They Call Me Teddy: (Enemies to Lovers Horror Romance)

by Ella Burns

  She stares at me and I want to tell her to hurry up with the nonsense and do whatever she’s going to do, but the dark warning in her eyes keeps me silent. Sighing, she continues to pace the floor. When she begins muttering to herself, I turn my ear toward her but only catch, “...will always be her weakness…” before she trails off.

  I watch her closely, this woman who has been mother, mentor, and captor to me. For so many years, all I wanted to do was please her until the time came when it was my very existence that displeased her.

  All the things I learned about psychopaths, the reasons people hurt others, they all seem so fragile and weak when faced with true darkness.

  “Why? What did I ever do?” I ask, my voice hoarser than I’d like. She stops moving but doesn’t look at me. Rage and fire rise in me unbidden. “Why do you fucking hate me so much!”

  I feel my chest heave and realize I’ve never yelled at Jane before. Despite knowing I should be terrified, I feel empowered. Strong.

  My eyes narrow at her, and though I know it will cost me, I summon up what last bit of energy I have and spit at her feet. A few barely-there drops land close, but it's a pathetic display. Before I realize what she’s doing, a shock runs through me, jarring me enough I bite the inside of my mouth. Blood fills it almost instantly and I lean my head to the right and spit the blood out. Taking a deep breath, I lift my head to look at her again.

  Her eyes meet mine for a moment before she laughs. No, cackles. Loudly. And she doesn’t stop. I stand there and feel my anger give way to confusion and, slowly, fear as the torturist who raised me continues to laugh and screech.

  After several minutes she stops abruptly, and my heart pounds even faster. She makes her way over to the mirror, adjusting her hair before coming back to the cross.

  Standing in front of me she smiles, leaning forward just a touch.

  “You think you’re so much better than us, don’t you? Well, let me make one thing very clear for you,” she says in barely more than a whisper, “I despise you. I will always despise you and I will never kill you, because it gives me too much pleasure to hurt you. But if you touch her, try to fucking turn her from me, I promise you anything you’ve endured so far during your miserable life will be pleasant compared to what I do.”

  I don’t have time to react or speak before an increasingly familiar prick touches me and everything goes black.

  Chapter Seven

  Branson

  It takes me a moment to figure out I’m even awake. It’s so dark that even with my eyes open, there’s nothing, but it's the urging of my bladder that finally delivers belief. My head pounds, but as the fog clears, it occurs to me that I’m horizontal. My shoulders ache underneath me, no doubt a result of being strung up so long. Groaning, my arm rises to strike out but is abruptly stopped by a wall and not the familiar bars of my cage. With awareness comes panic.

  I flail my arms and legs, blocked on all sides by walls I can’t see.

  I stop moving, trying to slow my heart and breathing long enough to figure out where I am. Something of Jane’s making. Or Teddy’s.

  With more patience, I move my hands around me, figuring out the size of my newest accommodation. Lifting my leg, I can’t bend it fully before it's stopped by the board in front of me. Stretching down, I find the end of it is just past where my toes rest. My arms move along the smooth expanse of this new prison. Despite my efforts, I find my breathing picking up as recognition starts to hit me. I’m in a fucking coffin.

  I actually let out a small laugh. My time has finally come, and honestly, I’m not sure if I’m more pissed or relieved. The panic I felt on waking is less just knowing where I am, morbid as it may be.

  I always expected my death to be on Jane’s table. I figured I’d piss her off one too many times, or she’d run out of victims. Or maybe she’d just get bored one day and decide to carve me up. I didn’t expect the bitch to bury me.

  Then again, it could have been Teddy’s idea, a dark voice in the back of my mind says.

  In reality, this isn’t Jane’s style. She tortures, yes, but even she doesn’t get the joy that Mia—well, Teddy—gets from it. Whatever darkness was in her already bloomed under Jane’s tutelage. The last few years has let it grow and now, she’s a full-blown fucking psycho.

