Madman’s Method: Madman Duet Book One

by Mason, V. F.

  Fishing for a remote in my back pocket, I press a button and slowly the floor lights up, bringing attention to its glassed design that showcases what’s underneath it.

  We are above the water, as I had specifically built it for this purpose, where various sharks and fish swim around, waiting for fresh flesh to feast on.

  “Dear God,” Mike exclaims, using the last of his strength to wiggle in the chains, and I just sigh in resignation.

  Victims will always be dumb as fuck. It’s a wonder I have so much patience with them.

  I press the remote one more time so that the circled altar opens and the pole starts to lower, all while his raspy, barely audible shouts continue. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please help me.” Once he is fully down, the altar closes and I see him in the water with the sharks circling him right before attacking his flesh, their teeth sinking into him while he doesn’t move, probably because the venom is paralyzing him.

  Blood fills the water, blurring the scene for me, but after a few minutes, the sharks swim away, leaving almost nothing behind but the chains with traces of skin on them.

  Sorry.

  What a funny word.

  Because forgiveness is a privilege not everyone earns in this world.

  Especially not those who crossed the madman.

  Chapter Four

  “Forgiveness is our greatest strength.”

  Pastor George preached it during his Sunday masses all the time, among other things.

  Forgiveness though is the privilege of those who never had to claw their way back from hell.

  From the memories of Arianna Griffin…

  My pen scratches against the notebook as I quickly write down the poem my teacher Mary is writing with a marker on the board all while saying, “Have this ready by the next class. I want everyone to present the poem and then tell me your thoughts about it.” Groaning internally, I make a mental note to come back to it tonight after my ice-skating practice and shut the notebook right in time with the bell ringing.

  “Saved by the bell,” Patricia sings in my ear, and a grin spreads on my mouth while she winks at me. “I swear to God, Ms. Mary decided to be extra strict before homecoming.”

  “I heard that,” she says, adjusting her glasses and pointing a finger at my friend. “Watch it.”

  Patricia shrugs and blows a kiss to her, and I put everything in my bag before she snatches my elbow, dragging me outside while our other classmates push through the door, chatting loudly.

  I wince at all the sounds.

  I prefer sweet, instrumental music that wraps me in its web while I perform on the ice, becoming one with it and skating my heart out.

  We push through all the bodies toward the lockers, I need to grab my music notebook from there, and dump all these books feel freaking heavy on my shoulder. I can’t strain myself, as my body is everything on the ice.

  “Let’s meet Sara for ice cream after this class, since it’s our last one. We need to discuss homecoming!” She squeezes my arm harder. “Have you picked the guy you’ll go with?” Clearly, me explaining to her that it works the other way around didn’t help much.

  My brows furrow at the odd tone in her voice, but I shake my head, spinning the combination on my lock and opening the door. “Of course not. I might not even be able to come if the championship falls on the same day. I told you that.” I’m a bit tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again, ever since the senior year started.

  I love Patricia to pieces, because we’ve been friends since forever. Our moms used to say we met in the delivery room, as we were born on the same day just hours apart. But she has this weird tendency of forgetting whatever I say if it doesn’t fit her needs or it inconveniences her plans.

  She huffs in annoyance, leaning on her locker and removing the strands of hair from her forehead. “Please, it’s just a little contest between schools. It’s not like you’re fighting for gold medal.”

  My heart pangs painfully at this, and I press my fist to my chest, breathing through it although her words almost slice me in two. Because, had it not been for the injury I got two years ago, I’d be competing for gold right now along with other people representing our country.

  The trauma to my knee that I got by slipping on the ice when my skate broke cost me two years. But I’ve trained religiously and will get that gold in the next championships even if it kills me. “This contest is important for my portfolio. Not to mention a scholarship.” Again, I’ve said it many times.

  I’ve studied like a lunatic to qualify for a good college and don’t want to settle for anything else. My parents sacrificed so much for my ice-skating dream; they deserve a rest without having to worry about my tuitions.

  “Ugh, spare me the speech about college. I have enough of those at my grandpa’s house,” she whines, tapping her heels on the floor before rolling her eyes at me.

  Sometimes I wonder if Patricia just doesn’t care about it because she’s a Flores, so all the opportunities will be given to her anyway.

  And everyone in this town near the edge of the island knows one of five founding families.

  Their rule here is absolute, after all.

  Shaking my head from the grim thoughts, I try again. “Think about it differently. If I don’t get a scholarship, we won’t be able to study together. You’ll have to live without me.” I sigh dramatically, placing the back of my hand to my forehead. “With Dorothy by your side.”

  She gasps and slaps my arm. “Not funny.”

  I chuckle at her outrage, but then again, no one hates Dorothy more than Patricia. After all, Dorothy is the goody-two-shoes who tattles on everyone as long as the gossip is hot. One of the reasons everyone stays a mile away from her, and the only people who have stuck around are the daughters and sons of the people who work for her father.

  I wouldn’t be surprised to know she blackmails them somehow to stay by her side.

