Page 30 of Retrograde

I let him go, and he scurries away, counting his blessings. I grab my mask and my knife and head out.

11

RILEY

Aron’s last visit was brief and jarringly uneventful. He barely looked at me, barely said a word to me, and didn’t linger around for longer than necessary. His silent hostility, as opposed to the usual vocal kind, should have been a relief to me. But it wasn’t. I caught myself wishing that he would stay longer. That we could talk more.

My thoughts are so tangled. My chest tightens anytime I think about what Aron’s gone through, and guilt washes over me when I consider the part I played in it. He lost everyone and everything. Even though his story is far from unique, hearing it changed how I see him. Before, I thought he was just a deranged psychopath, acting out of whatever sick, dark compulsion. But now I’ve glimpsed his pain and desperation through the cracks. And realised that maybe what drives him is what drives all of us, except he feels it a lot stronger.

A deafening bang echoes down the cave, the light comes on, and the familiar stomp of heavy boots draws near.

This is strange. He’s only just been here a few hours ago, I’m sure of that. I’m not even hungry yet.

I get up, then back away quickly when he appears behind the bars, his mask on and the look in his eyes lethal.

“What—”

Something rubbery and a little wet hits me in the chest. He threw it at me so fast I barely registered the movement.

“I won’t kill you today either.” His voice could cut through steel, rage oozing off every syllable. “But I will make you wish that I would unless you talk. And no lying.”

Unease coiling in my belly, I peek at the thing he threw at me.

A scream tears from my lips.

An ear. A bloodied, chopped-off ear.

I scuffle away from it, pebbles rattling underneath my feet.

“Corrado ... No!”

Trying not to look at the ear, I press my hands over my mouth to stifle the panicked sobs racking my body. Tears roll between my fingers.

“Corrado is a liar.” Aron steps inside the cell, his voice deep and low, his posture threatening. “He said he would tell me everything, but he fucking lied to me.”

In his mask, he’s lung-crushingly terrifying.

“What did you do?”

“Wrong question, Hotshot.” I can hear the sneer in his tone. “The right one isn’t what I’ve done, but what I could do.”

“You mutilated him! You sick, fucking monster!” I let my hands fall away from my contorted face.

“Like you’re not!” The retort is so sharp and full of hatred that it steals my breath.

He moves closer. I pick up a rock and throw it at him.

He catches it. With a reflex so honed it’s almost unnatural, he actually fucking catches it. Fury flares in his eyes.

He pounces.

I scream.

He’s on me in a heartbeat. He grabs both my wrists and twists my arms behind my back. Then he yanks them upward to force me to bend over, howling in pain.

“Lying bitch.” Holding me in place with one hand, he traces the tip of his knife down my spine.

“I d-didn’t lie t-to you about anything!” I’m sobbing uncontrollably, instinctive terror taking over as the blade slips between my ass cheeks.