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I’msittinginthe dark, not a single light to illuminate or chase away the darkness shrouding me. I prefer it like this. Our breaths are the only sounds down here, unless his arms move, making the chains around his wrists rattle.
The wall I’m leaning against is as cold as the fist squeezing my heart, and I like to think it represents the coldness of the grave.
The grave…
My breath turns labored as I remember seeing the life disappearing from Mark’s eyes two days ago. Whenever I think about that night, my feelings run rampant inside me. The two emotions warring within my body should be polar opposite, but they aren’t. Even though they appear together as though one doesn’t exist without the other, they’re threatening to tear me in half. Wrath and grief are taking their toll on me, and I don’t know how not to let either control me. Rather than trying, I let both consume me.
I throw my head back against the brick wall behind me and let out a wordless scream. With each wail torn from deep within my chest, I feel the crushing and all-consuming absence Mark’s death has left in its wake.
I scream until my throat is burning with exhaustion and my lungs are screaming with the need for oxygen. Panting, I shout, “You did this! You motherfuckingfuckerfuck!!” I aim the broken insult at the shadow sagging at the other end of the basement.
The piece of shit who stole everything from me.
The bastard who turned my sense of loyalty against me and used it to enslave me.
The fucker who broke me in more ways than one.
…My pet!
“Say something,” I growl, angry that he never answers me.
Of course, this time is no different. He hides in the dark, sniffling and shifting. He isn’t even trying to fight against the restraints or insult me anymore. No, he’s given up. Taking away my means for an outlet, and this infuriates me even more.
“If you don’t fucking speak to me, I’ll take away your blanket.” It’s not an idle threat. He already knows this.
During our time together, he’s learned that what I give, I can just as quickly take from him if he doesn’t cooperate. And with the already sparse mercies he’s been given, it’s not like he has an endless supply for me to confiscate.
“What do you want me to say?”
I let out a mirthless and sarcastic laugh. “Tell me why you did it,” I insist. I’ve asked this question a lot, but I’m yet to receive a genuine answer from him.
“It was the only way,” he chokes out before succumbing to a coughing fit. “We needed him out of the way.”
Nodding, I acknowledge his words as the truth. I already knew this, but it’s not enough. I need to know the reason behind it and not just the facts.
“Why?” I ask again, determined not to give up. “Why couldn’t you have knocked him out? Taken him with you? Or even tied him up?”
Whenever I close my eyes, I see Mark’s lifeless body in front of me. It’s a grotesque and heartbreaking sight, but it’s not what keeps me up at night. It’s the fucking questions haunting me that keep me from sleeping.
“That wouldn’t have worked,” he says in answer to my question. Again, I already knew this.
There’s no way my former boss could take Mark one-on-one without fighting dirty. But then that begs the next question.
“Were you already planning on killing Mark when you kicked down his door?” I suspect I already know the answer, which is why I want the reason.
Maybe I’m a bleeding heart, unable to believe the worst about people. I mean, clearly, I am. There’s no maybe about it. I never predicted or even suspected that he would kill Mark, never. Even now that he has, I’m struggling to believe it.
My lack of belief isn’t caused by a refusal to trust what I witnessed with my own two eyes. It’s brought on because while we all worked at Serendipity, it would have been easy for my pet to get rid of Mark. So why didn’t he? Why that night?
I’ve voiced this to my guys many times over, but they don’t share my concerns. In fact, they’re blatantly disregarding them. That’s not entirely true; they would never do that. However, it’s obvious they think I’m digging where there’s nothing to be found. Even though I can’t fault them for that, I don’t share their sentiment.
Something had to be driving Mr—nope, I will never call him that again—yes, something had to cause Neil to pull the trigger that night. Why go to Mark’s place and do it? Why leave such a mess behind? The more I think about it, the more questions I’m left with.
“Yes!” There’s zero malice or fight behind the three-lettered answer I get. “Can I please have some water?” He croaks, and I feel the lilt of my lips as they spread in a toothy smile.
“Sure you can,” I singsong before I make my way over to the hose and turn it on him. “Open wide,” I taunt before letting the freezing water completely douse him and the blanket he’s so desperate to hold on to.
After spending practically all my time down here, I know my way around even when it’s pitch black. Although my eyes have mostly adjusted to the lack of light, I still count my steps to make sure I don’t bump into anything.
