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But that’s precisely why it isn’t my choice.
The activity of the city hums outside these walls. The flurry of life, the night an orchestra, the world minding its own business, as we’re trapped in a pit with our darkest thoughts.
The ticking of my pocket watch grows louder as I remain racked and suspended.
Blakely stands center of the room, hands clutched to the vials and syringe, her despondent gaze locked on me.
“Think of it ascoup de grâce.” I offer a weak smile. “This time, you have to do it, Blakely. Give me my mercy killing.”
This is my chance to rewrite our script. Finally, the villain earns his redemptive ending.
42
BURN ME TWICE
BLAKELY
I’ve been here before.
Only this time, even though the flames are figurative, they burn twice as hot.
Alex had asked me to kill him in the dark room, when he placed a river stone in my hand. His demons were torturing him, and to quiet them, to put a permanent stop to his madness and the killing, I knew what I had to do.
But I was too weak, and I consciously allowed the fire to make the choice for me.
Was my weakness due to crippling emotions? Because I had never experienced love before?
I still don’t fully understand, but as the seconds tick around us on an endless, echoing loop, I drop Alex’s gaze and light my phone screen, reading over Grayson’s text to try to glean a different meaning.
You and I are very similar, Blakely, the only difference is you were born, where I was made. The psychopathic mind cannot be altered. I think, in time, you’ll find yourself regressing to your former baseline self, where your emotions resort to shallow affect—all except for one unavoidable aspect: your feelings for Alex. This is the strange anomaly. Love can remake us, again and again, we are reborn. If you’re honest with yourself, then the rest will unravel effortlessly. The only way out of this trap is to accept who you are, and embrace the darkness you were born with.
I toss the phone, letting it clatter loudly to the tile floor.
I couldn’t kill Alex then, and God help me, I can’t kill him now.
I’m fated to my weakness, the same as Alex’s fate has always been time.
Time will take him before I can.
I tuck the vials into my jeans and hold on to the syringe as I rush to the hoist contraption. Muttering a curse, I make a snap judgment to pull the rusted lever, and thezipof the cable line races across my skin, making me shiver.
Alex collapses to the floor.
“Shit, sorry.” I grab up the cable and follow it until I reach him, where I untwist one end from around his wrist, then the other.
He says nothing as he tips his head back and brings his palm to my face. The bandage is missing. His scars are rough against my skin. He’s shaking due to the abuse to his muscles. As his pale-blue eyes capture mine, I stop moving, stop breathing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
He licks his lips. “I’m not sure. Maybe it will hit all at once, be quick.”
My chest pangs with a hollow ache. I swallow the fiery lump in my throat, then take a moment to glance at Addisyn. She’s still breathing. Calm. No signs of symptoms yet.
“Here,” Alex says, as he removes the syringe from my hand. He uses his thumb to measure out each dose I’ll need to administer along the barrel. “Give her a dose of each every five minutes until the effects subside.”
My heart batters my chest wall, making it difficult to breathe. I look at the watch strung from the rafter. Four minutes have already passed. Time is slipping through my fingers.
I meet Alex’s eyes and, with a trembling hand, brush his hair away from his forehead. “I don’t have a choice,” I say, a flame licking my lungs.
