting me the advantage as I trail him until the guard opens his cell door. I slip in before it closes.

"Mmm…" Zachariah muses while lying on his cot and folding his hands behind his head. "Daddy's little girl all grown up. Chip off the ol' block. Like father like daughter. So proud."

Retribution rips through me, igniting a fuse to a great powder keg of violence.

"What are you doing, Zenya?" Hecate asks as I approach my father's bedside, staring over him as his unseeing eyes close with his satisfaction.

"It would be so simple," I remark, balling one hand into a fist. "End it here and now. Make it seem like he died in his sleep. And she can leave and know his wretched ghost won't be breathing over her shoulder for the next ten years. She could believe her visit drove him to a fast death."

No, Zenya , Nyxion says in a deep voice, approaching me from behind. Don't let him turn you into a monster.

"I already am one," I hiss.

He coils a skeletal hand around my neck and leans in to breathe a cold web along my cheek. You are a beautiful monster. Do not let him ruin your beauty.

"You already call me a killer," I mutter, spitting out the words.

Not. A. Murderer.

Tears burn in my eyes as I gaze up at him.

Zenya… he whispers and lowers his skull to my brow. Do not let him claim that power over you. He is not worthy of your dreams or nightmares. He does not belong there.

Morpheus appears at my side, swirling his shadows all around me while my breath grows heavier. "Every time you took another breath, another step up that mountain, you conquered him."

Zachariah chuckles darkly and shakes his head in disbelief. "My little killer."

I snap.

Shoving aside the Gods, I weave a nightmare all around the cell, forming shadows and a subtle glow behind me until I become a silhouette. I grow claws. And sharp teeth. My hair turns wild and ragged.

And I force the monster in my blood to open his eyes…and see me. He does. And his eyes widen with shock.

"How does it feel to have me in your nightmares?" I snarl above him.

He smirks, even in his sleep. "You always have been."

I laugh like a mad, little Alice and wrap my clawed hands around his throat. "This is not a nightmare," I hiss. "It's the sweetest dream."

"Do it," he encourages, his voice a taunting whisper. "I'll stalk your mind, your very soul, my little monster."

Just as I squeeze my hands and draw blood with my claws, a deathly chill sweeps over the room, freezing me in place, and locking up my bones with a sense of terror.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Long black robe. Gleaming monstrous teeth, sharp and bearing a twisted smile. And a great staff with a jagged black sickle at the top.

Death!