“Leave her alone, Malachi.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you to.”
“You brought her to my house, Gray. She’s free fodder. You know that.” Faith walks in circles around the room, her fingers working over a tablet she’s holding, and then approaches Hannah again. “Unless you’re suggesting she’s not free” I snarl at the suggestion and watch as a cold compress gets put on Hannah’s forehead, Faith’s hand patting it gently. The sight of it makes me wander backwards and sigh, eventually coming to rest in a chair.
“Help me understand,” he says to me.
“No.”
“Gray. You’re being obtuse. This is me you’re talking to. Talk.”
“It’s none of your business. She just needed the distraction.”
“You know damn well that I know everything there is to know about her already,” he says. “I’m not interested in her, I’m interested in you and why you’re being so possessive of something that is not yours.”
“Do we really have to do this?”
“Yes. If I’m not going to fuck her because you’re being a dick and not sharing, I’ll fuck with you instead. Your choice. She’s the first one you’ve brought to me.”
My head tips back, eyes looking at the ceiling, and a surly chuckle rumbles through me. Malachi Jones. Puppet master. Fool. Bane of my life. And, unfortunately for me, the only person I’ve ever told the truth to.
I heave in a breath and calm my laughter, wondering if I’ll ever rid myself of him. Unlikely. He’s as close to paradise as I get. The provider of my own distraction. “I seem to like her,” I mutter.
“Not allowed according to you, as you well know.”
“I’m not acting on it.”
“You already have done. She’s here, and I saw the circle you were in with her, Gray. We’re both well aware that you do not do that.”
My head twists to look at him, another sigh coming out of me. “It was nice to feel with someone. Sense density under my hands.”
He stands and paces over to the screen, his eyes looking into the room. He won’t be watching Hannah. He’ll be staring at the woman that completes him – Faith Monroe. I hear her footsteps approaching the screen, clipped heels walking the hardwood floor in there. He chuckles and turns back to me. “Would it really be so fraudulent of you?”
I frown and stand to go look into the room, my own gaze falling on dark hair spilling out on white sheets. She looks better now, still pale and hollowed, but more like she did before her attack of hallucinations. “Yes. It would.”
“You should be knighted for your gallantry, Gray.”
I nod and chuckle again. Gallantry? Hardly a trait I possess, but watching and dictating in this realm of hedonism is as far as I go with my desires. It’s as far as my own levels of decency will allow these days. I stare at Hannah again, sensing those indecent thoughts buried in me. I don’t understand them, don’t understand the need to go to her, wipe her brow myself and be there when she wakes from this either. Rules. For the first time they seem breakable to me, something to be toyed with and pushed away so I can just be.
He slaps my shoulder suddenly, bringing me out of the morose gaze I was falling into. “Drink?”
“You don’t have any here.”
“No, but I do upstairs.”
“I’m doubting that’s a good idea.”
“It is. I might have a plan to help.” My brow quirks, interest in his idea of help making me chuckle. Malachi Jones doesn’t help anyone, other than this never ending self-indulgence he provides to those that can afford it. And that’s only so he can amuse himself with the torment of others. “What? I’m feeling inclined to press you further than I have done.”
I look back at Hannah, and listen as Malachi calls through to Faith. Bring her upstairs, he says. I frown at the thought and watch him open the door, then follow through the maze of corridors back down towards the room Hannah’s in. He stops two men, both of them his idea of servants, and tells them to go in and help Faith. The door cracks open as they go in, revealing the slither of white sheets and blankets, but my neck is in his hold before I get a good look and I’m twisted away from the area.
“What are you doing, Malachi?” I ask, still under his hand.
Two squeezes on my neck and a chuckle. “Tempting you.”
I shrug out of his grip, damn sure I don’t need any more temptation in my life regarding Hannah. My life is as it is. It isn’t changing either, no matter how much I might want it to. The thought makes me stop, wondering what the fuck I’m even doing here. A distraction? There is no distraction from my reality. Never will be unless I make it happen.
I sigh and look back at the room we’ve just left. Hannah could stay, though. She could stay and lose herself for as long as she likes without me. I could introduce her to Malachi formally, let them find a resolution between them rather than me being here as part of that distraction. He’d entertain her for god knows how long, give her the kind of diversion from her life she needs.
“Gray, keep moving.”
