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The warmth didn't last for long. It was like watching a pot boil. For one long minute, the water is stagnant, only a wisp of steam skimming the top that suggests that the water is hot. Turn away too long and the water is foaming out the seams, burning on the stovetop.
Suddenly, my flesh was melting and I was screaming. Marcus was chanting ‘What’s inside, what’s inside, what’s inside.’
My head slammed back against the wooden gurney as the white-hot heat flowed through my veins, up, up, up through my skin. The magick branded thin topical marks on my flesh from the inside out. The bloody burns healed almost immediately into whimsical designs of all the things I loved. Coffee beans and plants and passages from books. The scars faded with the heat, and Marcus seemed out of breath.
He was panting over me like some murderous primate. His beetle-like black eyes met mine, and once again I was struck by the emptiness in them, despite my terror.
“Again.” He said, and I shrunk away from him as far as the restraints would allow. I could feel that fist in my chest, holding the molten core of power that lived within me. The fist that had been smothered by the triquetra for weeks. I could feel it close around that beating core of darkness, tighter and tighter, protecting it.
Marcus’ magick burrowed deep into me, attacking the unintentional shield I had built to protect the daemon that lay dormant within my human body. He was trying to find it, that eternal darkness that would be the undoing of them all, if it were ever set free. I knew he would melt my bones and peel off my skin, strip by strip if he had to... and he would enjoy it. As another wash of liquid fire bubbled up from the marrow of my bones, I screamed. I could not think or breathe, and though I knew that they would never permit it, I prayed that I would die.
51
This became my new normal—a never ending cycle of psychological torture followed by physical torment. I took to cowering in the corner of my cell, away from the apparitions, with my hands over my ears. Maria made sure I heard them anyway.
I couldn’t do much about my sessions with Marcus either. On the day’s where Marcus would drag me away, all I could do was fight, tooth and nail, against the restraints. Over and over again, my flesh would burn from the inside as my bones turned white hot. My skull would scream on my molten spine. After enough times, the needlepoint scars that laced my body in vein-like patterns stopped disappearing.
On days when I was back in my cell, the two siblings would often gloat over my cowering form. They would take turns trying to pry my water bottle away from me. I had taken to cradling it in my sleep, just for the opportunity to hold something.
Sometimes they would simply stand in my cell, conversing, assuming I was too far gone to listen. I had come to cherish the idle chit-chat of my captors. Anything to drag my now broken mind away from the mental and physical torment I endured daily. I often tried to pull the triquetra off my neck when they weren't paying attention. Its suffocating presence no longer protected me from the bad guys. The enemy already had me. The charm would burn against my fingers. No matter how often I tried to free my aura, it would not budge. Struggling with it often left me feeling weaker and more deflated.
I couldn’t even lose myself in happy memories, as every sunny afternoon I had ever spent with Clair in the garden was now ruined with her specter’s words: Who could ever love you? Every ride in Jeremy’s undercover cruiser was now buried beneath his cold, disgusted sneer. You’ve been nothing but a burden.
The day I had spent wandering around the city with Conrad, eating ice cream, had been snuffed out. You’re a chore. I wish I had never been sent to find you. One by one, my loved ones became my tormentors, and after enough time had passed, I began to believe the things they whispered in my ears.
After one night of listening to Maria and Marcus discuss things that I’m sure they found mundane, I woke up on the concrete floor to the dreaded sound of the iron door opening. I slammed my eyes shut tighter, not wanting to hear what new horrors Maria would project to me from the depths of my own mind.
However, the voice I heard had not yet appeared in the apparitions. I opened my eyes in surprise. It was Rycon.
“Kieran needs you outside. We’re being attacked.” He drawled to my captors.
“Where have you been?” Maria snapped. “You were supposed to be guarding the lines.”
“I was on special orders from the man himself, lady. That took priority.” Rycon countered. “You going to make the boss wait, or what?”
“Why didn’t Kieran tell us?” Maria argued. it was unsurprising to me that Marcus remained silent. I could see his cold dead eyes swimming. What’s inside, what’s inside, what’s inside… I curled even more tightly into myself.
“I don’t know. Do you think I asked him? He said go get Marcus and Maria. So here I am, getting twiddle-dee and twiddle-fucking dumb. Go kiss your master’s ass, and don’t shoot the messenger.” Rycon snapped.
Apparently, Rycon’s explanation was enough. I listened as my tormentors stalked out, Maria snorting with indignation. I didn’t hear the iron door shut. Instead, I heard Rycon whisper.
“Kitten...gods, what did they do to you?” I stayed turned away from him, curled up, facing my corner. I could hear him step closer. He could just be another apparition. I didn’t trust what my senses were telling me anymore.
“I was only gone for a few hours. What the-”
A few hours?!
That had gotten my attention. Spector or no, there was no way I had been trapped in this godforsaken place for less than a month. I uncurled my broken body and turned to face him. He took one look at my face and stepped back. I repeated the thought that had erupted in my brain out loud.
“A couple of hours ?” I cried. What had Kieran done? Rycon nodded his olive skin paling. I didn’t believe it. This was another trick.
Steps started sounding down the hallway. Marcus and Maria had left the door open, and my mother's all too familiar face appeared in the gloom. Now I knew it was a trick.
“You’re not real,” I croaked at the apparition. My voice had been used for nothing but screaming for more days than I could count.
I scuttled back on the dirty floor, the rags of my night clothes pulling at my throat as the waist of the t-shirt caught between my hips and the concrete. My back hit the unforgiving wall behind me. I’de had enough. I just wanted it to go away. The thing that was and was not Clair was too much. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew I was screaming nonsense, but I couldn’t stop. Endless torture and humiliation had stripped me of my senses.
“GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU’RE NOT REAL; YOU’RE NOT CLAIR! ” The not-Clair portrayed a convincing display of emotion. Its eyes seemed to well with tears, and it took a tentative step forward.