  My bladder presses against me and I know I won’t be able to hold it much longer. All I can do and wait and see if this is my death, or just the beginning of the end.

  ✽✽✽

  Time passes and there’s nothing for me to track the time. Outside of the coffin all is quiet, and I wonder if I’m underground already. The thought actually makes me smile. There’s something so quiet and peaceful-sounding about death.

  It occurs to me that while the air is stale and unmoving, I can still breathe. So, probably not buried. Unless I’m just going to start running out of oxygen any minute now. That doesn’t sound so bad, really. Better than starving to death. With the meager amounts I eat, my body is practically used to starving and I figure I’ll last a long time.

  Yes, drifting to sleep sounds infinitely better.

  My mind wanders through the various ways I might die until a noise outside the coffin pulls my attention back. My head rises an inch, trying to determine if I did hear something, dropping when a familiar voice triggers new misery.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Teddy’s voice rings out.

  Some muffled bangs ring out and I sigh, closing my eyes and readying myself for whatever is next. A few loud cracks and the lid lifts, my hands immediately flying to my face to shield against the brightness above. My eyes immediately begin to water at the light, and I wonder how long I’ve been in there. Giggles ring out above me.

  “Come on out, silly,” she says. “Jane says your timeout is over now.”

  I can’t see and my eyes water fiercely, but I feel something grab my hand and realize it’s hers. Squinting, I look up at her, the light behind her head making her look like some kind of golden fucking angel here to deliver me from my misery.

  “Take it,” she says, shaking her hand at me again. Despite my suspicion, I know I won’t be able to get out of here on my own. I accept the offered hand and let her help me sit up, hating myself for the thrill I feel at even the smallest touch of her skin. Once upright, a wave of dizziness washes over me and I have to drop my head into my hands. A moment later, a water bottle is held out in front of me.

  With infinite slowness, I raise my head to look at her rather than take the water. Big green eyes look back at me, and for a moment, I see Amelia. Not the psychotic girl Jane turned her into. She smiles and waves the water bottle at me again. I reach my hand out to take it, still eyeing her suspiciously.

  When my fingers touch the condensation on the bottle, I begin to tremble and my mouth suddenly feels parched. I realize it’s probably been over a day since I’ve drunk anything. Without further delay, I bring the bottle up to my mouth and greedily drink it down, heedless of the water falling down my chest.

  I gasp as I finish the last drop and look at Teddy who's watching me with hungry eyes. My brow knits in a frown at her expression, pulling down further when she begins to giggle. My mouth suddenly feels parched again and my vision begins to blur again.

  “Wha—”

  “I told you, Branson,” she says, leaning forward to whisper even as I feel myself being pulled under by whatever she put in the water, “You are exactly like me, and I can’t wait to prove it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Branson

  Saccharomyces cerevisiae. Saliva. Scopolamine.

  My dreams are disjointed and violent. The smell of blood, coppery and rich, fills my senses even in sleep. I feel the smooth drag of a blade across skin, hear the hiss of pleasure as it glides effortlessly. The high-pitched screams of a young girl carries through, only accompanied by a manic male laugh.

  I wake with a groan and try to turn over, nausea rising immediately at the movement. Coughing and sputtering I get to my knees, gagging and u
nable to expel anything in my beyond empty body.

  What the fuck happened this time?

  As the nausea subsides, I realize I am back in my room. Before I can breathe a sigh of relief, I hear a click and whip around to see my small TV, a VHS player now connected. Static before the tape starts again and that’s when I realize that the screams, the laughs, weren’t in my head.

  I frown as the video plays and I see someone step onto the screen. I start as I realize it’s me, the chafe scars from my collar evident and unmistakable. No recollection comes to me and I lean forward, my eyes widening as a young girl is revealed in front of me. She looks disturbingly like Amelia when she was young.

