Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland Book 2)

by Nikki J Summers

  I held my breath as she came out of the house, looking dazed and confused. No doubt she’d heard about my visit to the Lockwoods last night and it’d spooked her.

  She knew I was coming for them and she was scared.

  I liked her best when she was scared.

  The way her skin paled and the brightness of her eyes. I wondered what it’d be like to have her close to me and feel that fear first-hand. The shivers and the way her skin would react to mine. The gasps that would feed into my own, and the taste of her… of her terror. I wanted to taste it. This girl was getting under my skin in so many ways I’d lost count. Like a needle feeding me the hardest drug. She was becoming an obsession. Crawling into my warped, broken soul to set up home there. I couldn’t go a day without watching her, following her, knowing what she was doing. But it was getting worse. I needed more. Her anger and her grief mirrored my own. She fed into my demons and made them hungry for more.

  I stayed hidden in amongst the trees as she came nearer, so near that I could hear her deep breaths. She pulled her hoody closer around her, but it didn’t help. She shivered like a lost puppy and I couldn’t look away. Watching her so vulnerable, knowing I could step out at any moment and do whatever the fuck I wanted made something stir within me. Something I’d never felt before. For the first time in years, I felt alive.

  She made me feel alive.

  When she saw my tribute laid out on the floor, she gasped. I smiled, waiting for the tears to flow, but they never came. My feisty little thing was a warrior. She wouldn’t take my shit lying down, and I stood taller watching her, knowing she felt power from seeing what I’d done. I made her strong. I gave her strength.

  But don’t get too cocky, little one. I can take it away again too.

  And then she spoke, and hearing her soft voice calling to me made every single hair on the back of my neck stand up. She looked and sounded like an angel, even though her words were anything but angelic.

  “You won’t win.”

  Maybe not, but I’ll enjoy the fight.

  “Play all the games you want, but you won’t win with me. I’m not fucking scared of you.”

  And that’s your first mistake, angel. You should be scared of me… Of what I can do. Even I’m scared of me.

  “You’re nothing, do you hear me? You. Are. Nothing.”

  Yeah. And people who are nothing have nothing to lose.

  I watched her kick the stones and grab the rose. The way she huffed and flipped her hair made me smirk. Little Miss Feisty was playing right into my hands. I couldn’t wait to toy with her some more.

  I had all sorts of surprises up my sleeves.

  And she was never going to see them coming.

  It was hard to know who I could trust. My inner circle consisted of my parents and me, and even they didn’t know about half the stuff that had been going on. I think they thought I was going a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy, after my night-time garden breakdown. I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and then some. Staying quiet about my midnight stalker was making me die a little inside every single day.

  I scrolled through my phone, wondering who I could reach out to, to offload and share some of the burden. I’d always had Brodie before. He was my go-to person if I needed help with my emotional overload. He took it all. But that support system wasn’t there anymore. It certainly wasn’t there with the Lockwoods. They were the last people I’d turn to.

  Suddenly, I remembered the leaflets Emily had given me, and went to my bag to fish them out. Maybe a stranger was what I needed. Someone who would listen without prejudice and offer help and support without judgement. I didn’t have to speak or tell anyone anything I didn’t want to. Hell, I could just sit back and read their stories. Maybe that’d make me feel better, hearing that someone else was going through the same kind of bullshit I was.

  I heard my mum close the front door, heading out to another one of her appointments with Doctor Meredith, so I took advantage of the quiet and headed to my room.

  Once inside, I locked the door and powered up my laptop. I had no idea what these forums would be like, but I opened up the leaflet for the one Emily said she’d used and found the web address.

  I typed it in and then scrolled down, reading about how they could provide support in a variety of ways, from one-on-one counselling with a professional, to peer help groups and online forums. They listed their charity ethos in five bullet points. They seemed to be a professional outfit.

  Number one in their five-point plan stated that it was good to share your experiences. Peer support was one of their key successes when bringing people together. Hearing from and sharing with others about their loss. Where people who had gone through what you had could offer guidance on how they coped. I highly doubted anyone else on here had been stalked by their loved one’s murderer, but I’d keep an open mind. I was willing to try anything at this point. My emotional well was overflowing, and I was crippled under the weight of it all.

  Second, they wanted everyone to know their feelings were normal and valid. That it was part of the grieving process to be faced with a host of emotional and physical challenges. I guessed I wasn’t the only one considering doing a Britney then. I certainly didn’t recognise myself anymore. I don’t think my colleagues at the school did either, but I was beyond caring about that. Maybe I’d get some tips on how to challenge my aggressive energy. Or maybe even a few revenge plans. Mathers would never see me coming when I finally hit him hard. I already felt reckless and unpredictable, and I hadn’t even started.

  Next, they highlighted that my bereavement wouldn’t have a set time limit. I could have told them that already. There never would be a time limit on how devastated I was. I’d feel it every day of my life until I took my last breath. Brodie was a part of me, like a limb. His death wouldn’t change that. Instead, I’d have to learn to live without said limb, and life would eventually take on a new normal. But my grief would never end. I was clear on that. The pain inside was a pain I’d have to endure forever.

