“Fuck,” we spit in unison, both breathing heavily as we gather our senses.
My heart beating relentlessly against my ribs I watch her paw at her cheeks as she quickly shuffles back into her dress, swooping her hair up into a messy bun atop her head. She checks her reflection as she tidies back the stray hairs that have fallen around her face, inhaling air in through her nose and letting it out in a steady woosh from her parted lips to control her erratic breathing. I one-handedly pull up my trousers and regretfully tuck my swollen cock back into my underwear, talking it down from the ledge; the pain of being so wound up and close to coming isn’t something I would wish on my worst enemy. I need the release that I’m quickly realising only Cara can give me. As the moment passes, I know I’m going to have to take care of my severe case of blue balls later. I also know I’ll be right here watching her when I do it. Another impatient knock comes at her door, and I fall back into the chair, watching the mirror like I would a TV screen, suddenly feeling too far detached from her again.
She rushes to retrieve a new set of pristine white gloves from her drawer, straightens her underwear through her dress, and squares her shoulders. The Cara I met downstairs is now in control, my teasing vixen from moments ago stuffed back down inside her. She double checks the room before she pulls aside the chair propped up under the handle and allows the door to swing open.
I usually build up to my kills, planning and prepping how I will go about it, researching my victim’s history, discovering what they did to get themselves put on my shit list. But when I see the sour expression on Lenora’s face when she glances around Cara disapprovingly at her room, I realise none of that matters; denying me the pleasure of watching my woman come undone—that is now point one on my list of how to die quickly and efficiently.
“We don’t lock doors here Miss Morgrieves,”
“Apologies Mrs Blackwood, I was just getting changed.”
I don’t hear their quiet exchange after that as Lenora hurries Cara out and shuts the door behind her. If anything i’m just grateful she didn’t order her to pack her things back up and head down to her original room.
With Cara here the voices in my head for the first time in forever felt distant, but with the room now silent and devoid of her warmth, with the focus of my attention no longer solely on her - my reality, who I am, where I am, what I am—it all begins to bleed back into the here and now, and those voices begin to invade the dream I lost myself in with her.
What fucking idiot brings an umbrella to a secret voyeurism room?
My only response to the little voice in my head is to heartily chuckle because looking down, I see the ratty moth-eaten gentleman’s cane umbrella that I grabbed to break the mirror still gripped in my fist; I can’t fault the logic.
And then a smaller voice in my head—gruffer, darker, more ominous in its feel. A voice I rarely let see the light of day, whispers in my ear,‘It might not have broken the glass, but she sure would have looked bloody beautiful impaled on it.’
Is there such a thing as a psychopath with a heart?
God help Cara Morgrieves—she has no idea what she’s in for.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARA
‘We’re a family here Miss Morgrieves—we need to connect with our residents.’
I replay Lenora’s words in my head, the friendly edge they have in my thoughts nothing like the terse way she’d spat them at me. I hadconnectedwith Mr. Greenblat yesterday, a lifer who apparently liked to skin women and wear them like meat suits in his hey-day; I decided the‘put the lotion in the basket’joke my brain concocted on the spot wouldn’t be appreciated, so I kept it to myself. My moment of distraction as I reminded myself of the professional etiquette Lenora insisted I adopt, when I lowered to my knees to help him with his shoe, was the exact moment unassuming, greying Mr. Greenblat decided to whip his shrivelled cock out, licking his lips as he offered it to me, like the breakfast room was the best place to present it.
The blood curdling scream that barrelled out of my mouth had him running for the hills. That was more than enoughconnectingfor one day. I shudder at the memory and inch closer to the small round table as patients filter into the rec roomaround me for their weekly class. I refuse to be caught off guard again, so I’ve opted for the table in the corner where I can have my back pressed up against the wall.No dicks in my face today.
“So, newbie, how long has it been?” A petite girl in her late twenties takes the seat next to me and tugs her sleek black ponytail tighter as she loudly chews on her gum around her question. Her lip ring hits her teeth as she tongues the popped bubble back into her mouth. Her makeup is heavy, but also so seamlessly applied, her skin looks like it has a filter attached. The obvious answer to her question is with another question,‘how long has it been since what,’but as she’s dressed in the same uniform as I am, and I’m the most recent face added to the team, I use a little of the brainpower I have left after my ordeal yesterday and take a stab at it.
“One week, four days, and a fair few hours. Mentally a decade. Time seems to move slower here,” I say glancing down at the mini clock hanging from my pocket, and she beams across at me. I’ve been here nearly two weeks, and I still don’t feel settled, as though I’m always being watched, but I decided to keep that to myself. Talks of voices in my head and being watched by invisible forces won’t end well for me in a place like this. “I’ve also had four cocks waved at me in that time. I feel like the idea of chastity belts needs to be raised at the next staff meeting,” I titter, my nerves settling a little.
‘Not the cock you’ve wanted though,’my brain adds unhelpfully as I catch Ezra entering the room out of the corner of my eye.
“Cock talk before lunch—as I suspected, we’ll get on just fine. I know we’re not officially allowed friends here at Blackwood, or anywhere else for that matter, but the boss lady doesn’t have to know.” Her winged black liner, natural resting bitch face, and her red-wine-coloured lipstick would more than likely make Raven seem unapproachable to most, but there is a kindnessin her violet eyes that I haven’t felt from another female since leaving Suzy in Hollow Hills. It feels good to have someone to talk to here.
“So Mrs. Blackwood questioned you on your friends history too then?” I ask, happy to be chatting with someone my own age for once. I hadn’t thought much of it, but Raven is the first nurse I’ve seen working the same shift as me since I started.
“Yeah, it seems standard; a few of the girls that have come and gone all seem to fit the same mould. Broken homes and brutal histories. It kind of makes sense in a twisted way—us caring for these patients. We’re all as fucked up as each other—the only exception is we’re the ones trusted with the keys. Our shifts are usually solo unless it’s‘craft day,’”—she air quotes the words and gestures around the room, nodding her head towards the new feature of two heavily armed guards at the door looking like they are about to enter aCall of Dutysniper attack—“because of all the sharp weaponry.” She laughs, jabbing a crochet hook at me playfully. “Can’t have some lunatic let loose with all these tools.”
As if on cue, the jigsaw buzzes to life behind us, making me jump.
“Something about creative expression being the windows to our souls or something equally blah, five hours of fingerpainting if you ask me,” Raven adds mockingly like she thinks it’s all bullshit. “Lenora likes to think if she keeps the patients busy, it will stop them fucking like bunnies every chance they get. Crazy or not, the natural urge to fuck is just too strong in some of these people to be waylaid by painting pasta shell frames and crocheting loo roll holders.”
“So you’ve been here a while?” I ask, trying to sound upbeat.
“Long enough. There are special benefits to being in a place like this, newbie. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that some of Blackwood’s finest psychos are all kinds of delicious.” Shesmirks; I follow her hungry hooded gaze as it tracks across the room and zeros in on Ezra.
Jealousy burns through me, sharp and unwelcome. I have no claim to him, no right to care, but that doesn’t stop the weight pressing down heavily on my chest, that feeling gnawing at me from the inside out.
“I mean, the things I’d let that man do to me,” Raven coos, and I have to tamp down the violence boiling in my gut. She’s lovely, and I shouldn’t want to grab a fistful of her hair and smash her face into the glass doors, but I do, and the urge to hurt her scares me.
