10. Ana

TEN

Ana

I want the world to stop for five minutes. Not a long time, just five minutes so I can work out why my mind is breaking. It's the hair, I know it is. I haven't seen dark hair around my face since I was nine years old. I'm not that girl, she died with my old name. But now it's back and I can't convince myself that B is off living a good life because we swapped places. The girl with dark hair and weird eyes is me.

But if she's me, then B isn't real and she's not happy. If she's me, then Ana isn't real. Either way I don't exist, and I don't know anything. The 104 days are back, and I keep moving my lips, my tongue, anything to talk but no sounds come out. They won't. It's the 104 days and I've forgotten how to make words again. So, I hold my ears and keep talking. If I keep talking, I know things. If I know things, I'm a person, ghosts can't know things, people who don't exist don't know things. I exist.

Why does it hurt? My face isn't throbbing, but my brain hurts and convinces my body to feel the same. I want to call for a mother and father I never had, like normal children do. My lips move around the unfamiliar titles as though a phantom will spring from the walls and take it all away. But B is gone; she had a dad, and he took her away. B is real, and Ana is real, and Nina is real. Everyone is real and I know things.

Maybe my mother died giving birth to me and like Marlo said no one could find my father and they tried to give me a life. But he knew him, he gave me the name accidentally. There's no reports on the man, he disappeared years before I was born. Is he looking for me? No, he can't be. No one is looking for me because I don't exist.

No one looks for ghosts.

Ants.

So many ants. They crawl over me, and I choke as I try to speak.My throat burns as I force the words out, voicing what I need to be Ana.

"I want to kill someone."

There's no one to hear me but like the 104 days I talk to myself. Something warm moves on my back, making me flinch because I was alone and a voice I recognize without the gentleness speaks to me.

"Okay, let's go." The warmth keeps moving over my back and the voice is there again. "We'll go whenever you're ready, lisichka."

It's soft and coaxing me out but I can't leave the room. They locked it from the outside. It won't open and I can't talk.

The warmth chases the ants away, they stop crawling on me and I blink into reality. I'm not in that room talking to myself anymore and Dima is trying to smile at me.It looks weird, like everyone else's. They're not smiling at me but a fake person. He doesn't move or let me stand despite the agreement. He does something I've never seen before and takes edge of his t-shirt, blows into the fabric, then gently presses it against my sore eyes one by one. It feels nice, soothing the stinging but he has to stop. People who are nice are worse. They hurt the worst because they bring the disappointment too.

Shuffling away from him, I look around with one blurry eye. I've got used to the film over the world so I'm not actually part of it, but Amon must have knocked my contact out. Or it went into the back of my head again. I wonder how many are hiding there. It could be like a treasure chest and if I die like a normal person, they'll just see a bunch of little plastic contacts. The thought of a coroner's reaction has me wanting to laugh and my cheeks twitch until I see my sticker.

The first thing I consciously remember learning is not to let anyone know what makes you happy. I stole a little light up bouncy ball when I was four and Yulia melted it, the dumb bitch. It didn't even make noise and I never threw it. The light just made me feel better in the dark when I'd be locked in, but she put it in a frying pan and made me watch as it sizzled, and the rubber turned into a gloopy puddle. The light didn't go out straight away, it was strong and stayed blinking until the wires had melted.I miss the bouncy ball.

That memory is what forces me to look at anything other than the sticker. I've managed to keep it, even when I've lost my name and my place in the world. I'll always have that sticker to talk to. Me, the sticker and the moon, my friends and family. As long as I have the sticker it's okay, someone will smile at me, and I can't be alone. Even if there's another 104 days, I won't be alone.

I hum the made up song in my head and turn with my back to Dima to swap my contacts out. He's already seen my eye, and he was staring. I've never seen him scared of anything and that was the closest to it with his heart rate speeding up and his jaw dropped. He'd probably have a heart attack if I took them both out. I might do it when he's asleep and stand at the end of his bed. He'd scream, and it would be funny.

A heavy sigh comes from behind me as he picks his ass up off the floor. I turn and the world is duller again, like it should be. He only has boxers on, and his hair is damp. It's thick and doesn't stick to his scalp but it points outwards, lucky bastard. Mine always makes me look like a creature. The brand behind my ear itches with having other people's eyes on it all day. It's stupid as fuck, showing how dumb Yulia and Marlo are that they did three brands. One was enough, it's not like I can go anywhere without my head, for fuck's sake.