  If I couldn’t see my own face, the familiar marks on my body, I wouldn’t believe what I was seeing. Nausea rises in me again as I watch the video play, listen to the girl's screams and my own laughter. Tears are running down my face, and when I bring my hands up, I notice the dried blood caked around my fingernails. My head drops and I heave as the girl's screams rise to a fever-pitch.

  “I don’t think she liked that very much,” Jane's voice says from somewhere behind me. My chest is heaving, head pounding from the screams that seem to echo in my mind.

  “I would never do that,” I manage to rasp, unable to pull myself up from the ground. My own laugh echoes around the room, a sound I hardly recognize.

  “Scopolamine is a remarkable drug. The smallest amount too much and you’ll kill someone, but just the right amount, well. Let’s say it makes the subject highly… suggestible.”

  As soon as she says it, I remember learning about it.

  “Scopolamine, also known as Devil's Breath, is derived from the flower of the “borrachero” shrub, common in the South American country of Colombia. While commonly used to treat nausea and motion sickness, it is rumored to be able to, at appropriate doses, render the subject highly suggestible….”

  Shame fills me with what I’ve done, and I feel something crack inside me as the screams on the video are abruptly cut off. I can’t claim I’ve never hurt anyone. As a child, I more than did my part in Jane’s twisted projects, but at least then I didn’t know what I was doing. I certainly didn’t enjoy it, beyond wanting to please Jane.

  Jane knows me well, though. She knows that making me do this, making me watch it, is worse than if she had tortured me with knives.

  Raising my head, I look up to Jane. She smiles, leaning down to me. I resist the urge to flinch when she reaches out to grab my chin in her hand.

  “If you piss me off again, you touch or ruin her, then next time, it’ll be her in that room with you,” Jane says to me, her voice a dark warning. “You know I’d do it, Branson.”

  My teeth clench as she stares into my eyes and I know that she has me. She’s figured out my worst fears and managed to make them a reality between the loss of control and the fact she made me murder an innocent little girl. She’s finally found the ultimate power over me and she knows it.

  My fists clench against the ground and it takes me a moment to realize that she’s muttering something under her breath. I slowly raise my head again and look at her and, sure enough, she’s frowning and muttering something to herself. She catches me watching her and stops with wide eyes, turning on her heel and leaving abruptly.

  Jane’s mood swings aren’t so unusual, but that was a bit odd. Likely the remnants of all the fucking drugs in my system. Her footsteps fade upstairs. The tape clicks to the end and the whir of the rewind begins again.

  I crawl over to the screen and frantically bash at the buttons until it stops. The tape ejects and I tear it from the machine, screaming as I hurl it to the wall, but it isn’t enough. A rage I’ve never experienced seems to take over. Everything within reach is torn, wrecked, and broken. I scream until I have no voice and my room resembles nothing more than a wrecked hamster cage. Ribbons of tape flutter around the room as I finally sit back panting.

  By the time I’m done, the already meager room is in shambles and the anger seems to deflate out of me, my pants turning to sobs.

  I don’t know how long I sit there like that for before finally raising my head only to see Teddy standing there just watching me. I feel my face heat up at the thought that she saw me crying, but I don’t know why. I’m beyond shame at this point.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I ask bitterly, my voice hoarse from shouting.

  “I heard the commotion and it sounded like fun,” she replies, kneeling in front of me. She looks into my eyes, searching, never leaving my gaze even as she lifts a finger to take a single tear off my cheek. Still watching me, she brings her finger to her mouth and licks.

  “Mmm,” she whispers. “Your tears are almost as good as your blood.”

  Chapter Nine

  Teddy

  In the days following Jane’s scopolamine experiment, the entire house seems to take a deep breath, waiting for what’s next. I knew Jane would inevitably pull some power trip when we got here with Branson, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon or so dramatic. I have to give it to Jane, though. If fucking with and breaking him was what she was wanting, then it is working. He’s been quiet and harder to rile up the last few days, but I’ll give him a short respite, let him think things are settled, before the fuckery continues.

