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“D-E-S-S-I-N,” Absinthe spells it out and chuckles again. “He carved his name into Albatross’s forehead. He cut in so deep, that blade scraped down into his skull!” She pushes him toward my cage. “He got tired of hearing my grandson talk, so he sewed his mouth shut too! I’m the one that found him! Considered leaving him a mute too!”
Albatross’s cheeks turn bright red, and he stares at the floor in humiliation. His face, defiled, punctured, carved, made hideous. Made a product of Dessin’s infamous wrath.
38. “With God as my witness…”
Albatross snarls, his face twisting in a revolting expression of annoyance. The thick pink scars on his forehead scrunching up together, making Dessin’s name hard to read.
“He’s not going to get in! This place is sealed tight! God himself couldn’t break it down!”
I stare at them in disbelief. There’s no way. My head mechanically starts to shake back and forth. No. Dessin? My Dessin? But Albatross said that he wasn’t all of the wonderful and terrible things I thought he was? He said Dessin isn’t powerful or destructive. They just wanted him to think he was. Would Albatross really go to these great lengths and let Dessin carve his name into his forehead and sew his lips shut? Just for this… experiment?
What—is—happening?
Absinthe shoves Albatross in the back with the head of her crossbow. He steps behind my cage and begins to push us to the door. I hold on, my fingers curled around the cold metal. Where are we going?
Dessin is alive. Could this be another trick? An experiment?
Absinthe guides us through the hallway. Another shudder echoes the halls, and a wave of dust floats downward from the ceiling. Albatross continues to make frustrated noises. Is he embarrassed? Why won’t he explain to me what’s going on?
“You said he was… dead,” I mutter, taking shallow breaths. A deliciously creamy, sugary flavor of hope coats my tongue. Was he lying?
Albatross scoffs. “You probably think I’m this absurd liar. But I assure you, I’m not. You have no idea how much progress I’ve made with you. Once we abide by this old woman’s security measures, I’ll take you back and we’ll expedite the process. It’ll be harder and far more agonizing for you, but I’m beyond certain the result will be glorious.”
“Why do you have his name written on your forehead?” I ask cautiously. I need to know how much of what he said to me is true.
“Because that conceited sociopath, that behemoth of a man had no desire to learn from me! He wasn’t like you! He wasn’t eager like you are to be educated by what I have to teach you! That despicable human was vile and pure evil.” Albatross pushes me faster down the hallway as he gets worked up by the haunting memory of Dessin and what he was capable of.
My attention is drawn to the glittering light fixtures dressed in crystals spaced apart as we move farther down this endless hallway. The walls are made of rocky stone, and the floors are dark hardwood. I suppose I would have imagined being tortured in a less elegant estate. With dudgeons and leaky ceilings. Or white walls and people with lab coats.
Absinthe uses the tip of her crossbow to tap a stone on the wall. It falls inward, and a stone door cracks open. A hidden room. Albatross wheels me through the doorway. First, I can’t help but notice the many glass screens embedded into the stone wall to the right. There are at least fifteen monitors capturing the views of several angles, both outside and inside.
BOOM! Louder, closer to us, and a shock wave that passes through me.
Albatross shoves his weight into the back of my cage until we are out of the doorway and completely into this panic room. The inside looks like a different building entirely. The walls, ceiling, and floor seem to be made of steel. There are compartments along the floors parallel to the built-in screens. A bar of light stretches across the ceiling. The room is chilly, laced with the scent of mothballs and gasoline.
I watch Albatross and Absinthe gawk at the screens, scanning them for the source of the commotion. We can no longer feel the effects of an earthquake. They whisper back and forth as they point to different screens and compare notes. I shrink into the corner of my cage, rubbing my hands over the backs of my arms and my legs to keep warm.
My attention falls back to the scars on Albatross’s face. Including the ones that cut into his lips. It makes me wonder what Albatross must have done to Dessin to provoke such a reaction. And if he was willing to mutilate him like that… what would he do to him for hurting me? But that would mean he would have to break into the facility. It’s been months since I arrived. I can’t cling to that ideal of him again, the pedestal I had him standing on, I can’t fall for this trick. It’s a sick delusion to test my loyalty.
Besides, of course it isn’t real, because Dessin would have saved me in a matter of days. Not months. I would never have been belittled, isolated, or beaten. I wouldn’t know what it feels like to have kidney stones, endometriosis, appendicitis, go through childbirth, endure a broken leg, and die from lung cancer. That man would have saved me from all of it.
“There! You see? He can’t break in! He’s embarrassing himself! He’s giving up!” Albatross exclaims, throwing his twiggy hands at the monitor that he sees something on.
I crawl to the front of my cage, straining my eyes to see what he sees on that screen. On four of the screens surrounding his hands, there are mushroom clouds of dust or dirt. My eyes scroll over the destruction to peer between his hands plastered to the screen. I see a figure walking out of camera view. Is that…? No. He isn’t here. It’s not him.
Large groups of armed men close the distance from screen to screen, coming right for him. But that man walks with steps that are slow and intentional. He wants to be seen. He wants to be chased. I know that walk. It’s drowning in confidence and the unfaltering ability to dominate all. I feel the candlelight within me flicker with excitement, with hope. I haven’t tasted from that chalice of sweet victory in what feels like a lifetime.
And it feels damn good.
My two captors turn to me, smirking. Albatross’s lips peel apart, separating in space, showing his teeth even though it is a close-mouthed smile.
“Looks like the legend of his royal psychopath isn’t everything we thought it would be, hmm?” He taps his hand on the screen and sighs with satisfaction. “I told you I wasn’t lying. He’s a small man who believes he can do big things.”
I keep my eyes level with him. Trying to hold back an emotion building in me.
“Tell me, Albatross… if that’s true, then how did he get inside of the building?” I feel the malicious smile cutting through my lips and exposing my teeth.
He isn’t dead.