Dima grumbles something about his shoes and I'm excited again. I like blood, it's soothing to watch it flow out. Especially from someone else's body and you know that the red puddles aren't yours. Maybe the Grim Reaper keeps letting me escape because it likes what I'm doing, it agrees with me. So, it just follows me around wherever I go and gives me invisible high fives for another nonce that it collects.

I end up laughing, unable to hold it back as I look around the empty room. I hope it's real. But if I was a ghost, I'd be able to see the Grim Reaper. My body gets heavier, and the tiredness comes back. I just want to know if I'm real.

My good mood wavers when I walk into the warehouse and Vlad is already here. He's like a bad smell that's stuck up my nose, refusing to disappear. I'd heard whispers of what he was doing, and no one ever knew his name. I stupidly thought he'd be a good person, but he's weird as fuck and steals the jokes right out of my head before I can ever say them.

His missions with Dima and Stasi are too well thought out for him not to be a sociopath, but I force myself to smile so no one knows there's nothing in my head.I think it's a smile anyway, I can't see my cheeks and when I practice without the sticker it always looks wrong.

There's only one person alive in the warehouse and I contemplate killing Vlad for getting rid of the others. I like Inessa, she's kind and tried to help me without asking me for anything. She's the only person who looked genuinely upset when I visited every shelter or charity looking for Nina. She'll be hurt if he's dead, so will Tali and he doesn't make jokes like everyone else, and he always gives me half of whatever he's eating.They make me control myself and it's harder when he turns around at the sound of our steps.

Being a weirder fuck than usual, Vlad stares at me with his brows coming together. He analyzes my hair and then moves down my face like a scanner. The woman spent hours on it and steamed my scalp before she massaged it. I don't think it looks wrong, but he doesn't stop staring at me. I give a warning, so Inessa and Tali know it was his fault when he dies.

"Stop staring at me, you old bastard."

He lifts his foot and I square my shoulders and plant my feet in anticipation of him punching me in the face again. It's usually me who gets the first hit in, but he only makes it half a step when Dima stands in front of him and begins talking about some random bullshit.

"What did your message mean?"

I leave them to their weird conversation about something I don't care about. I don't even listen to them when they're talking about the safehouses the nonces keep. I go to the sniveling sicko and there's a spring in my step as I swipe two knives from the table. I've always had this thought about anatomy, the phrase about people having black hearts has got to have started from somewhere and I let myself find answers. But he'll die too quickly if I go straight for his heart. Tapping the edges of the knives together, I muse out loud in between each metallic clink.

"What to do, with you. There's so many options."

I'm not trying to have a conversation; I know that if I don't use my voice for long periods of time I'll forget how to speak.

My nose scrunches up, seeing the crotch of his jeans darken and the wet patch grows in a line, running down his leg and ending in a puddle below his hanging feet. That's fucking disgusting. He's older, at least late fifties if I'm being generous. He should know better than to piss himself.

The idea comes to me, remembering every fucked up punishment I gave out and I smile. I'll replace the memories, scrub out the information from the folder and put this man's name in place of the children's. Finding the controls for the chains, I slowly lower them and nearly laugh as his emotions flicker from fear to hopeful relief. When it's lowered enough for his hands to be free of the hook, I start tapping the blades again and don't rephrase what I was taught.

"If you act like a filthy animal, I'll treat you like one. Clean up your mess."

It's a script from someone else's voice. I'm not the person doing it just like at Yulia's. I'm sat in the middle of a forest and the moon is huge, shining down on me. Until someone laughs, it's dark and twisted but there's no reprimand from Vlad. Dima looks like he's going to be sick and stands back, hiding his disgust as the kid fucker lowers to his knees.

He's so fucking stupid and tries to clean his piss up with the bottom of his t-shirt. Stupid idiot. I stomp forward and my leg cocks back with my frustration of what he's ruining. Kicking him in the face doesn't help release it when there's a fucking script. My anger stilts my voice and I fist the knives harder, not wanting to focus on anything but making him feel pain.

"Lick. It."

Some of it lessens when he cries, and my laugh shakes my chest.

"I'm sorry, please, I didn't know what it was."

Just like I have a script, so do they. They all say the same things.

I didn't know.

They lied about their age.

I didn't know how old they were.