  Before I can reply to her jab, a red envelope falls from my top shelf and drops on the ground as I reach for my music book. “What the hell?” Patricia murmurs. Furrowing my brows, I kneel to pick it up, flipping it from side to side.

  It has no name on it other than mine, and my nose twitches because of the familiar lavender scent from the garden behind the school where most seniors and juniors chill.

  “Arianna got a love letter,” Cole jokes when he passes us by, saluting me on the way, and I blink at that, waving at him like an idiot and only snapping from the stupor once he disappears into the crowd.

  “Since when are you friends with Cole Calvin?” Patricia asks, displeasure lacing her tone as she follows my gaze. “He is nothing but a freak.” To be fair, everyone who doesn’t fit the society mold of perfect and proper or rich falls into this category for my friend, but in this case some of her words have merit. This guy is so weird and random I’m not gonna even examine it.

  That’s why it confuses the hell out of me that he always makes sure to greet me whenever he sees me and then laughs for several minutes, finding it hilarious it seems.

  But then who the hell knows what goes on inside artists’ heads? Other times I see him, Cole has his nose glued in his sketchbook, oblivious to the outside world.

  “We had a class together last fall.” The lie slips easily from my tongue, because I know Patricia doesn’t remember my schedule. It’s easier than the truth that confuses even me.

  I turn my attention back to the envelope and open it up, sliding out the letter where written on white paper with purple ink, my favorite color, I read the words.

  Will you go to homecoming with me?

  E

  “Oh my God,” Patricia exclaims, shaking my arms a little as her nails sink into my skin. “Ethan White invited you to homecoming!” she screams so loudly the people around us quiet down as their eyes widen in surprise.

  “Patricia, I don’t think—” I want to stop her from making stupid assumptions, especially in the company of those who will spread the news with lightning speed th
roughout the school, but the words stick in my throat when I see Ethan walking toward us, with a bunch of lavender in his hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

  Oh.

  He comes closer to us and announces for everyone to hear, “Arianna Griffin, will you go to homecoming with me and be my date?” He falls onto one knee to my freaking shock while the school hollers, everyone’s attention on us, and some girls sigh dreamily, watching Ethan.

  “Well, I—” I start to say, but then the crowd chants, just like they do when he runs around the field with the football ready to make a touchdown.

  “Say yes, say yes, say yes.” Thousands of hectic emotions rush thorough me, and I want to run away from here and all the focus on me, not understanding his sudden interest.

  Ethan White is one of the most popular guys in this school. Girls literally fall over their feet for his attention. But he has never so much as looked in my direction.

  Patricia nudges my side, whispering, “Do something.” There is an odd note in her voice once again, but I’m too distracted with the present situation to dwell on it much, and so many thoughts slam into me at once I’m lost at what to do.

  So I say the first thing that comes to my mind that will end this charade once and for all. “Yes.”

  “Score!” he shouts, and everyone whistles when he wraps his hands around me, picks me up, and twirls me before I can even blink to their continuing cheers.

  He smells like the richest of masculine colognes along with grass, probably from his football practice, and when he grins at me, he is the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him no in front of the whole school, and besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, because I won’t go.

  But part of my heart bleeds inside my chest from the disappointment of this reality.

  Because for a fraction of a second when I saw the letter E, I hoped for another boy to invite me to homecoming.

  And for him, I would have moved heaven and earth to make it.

  Unfortunately for both of us, he never got the courage to ask me first.

  And it put a beginning to the chain of events that forever changed us.

  Cassandra

  A loud thump echoes through the walls right before I hear glass shatter and a man mutter, “Fuck me.”

  Sighing, I hop down from the kitchen counter and stroll to the front door to see one of the mover guys hovering over my cat statue, or rather what’s left of it.

  He raises his eyes to me. “I’m sorry, miss.” Although he meets my gaze, he steps back as if afraid of what I might do to him.

  Which is hilarious in itself, considering he is six feet tall and twice as big as me.

  I open my mouth to reassure him when the voice behind him barks, “Damn it, Derek! I told you to be careful.” And in seconds, the owner of said deep-yet-husky voice comes into view in all his handsome glory.

  He has shoulder-length blond hair that frames his tanned skin and crystal-clear blue eyes that widen when they land on me. He wears shorts and a T-shirt that don’t hide he must go to the gym, since he is muscled in all the right places. His high cheekbones speak about his heritage while the slight five-o’clock shadow only adds to his allure.

  “Well, hello there,” he says and then winces when he notices the shattered glass on the floor. “I apologize for that. I’ll refund everything.” He scans me from head to toe before shaking his head and then barking at the guy. “That’s the second time in one week, Derek!”

  The guy, probably barely out of his teens, scrunches his shoulders and shifts a little to the side under the scrutiny.

  “That’s my fault actually,” I pitch in, dropping my voice a little to a husky tone, and both heads swing to me as if in a trance. “I screamed loudly upstairs when I stubbed my toe on the bed.” I run my finger over my shirt, and the blond’s attention immediately goes there. “So I’m afraid poor Derek had no choice but to react.” I notice how Derek exhales lightly, sending me a thankful glance.

