Page 132 of Desecrated Saints
I release a breath when I find it also undisturbed. Checking each cell door in turn, nothing looks amiss. It isn’t until I reach the final handful of holding cells that the horror reveals itself. One door is busted wide open, the hinges blackened and twisted from the rotors of a spinning saw.
“Lazlo?” I yell inside. “Show yourself!”
Heaving the broken steel slab all the way open, I tentatively step into the room. My vision is dipped in red from the emergency lighting, but that doesn’t conceal the message scrawled across the concrete wall in giant, dripping letters. I can taste the metallic tang of blood in the air.
COME HOME, BROOKE.
WE CAN BE A FAMILY AGAIN.
On the other side of the room, a tiny bed is tucked into the corner. An ocean of fresh, sticky blood separates the space. It’s everywhere. Enough to fill the world and spill over in a portrait of death.
Well, the saw had two purposes.
This isn’t a murder.
It’s an execution.
Lazlo lies dismembered in a pool of his own mortality. Flaps of torn skin, muscle and tissue shed more blood, adding to the expanding spill. His arms and legs have been viciously torn from his torso, the bone shattered and jagged.
I suppress a scream as I slide through the cooling liquid, accidentally nudging the remains of his left leg. He’s been cut up like meat and methodically ripped apart. It’s like fucking artwork. Close enough to study his glassy eyes, they’re trapped in an eternal display of agony. I feel oddly relieved.
Nothing looks back at me.
He’s as empty as the monsters he created.
Above the remains of his butchered body, another message awaits, written in the same spilled blood. Fitting, really. I do enjoy poetic justice.
YOU TOOK MY CHILDREN FROM ME.
THE PRICE HAS BEEN PAID.
This message isn’t for me. Lazlo’s corpse stares up at the dripping words with eyes devoid of any life. It would have been the last thing he saw as his pitiful life was stolen, much like he stole so many of our childhoods and futures.
Blind instinct drives me to the barred window. Hunter granted him some daylight, despite the heavy iron cage over the glass that would block any futile attempt to escape. Lazlo still had the privilege of sunshine for his cooperation, which is far more than he ever deserved.
We’re high in the sky, with darkness descending upon the evening horizon. I search the ground beneath us, seeing nothing but people going about their business. The world continues to turn as ours grinds to a halt. Glancing at the smaller tower opposite Sabre’s monstrosity, the empty roof is laid bare.
Someone awaits, watching for me.
A blood-stained hand offers a slow wave.
“Mum,” I whisper against the glass.
She’s staring straight back at me, her entire focus trained on the window—almost like she was waiting for me to come and find her. Like a robot, my right hand lifts in a wave. I can’t help it. Watching her sick, twisted smile appear still feels like coming home at last.
Her existence is proof that my family was real.
I didn’t imagine them, or the happiness I once had.
With an outstretched hand, she points to my left. I let my eyes stray back to the wall, where the message she left for me is gradually becoming obscured as the wet blood spreads.
Come home, Brooke.
Her familiar, coaxing voice whispers through my mind. Only this time, it’s real. When I look back, she’s gone. I stare at the empty rooftop, her voice in my ears.
We can be a family again.
CHAPTER 28
