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Eventually, I slip away. But only after endless minutes listening to the man’s breakdown and the torture that follows; by the sounds of it—hissing noises—it seems like he’s been scalded with some kind of iron. The burning smell that permeates the air, even into my cell, confirms it.
My mind goes somewhere pleasant for the first time in a long time. Rather than drowning in grief and guilt over Delphine—and the nightmare she might be subjected to in the very moment as I lay in my cell—I’m waking up to the scent of rain.
It’s wet earth and a saltiness from the ocean air.
It’s soothing, along with the cool breeze that brushes over my skin. I fell asleep on the deck, lying on one of the lounge chairs. Unlike me considering I don’t spend much time on them; Delphine’s the one who comes out here to read.
Then I hear it—Delphine’s voice inside.
I’m jumping up and sprinting through the glass doors. I’m calling her name.
Salt and Pepa meet me at my ankles and trot along with me, meowing and swishing their tails. A grin almost breaks out onto my face; these two fluff balls really do think I’m their daddy.
“Jon!” Delphine smiles prettily as she spins around and sets sights on me.
I come to a jerky stop, speechless. “Phi… what are you wearing?”
She glances down her front then back up at me, still with her bright, pretty smile. “The dress you picked out for me, remember? We’re getting married. Hurry up, we’ve kept the pastor waiting long enough!”
It is the dress I picked out for her. The satiny white dress with a sheen quality when caught in the right light; even in this odd fantasy, it fits her just as perfectly as in real life. As she clutches a bouquet of flowers, her curls framing her face, she looks as gorgeous as that night in Asbury.
I approach, realizing I’m in a suit. She grabs hold of my arm and pulls me closer to her side.
Turning to face forward, she says, “Go ahead, pastor. Please proceed.”
For a moment, I’m caught up in the fact that she’s alive and well at my side. If I could stay like this, stay asleep in whatever fantasy this is, I wouldn’t give a shit what happens to my body.
“Where were we?” rasps the reverend in a tight, throaty voice that sends a chill down my spine. “Ah, yes. Do you, Delphine Rose Adams, take thisscarafaggioto be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and health, rich and poor, life and…death?”
My head snaps forward and my blood freezes into ice at the sight of him—Lucius standing before us, a cold-eyed, devilish grin twisted on his lips. He’s looking right at me, with that deep level of hatred he’s always held for me, like he longs for the moment he’ll be able to destroy me in every way.
“Phi,” I choke, grabbing her arm. “We’ve got to get the fuck out of here!”
But I realize a split second later, she can’t come. As I move to drag her along, the satin gown she wears soaks itself inblood.
It spreads, fanning out across her stomach, staining the perfect snow-white fabric with its morbid red liquid.
Delphine sinks to the floor at the same time I reach out and grab her. The piece of shrapnel sticks out from her midsection, having sliced straight through her. I can’t think. I can’t function. I’m left crumpled on the floor with a dying Delphine in my arms.
A large shadow falls over us. The presence that accompanies it, sinister and inhumane.
“I told you so,” Lucius laughs. “I fucking told you so,scarafaggio.I am your god. Now, beg for mercy. Kiss my shoe.”
“DELPHINE!”
I’m woken up by my own screams. Fitting, since I fell asleep to somebody else’s.
Otherwise, there’s nothing but silence. Nothing but darkness and shadows engulfing every corner of my dank, cold cell. I spring upward and shove myself against the cinderblock wall, husking out difficult and ever-increasingly painful breaths.
It felt so real. Too fucking real. From the blood soaking her to the light in her eyes the first moment I saw her.
He’s gotten so deep in my head I can’t escape him. Every memory I have is tainted; every last shred of happiness I was holding on to, streaked in blood.
I run my good hand through the slicked, damp mess that’s my hair. My lungs won’t let up, sucking desperately for some air to breathe; my ribs might be broken to the extent they’re incapable of functioning at all anymore.
That, or I’m in the middle of a soul-depleting panic attack.
“Calm down. They will not kill you. Not yet.”