  He really shouldn’t; it’s not like I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart.

  Every word I speak and every action I make has a purpose.

  The blond rubs his chin, his gaze darting between us both while he inspects the damages with his shoe and finally speaks up. “I’m sorry, man. Stuff like this happens on the job.” He pats Derek on the shoulder, but I don’t miss the wince on the guy’s face when the blond’s hand fists it. “Derek will clean it up now, and you will agree to a cup of coffee from me along with donuts to settle it.” He waits a beat before adding, “For the stubbed toe and all.” He sends me a mischievous grin like I’m supposed to find it cute, and I swirl around, ignoring his statement and giving him an amazing view of my back.

  Marching toward the kitchen, I call over my shoulder. “I don’t drink coffee. Let me show you the dustpan, Derek.” By his heavy footsteps thumping on the floor, I know he’s following me.

  Once we’re inside the spacious kitchen, I turn on the kettle while he fumbles with his fingers before whispering, “Thank you so much.”

  I wave my hand at him and point at the sink. “No worries. I hated the statue anyway,” I say teasingly and he blushes, quickly darting to the sink and taking out a brand new dustpan and brush.

  I pour myself a glass of water but pause with it midway to my mouth when the blond enters, whistling loudly. “Wow, you’ve done some quick work in here.” He turns around, studying the environment in sheer disbelief and… wonder?

  After all, the inside of the house no longer resembles the horror movies filled with dust and gore.

  Instead, shiny appliances replace the old ones, and the expensive brown oak shines brightly under the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Various china dishes along with the newest kitchen equipment sit on the counters, almost recreating an image from a catalogue.

  He peeks his head outside of the kitchen, casting his glance toward the living room that no longer has those horrible carpets and table. Instead, a marble floor glistens under the chandelier and the terrace door is wide open, allowing in the light breeze and the sound of the swans on the lake.

  All the cracks and smells are gone after the renovation team got rid of all the trashy furniture and took a month to put everything together, including the upstairs.

  In other words, the house is magnificent and deserves nothing but appreciation.

  Money, after all, can buy a lot of stuff and fast; with a little nudge, they’ve managed to finish two weeks early.

  Probably helped that, despite the internal state of the house, the pipes and pumps were well-kept, as if someone was looking after the property.

  Although I immediately dismiss the thought, because who’d be so good in this town of cruel and fucked-up people?

  The answer is no one.

  So I have only the past owners to thank for it.

  “That explains the shopping,” the blond jokes, pointing with his thumb toward the boxes. “My name is Ethan White by the way.” Ah, the owner of the company. “Since you don’t drink coffee, maybe I can offer you something else with donuts?”

  Derek chooses this moment to mutter something under his breath and rushes out of the kitchen.

  But then Ethan shakes his head, covers his face with his palm, and laughs a little self-mockingly, the sound sending prickles down my spine. “That came out wrong. Any minute now you’ll think I’m a creep or something.” I grin at that, and he must take it as encouragement, because he continues. “I just know it’s hard to be new in town.”

  “Oh? You moved here too?” I ask curiously, leaning on the counter, and he nods, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “Yep, I mean I was seventeen and all. But this town has its own ways, so I could have used a friend back then.”

  What a lie. Based on my research, he is always using this line on clueless women who fall for it easily. But I intend to live here, so my presence must unsettle him.

  He extends his hand toward me. “Nice
to meet you.”

  She is bleeding. She is fucking bleeding! What the fuck have we done?

  Blinking away the panicked voice in my head, I shake his hand. His breath stills in his lungs, and I wait a second before snatching my hand back and placing it on my hip. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. And if I ever want a tea with donuts, you’ll be the first guy I call.” His brow furrows as he studies his hand, but he nods again while I grin, although at this point I can barely keep my expression intact.

  The phone in his pocket rings and he fishes it out, giving me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I have to take it. But be sure to call me, Cassandra.” With that, he walks off into the hallway while barking orders at men entering the house and bringing in my furniture.

  Sipping my water, I allow the liquid to spread through me and extinguish the inferno burning hotly in my blood, barely controlling the desire to throw the glass on the floor so it will shatter, the sound of it silencing the screams inside my brain.

  Ethan White.

  Name number one of the five who will pay for what was done to me all those years ago.

  And for him, revenge will taste like the slowest of agonies, killing him bit by bit.

  Just like he did me when I begged him over and over again to help me while his friends destroyed me one after another.

  Madman

  Wiping clean the last device on my weapon table, I arrange it neatly before pressing the button that takes everything down. A lid covers it up, creating a wide rectangular box by the wall.

  Glancing back, I see that my dungeon reflects nothing of the hell it was just a few hours ago when I brought Mike here, instead looking like a regular room with a wide-screen TV and a couch, designed for a little time alone.

  Perfect disguise.

  Even if this small shack is located on the edge of the city, away from prying eyes.

  Should any cop enter this place, he won’t find so much as a trace of DNA, let alone anything else.