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Finally, a guttural and manic scream exploded from her mouth. She batted at my chest and face, trying to fight me off, but already her strength was fading. Shoving her legs apart, I drove the blade into her again and again, blood and soon shit oozed onto the carpet as her bodily functions began to release. I slammed the blade into her harder with each thrust until, eventually, the handle and my fist itself was buried inside her pussy, blood coating my wrist and forearm.
When I looked up, she was gazing down at me, blood oozing from her lips, eyes vacant and staring.
Letting go of the knife and leaving it inside her, I extracted my hand from between her legs.
“I hope it was all you hoped for,” I said and stood.
I kicked her in the side of the head as I walked over and retrieved my gun. So far, Owen hadn’t shown himself. He was watching though, that much I knew for certain. I looked up at the nearest camera, raised the pistol and winked at him, then fired, blowing the round plastic lens apart.
Bri had been right. The doors being locked did pose a problem. That would have been if I hadn’t been the one to design this entire house to begin with. Owen had already shown a remarkable lack of creativity. If I wasn’t wrong, my secret access panels would still be here.
The large foyer where Bri and I had fought led to the dining room. No secret wall here, another time and cost cutting measure probably. Across the dining room, the massive wooden door out to the hallways stood shut and locked. Reaching forward, I took hold of a thick section of molding around the door and pulled hard. The molding clicked, and a twelve-inch piece lifted up, revealing another keypad. Tossing the wood aside, I punched in the code, and the door swung open, revealing the hallway beyond.
Again, I moved forward holding my gun out, inspecting each corner before moving down the hall. Thankfully, it appeared Bri had been right. There seemed to be no other assistants helping Owen. Part of me worried that Owen might, at that very moment, be escaping, but Dahlia was the most important thing right then. Once we were together again, we could worry about catching Owen.
After finding the Library, I used the same trick, ripping away the faux border and opening the door with a code. What I saw within gave me pause. Dahlia lay unconscious beside a slight body, a woman from the swell of breasts beneath her sweatshirt. That was all the identification I could make due to the pulverized skull.
My heart nearly erupted from my chest at the sight of Dahlia, her chest rising and falling slowly. She was alive. I couldn’t remember ever being so happy or excited to see someone. My soulmate, my muse. The person who knew the desires of my mind as intimately as I did. The only living soul on earth who could be my match.
The smell of blood and gore tickled my nose, and I cast another glance at the dead woman. The entire head had been shattered and smashed to pulp by what appeared to be a small bust of Shakespeare that lay beside Dahlia’s outstretched hand. The statue was cracked in blood and brain matter. A single half smashed eyeball sat lodged between the chin and chest of the bust.
“Look upon thy death, indeed,” I said, quoting Romeo and Juliet as I knelt beside Dahlia.
While watching the door for Owen, I patted Dahlia’s cheek. That was when I saw the device on her arm and put two and two together.
With a few quick movements, I pulled my second knife from my boot and slipped it beneath the band and sawed at it, trying to cut it off. Owen had cut more corners. Rather than the tightly woven metal fiber bands I’d sourced, this was high quality Kevlar. It took a few seconds, but the fibers of the band tore away beneath the blade and eventually the entire device fell away.
Dahlia was still out, and time was running short. We had to get moving.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I hope you forgive me.”
I slapped her face as hard as I could; the crack of it echoed through the room, and her eyes snapped open. Dahlia sucked in a heaving lungful of air, then coughed before sitting up.
“Drake,” she moaned, and threw her arms around me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, running my hands through her hair.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed, her body shaking with sobs of relief.
“Never. Hell itself couldn’t keep me from you. Who’s this?” I asked, nodding to the body on the floor.
“A bitch who deserved what she got,” Dahlia said. “That’s all.”
“Come on then,” I said, helping her to her feet.
“Drake, he remade the playhouse. It’s like an exact replica.”
“Yes. That’s his first mistake.”
“What?” she looked at me dumbly. “What’s the first?”
“Not killing me when he had the chance. Come on.”
Taking her hand, I led her out into the hall, hurrying as fast as I could. Deep at the back of my mind, a kind of clock was ticking, draining away time.
“Can we get out?” she asked as we hurried to the stairwell.
I shook my head. “I have ways of getting into the individual rooms, but the exterior doors are controlled only by special control panels in the hidden rooms Owen and I used. We’ll need to get into one of them, but first we blind Owen.”