  Their fourth pledge was one of continued support. They promised they’d be there for everyone through every stage of their grief. That there would always be a safe space for anyone that needed it, whatever time of the day or however desperate they were. I liked that. A twenty-four-seven friend, a listening ear in the early hours. They’d probably regret that pledge once they’d heard what I had to say at three a.m.

  Last, they explained that their charity was run by the members for the members. Any topic was up for discussion. There was no agenda. This was for us.

  At the bottom was the membership sign up, and I hovered my mouse over it, still feeling apprehensive about taking that leap into the unknown. Then I thought, ‘Fuck it. What do I have to lose? Not a lot at the moment.’ And I clicked to join.

  For the purpose of anonymity and to partake in the chat on the forums, I had to give a username. I wracked my brains for something that’d fit, looking around my room for inspiration. When I glanced up at the bookshelf above my desk, I had my lightbulb moment. I loved Game of Thrones, and what better character to base my name on than the one who represented my current state of body and mind.

  Lady Stoneheart.

  A shell of a woman who was vengeful and had no mind for the consequences of her actions or what it would mean for the future; she could only focus on the here and now, much like me. She was a character that could barely speak after a brutal attack and had to cover the wound in her throat to be heard. I might not have a wound people could see, but the pain was there, and it made it difficult for me to speak too. And like Lady Stoneheart, I would be relentless in my plight for revenge for my family. At least, that was the original plan, but now, I felt like my main plight was to survive to see another day. One thing was clear though, I wanted to show him what he’d done to me when he took away the most important person in my life. He needed to know about the pain he’d caused.

  I typed in my handle LadyStoneheart23 and c
licked send on my profile. Instantly, a list of chatroom titles popped up, each one referring to a different type of bereavement. There was the lost my parents, lost my mum, lost my dad, lost a grandparent. They even had one for lost my pet. Then I found what I was looking for; lost a sibling. I clicked to enter, and the chat opened up.

  LadyStoneheart23 has joined the chat

  EmoGirl- I think the people who tolerate you on a daily basis are the real heroes, Fucking_Alan.

  JoeNotExotic- I doubt he leaves his parent’s basement very often. The only action he gets is from Pam… You know, Pam of his hand.

  EmoGirl- Hey Lady, welcome to the madhouse.

  JoeNotExotic- Hi Lady!

  Fucking_Alan- Lady, I hope you are one. These douche canoes are roasting me today.

  HangingWithMyGnomies- You brought it on yourself, Alan. Hey Lady!

  I’d obviously joined the chat at a crucial point in their stage of grieving. I was intrigued to find out why they were all hating on Alan, although his username did kind of give him away. I didn’t want to type anything yet though. Even though a few had said hi, I wasn’t ready to jump in.

  Fucking_Alan- Gnomio, you wish you had my way with the ladies. I know you only log on these days to hear about my exploits. Looking for tips are ya?

  HangingWithMyGnomies- Pretty sure the earth revolves around the sun not you, Alan. The only tip I’d accept from you would be in pound sterling, mate.

  Fucking_Alan- Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.

  EmoGirl- Alan, your date climbed out of the bathroom window after you told her if she ate much more, you’d be rolling her home. I don’t think he needs those kinds of tips.

  Fucking_Alan- It was a JOKE, people. Do chicks not have a sense of humour these days?

  JoeNotExotic- Dude, if you’re trying to improve the world you should really start with yourself. Nothing needs more help than you do.

  Fucking_Alan- I don’t need help. I’m perfect as I am. In the immortal words of the great Mac Davis, ‘Oh Lord, it’s so hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way. I get frightened to look in the mirror, ‘cos I get better looking each day.’

  EmoGirl- I’d be frightened to see how fat your head was. You should change your username to elephant man.

  Fucking_Alan- Now that’s just rude, EmoGirl. Not to mention disability-ist or whatever they call it. To know me is to love me. And I’m one hellova man.

  JoeNotExotic- You’re one hellova something. Maybe I shouldn’t type it on here. This is a public chatroom.

  Fucking_Alan- Joe, knock yourself out. No, really. Go and knock yourself out *Insert punch emoji* and do us all a favour. Just joking! Before you all jump on the troll express. Joe, you know I love you.

  HangingWithMyGnomies- Careful, Joe. Sounds like he wants to take you on a date next.

  JoeNotExotic- Lol. I’m JoeNotExotic, otherwise known as the troll king, the gay, keyboard warrior nerdy kid… not a mullet in sight over here. I’d chew you up and spit you out, Alan. Still want a piece of me?

  Fucking_Alan- Which piece are you offering?

  EmoGirl- Fuck’s sake. New girl, lady, must think we’re a bunch of weirdos.

  Fucking_Alan- Speak for yourself, Emo.

  EmoGirl- Jesus loves you, Alan. Everyone else thinks you’re an asshole.

  Fucking_Alan- I’m thinking of changing my name to CaroleBasketcase, just so we look like a couple, Joe.

  JoeNotExotic- To be honest, we’d never work, Alan. I’m a unicorn and you’re a donkey. I’m majestic and you, my dear, are just an ass.