  Jane and I are still getting into the routine of being home and I find myself bored more often than not. Patience has never been a virtue of mine. At least when we were in the city or traveling, I could explore, wander.

  I make my way toward Jane’s room, frowning when I notice she isn’t there. Just as I’m about to step away, I hear a low voice coming from her bathroom. I frown and approach the door, Jane’s voice getting clearer as I approach.

  “I can fucking do it, can’t fucking stop me anymore. Fucking masterpiece,” I hear her say. Her voice trails off until I can’t hear her, so I knock loudly before taking a step back.

  The door opens a split second later and Jane steps out, dressed for going out.

  “What is it?”

  “Who were you talking to?” I question, and her eyes narrow at me. There was a time only a few years ago when I wouldn’t have dared to ask her anything or question her in any way, much less interrupt her. What other people wouldn’t understand is that Jane simply doesn’t scare me anymore. I understand her, see her.

  “No one,” she replies, “Now, what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

  I raise a brow slightly at the lie but don’t push her further for now. Crossing my arms, I reply, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do around here.”

  Jane rolls her eyes and makes her way across the room to her dresser.

  “You’re not a child anymore. I’m not here to entertain you.”

  “Call Bud, then. Get me a new toy,” I demand. Jane whips around and glares at me, pointing a finger.

  “You should have made the last one take longer. Go harass Branson or something. I’ve got to go into town to deal with some things.”

  “What things? Can I come?”

  “No!” she replies, a little too sharply and I hold my hands up in mock surrender. She glares at me a moment longer before turning back to the dresser and grabbing her purse.

  “I’ll be home tonight.”

  She walks out without another word, leaving me considering her oddness. A smile crosses my face and I look around, realizing I have the house to myself. I’ve never had much interest in Jane’s secrets before, but the boredom is real and some snooping sounds better than anything else I could do right now. I wait until I hear the distant sound of her car pulling away before I giggle and begin to look around. My eyes land on her desk. The desk that’s always been locked.

  Taking a look at the lock, I realize it’s a simple key lock and head to my room to grab the small lock picking kit Jane got me last year. I was surprised at the time, it didn’t make sense to me, until she explained that the best places to take victims in the cities were generally locked.

  I smile fondly at the memories of oh-so-
many broken into warehouses and buildings. Compared to those, this is nothing.

  It takes me less than a minute before the door slides open with ease. Pleased with myself, I sit down and begin to rifle through the papers.

  Most of them seem to be pretty boring stuff, accounting and records for the antique business and some old newspapers. When my gaze lands on the deed of the house I twist my head, my interest renewed.

  My brows knit together as I read through the papers, the name ‘Sharon Ketis’ appearing on many of them. Jane Ketis… her mom?

  As I read, so much of Jane begins to make sense. All of it. The control, the ‘art’, the medical textbooks, her treatment of Branson. Shit, even Bud makes sense.

  I finish and carefully put it all away, locking it behind me, and sneaking down the hall to my room.

  Chapter Ten

  Branson

  My eyes cross and blur, a result of hours upon hours of staring at a single spider web in the corner of my room. No spider in it, just a long-forgotten web my eyes follow and trace. I marvel and envy at how it endures despite how fragile it truly is.

  No one has come for me today to tell me to do anything, and the house upstairs has been quiet for a while now. I make no move to do anything. Normally, I might pick up one of my books, or turn on the little TV that is somehow still here. It all seems so pointless now, though.

  I spent over two years thinking about Teddy, dreaming about her coming home and us being able to run away together. I got strong, learned all I could about the world. None of it matters now, though. Even if Teddy wanted me, we could never get away from Jane. And now that she has the scopolamine to hold over me, she knows I’d never try to leave. Not if it would risk Teddy. No, not Teddy. Mia. It’s Mia I would never risk.

  And despite having raised her, I know Jane wasn’t bluffing. Her need for control is so much that she would literally rather sacrifice the girl she raised as her protege than give up an inch.