I have a wife.

I have children.

I have money.

I have and I know.

But they all die because I don't have anything, and I don't know.

Vlad is a controlling bastard, ruining my blissful torture with his grating voice.

"You didn't know what it was?" he asks the nonce as he steps forward.

The nonce nods, full of hope and looks up at him with his hands together. Snapping my fingers in front of his face, I bite out as I point to myself.

"Oi, I'm the one torturing you, dickhead. Be respectful."

Fucking rude prick. His eyes ping between Vlad and me, unsure of who to stay fixed on but he settles on the asshole as he begs.

"I didn't, it must have been a virus and just downloaded with something else. I download movies illegally, that's how it happened."

He's too stupid to live, even if he wasn't a nonce I'd still be doing the world a favor.

The control freak steps forward and so does Dima as Vlad times his question with every slow menacing step. "Which one?"

My head turns so fast I'm surprised there's not a crack as I punch into his ribs.

"Are you looking for movie recommendations from a child fucker?"

He sends his own fist back into my ribs but Dima barges into me and takes the impact as he punches my victim in the face.

Vlad pauses and looks at his junior as the chains rattle and the sicko slams his head off the floor straight into his own puddle of piss. I can't hold back my laugh and my entire body shakes. It makes the demand less potent as I repeat myself in a singsong.

"Lick it. Lick it. Lick it."

But Vlad stops me and answers the question I'd forgotten about.

"I meant which home movie wasn't his, he had two terabytes of images and videos."

He always has to be dramatic and play with the toys verbally and I roll my eyes as the nonce lets his tongue roll out to lick his piss up.

Waiting until there's nothing left on the floor but his spit, I stamp on the back of his head. I know the pain that shakes your brain with a boot in that exact spot and manage to rewrite another sheet from the filing cabinet. He's not dead yet, he'll be in so much pain he thinks he's going to throw up and his vision will go blurry.So fun.

The fucking idiot falls forward when I try to pull him up. I'm not weak. Marlo said he was getting rid of all my weaknesses, to make me strong and nothing could hurt me anymore. An inked hand moves across me and grabs the bindings around the fucker's wrist. Dima has to be there all the fucking time when I can do this, I'm not a child.

He doesn't look at me and hooks the nonce's wrists up so I can pull him back to floating in midair. He's not begging, they normally stop after the second person has been killed. Fucking Vlad, the stupid bastard took the noises away and he still stands there when I've already told the nonce I'm the one killing him. That's more than rude, I deserve to be the one he's terrified of. What would that say about me if I'm killing him, and he's still scared of someone else?

I go back to the table and grab two pairs of gloves. I don't trust only wearing one pair, it will be too thin, and I'll still feel the skin.Snapping them on, I ask my question out loud, uncaring if I get an answer.

"Do you think a penis will peel like a banana?"

I could do the slits at each side of his urethra, another one at the top and it could work. Deep painful cries, sobs, bounce off the walls and I snort laugh as the begs are finally directed at me.

"They're not mine. Please, believe me."

There's snot running down his face into his mouth and I hold my knees, trying to calm myself down as Vlad and Dima step aside, finally letting me have my living experiment to myself.

He keeps begging, it's funny as fuck. He's seen — I have to count the amount of heads to work it out — four other people die and thinks he's going to be the lucky one.

"I have a wife, a family. Please, I'm begging you. I won't say anything."

I raise my voice and smile without any issue as I look at him.

"Ding ding ding! You've hit the jackpot by using every excuse. Now it's time for your prize."

He can tell who he wants. It's not a problem when I don't exist. There's no birth certificate or anything real about me. What's he going to do? Go to the police and say a woman was going to kill him but he doesn't know her name or even my eye color. Fucking idiot.

I hum in my head, so I stop laughing, and it ends on a sigh as I straighten up. I'm going to test my theory. He can shake as much as he wants but my curiosity will win. I don't want to touch him and cut through his belt and jeans. My laugh comes back as I not so carefully do the same to his underwear and I look up.

"Just because you have a baby penis doesn't mean that touching children is okay, you freak."

Their egos are always the best thing to hurt. It makes them angry and when they're angry, their hearts beat faster, so it makes red patterns with their blood.

A snicker sounds behind me and I know Dima will be disgusted. Maybe he'll kick me out, fuck it, I've had a few days of luxury it's more than enough.