  I couldn’t believe what I was reading. This wasn’t what I was expecting when I logged on. Not one of them had mentioned a lost brother or sister. I guessed this was what the charity had meant when they said it was run by the members for the members and no subject was off limits. Looked like Alan had brought an extra large spoon into the chat with him so he could stir shit up.

  I saw a few private chats pop up along the bottom of my screen and hesitated, wondering if I should open them or not. I clicked on the one from EmoGirl first. She seemed like one of the saner members of the group.

  EmoGirl- Hey. Don’t let Alan put you off. Everyone is really cool in here. Alan is a knob, but you’ll get used to him.

  LadyStoneheart23- I gotta admit, this wasn’t the chat I expected when I came on here.

  EmoGirl- It can get darker. We try to keep it light. We all have our demons in here and most of us prefer to suppress them. You okay?

  I stared at the cursor blinking back at me. Was I okay? I guess I needed to be honest.

  LadyStoneheart23- Not really.

  EmoGirl- Wanna talk about it? No pressure.

  LadyStoneheart23- I lost my brother a few weeks ago.

  EmoGirl- That’s tough. So you’re still in those early stages? Must feel pretty raw, huh?

  LadyStoneheart23- Yep. He was my twin.

  EmoGirl- Ouch.

  LadyStoneheart23- What about you?

  That was as much sharing as I was ready for at that moment.

  EmoGirl- I lost my half-brother about a year ago. I never really knew him, but it still hurts. I missed out on a lot and it sucks that I’ll never get a chance to get that back.

  LadyStoneheart23- I’m sorry to hear that.

  EmoGirl- I’m working through it. Coming on here helps. If ever you need to offload let us know. Joe is really cool. Hit us up if you ever need to chat. Might wanna stay out of the private chat with Alan though. First time I came on here he private messaged me to ask me how I liked having Rod Hull’s hand shoved up my ass every day. Emo… Emu. Guy was referring to the bloody puppet. Ruined my childhood in one message.

  LadyStoneheart23- OMG. I’ll be on my guard then. Thanks.

  EmoGirl- Yeah. His chat can get a bit much. You have to know when to beat him back down, like a whack-a-mole.

  LadyStoneheart23- I’ll keep my hammer handy!

  I minimised the chat and saw another one waiting to be opened from Fucking_Alan. Guy was persistent, obviously. Stupidly, my curiosity got the better of me and I opened it.

  Fucking_Alan- Hey, lady. Nice to meet you. I’m sure if you give me a chance I can turn that stone heart to fire.

  LadyStoneheart23- Fire, once you crash and burn. Thanks, but no thanks.

  If I wanted a dating app I’d have gone on one.

  Fucking_Alan- That’s harsh, lady. I’m guessing Joe or Emo got to you first then? As Flavor Flav would say, don’t believe the hype.

  LadyStoneheart23- Public Enemy?

  Fucking_Alan- Don’t I know it. They’re always hating on the good looking dudes in this chatroom.

  LadyStoneheart23- No, I meant the group. SMH. I make my own judgement. One look at your username and I knew right away what you were in here for.

  Fucking_Alan- Lmao. Okay. It’s the name my parents use. The first one and the last. I lost my little sister to cancer six months ago, but it didn’t stop them from hating on me. No worries though. We’re all here to help. It might look like Joe, Emo, and I don’t get on, but they’ve been my lifeline these past few months. You ever need anything, just holler.

  LadyStoneheart23- I appreciate that. Thanks Alan. And for the record, I think you should change your username. Although CaroleBasketcase might not be the best choice.

  Fucking_Alan- Anything that gets Joe going is a good choice in my books. Trust me.

  I clicked the window closed and left him hanging. As I did, I noticed the group had started to get serious. Joe was talking about his older brother committing suicide and I read on for a little while but logged off when he started to go deeper. I couldn’t handle his misery too. But as I shut the site down, I realised that I’d actually done something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

  I’d smiled.

  I knew exactly where he’d be. Hiding under the underpass where he went most days to work on his secret masterpiece. This was graffiti he’d never show anyone else, least of all her, because he was too chicken shit to put himself out there
.

  I picked over the broken bottles and discarded beer cans, a few little silver gas canisters and all the other shit down there. The whole area stank of piss, stale beer, and weed. There was even a filth infested sleeping bag rolled up and dumped behind a bush. I wasn’t judging. I was homeless myself. But even I had standards on which shithole I put my head down in each night. This was a drug dealers’ paradise, a druggies’ haven, and Finn Knowles’s studio of choice.

  I stood back silently, leaning against the damp moss-covered wall of the subway and watched as he went to work adding fucking highlights to her hair. Last time I’d been here, he’d only done the outline then threw his stuff down and left, storming off and muttering something about it being a waste of time. Now, he was touching it up like it was his version of the Sistine Chapel. A ten-foot spray-painted image of the girl he loved, but he’d never tell her. I couldn’t blame him. Women fucked you over and left you dead on the ground. He was wasting his time. She’d never look twice at a guy like him.