His hand pushes my back again heavily, forcing my feet forward until I’m in an elevator. The doors slide close before I’m fully aware what I’ve done, the steel slowly closing down all escape routes. I stare at them, somehow lost in raging wars in my head. Right and wrong. Rules.
“Poor Gray,” he says. “I don’t like this miserable look of yours. Never have really. You’re too attractive for it. Cruel suits you so much better.”
A burst of laughter comes out of me, as the elevator starts moving upwards. I don’t know why. He’s the only man on the planet that would say that type of thing to me. Everyone else outside this place moves slowly around me, carefully, as if I might bite their heads off for daring to intrude on my thoughts. Not him. He isn’t the slightest bothered if I bite his head off or not. In fact, he’d probably welcome it. “Have a pill. Chill the fuck out, Gray. You’re too hard on yourself.”
He offers me an orange one. Muscle relaxant. I shake my head and watch him sink it into his mouth, his throat swallowing soon after. I don’t want them. Not now I’m thinking of other things outside of here and the research I should be involved in. It takes all I have to get on a plane and come here without tearing myself in two about leaving the lab. And that now I am, with Hannah, I can’t find sense in my thoughts. It’s always been easier before her. Any woman, as long as they’re in black, a need fulfilled because of them. But this has become insatiable. Unusual because of that.
The steel eventually slides open and he walks out into the old brick corridor. We both wander through it until the heavy oak door appears in front of us. He stands still for a moment, letting the security look him over, and then walks through the door as it opens. Two more doors and we arrive in the lobby of his home.
I stare around the expanse, looking for anything that’s changed in the last year or so. Nothing has. I tuck my hands in my pockets, as he leads the way through towards the formal lounge, my gaze taking in the wall hangings and tapestries. They’re as amusing as the man himself is. Completely opposed to his sense of dress, style, or behaviour.
We arrive into the room and he throws himself at the couch, his body landing flat against the rich burgundy cushions. A maid walks in before I even make it to the chair, her neat, clipped voice making me look back at her.
“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
Malachi arches a brow. It means I can fuck her if I want to. I don’t want to. Didn’t want the last one when I was here either.
“Vodka,” he says. “Or gin?”
“Water.”
“No. But alright if you take the pills.”
“No.”
“Then we’ll have vodka.”
The maid curtsies and walks out of the room, leaving us alone. I don’t talk. There’s no point. He knows why I’m the way I am. He also knows I’m not happy about what he’s trying to do here. But at least we’re away from the hedonism downstairs. Perhaps I can find
some intelligence now and stop thinking about things I can’t do.
I walk to the window and look out at the forest, all of it like a winter wonderland of snow and ice. I’d never known a landscape suit a person before I met him, not like this does him. It’s everything he is. Cold, merciless to those that try travelling through him. The only one that gets away with it is his wife, Faith. I don’t know why he loves her as much as he does, but he does. He’d kill without thought for her, do anything she asked.
“Do you want to be any different?” he asks out of nowhere.
“Different from what?”
“It’s been ten years, Gray. I’ve known you for seven of those years. Different from that you’ve been those ten years.”
The maid interrupts us, quietly leaving a tray piled with a several decanters of vodka and glasses before she heads out again. He picks up a decanter and pours, eventually standing and walking around to me. “Ten years is a long time.”
I frown and take the drink from him, knocking it back swiftly. Ten years. My gaze roams the landscape again, mind thinking of times gone by. If only I was like him, uncaring for the sense of deceit or games.
“I’ll do it,” he says, walking the room. I keep staring at the view, memories filtering into my thoughts. So long ago now. Ten years. I sigh and close my eyes, remembering the scent of heather. “If you won’t fuck her yourself, I’ll do it for you. We can do the thing.”
My head snaps to him, the words bringing me back. “What?”
“You know what I’m saying, Gray. You’re also the only one who knows how to mix it correctly.”
“No.”
“Why not? You won’t be touching her,” he argues, coming up to me.
“It isn’t safe. You know that. We’ve discussed it.” I look out over the view again, not even entertaining the thought. “It was a stupid dream, Malachi. A fantasy. I barely made it out alive when I tried it, and I didn’t even want to live at the time. There’s no chance in hell I’m letting you do it.”
Besides. It’s not the answer anyway. Never was out there in the real world and certainly isn’t in this scenario. It was just a way of me not caring if I killed myself or not at the time. The real answer to that question, the one I did it for in the first place, is in my head somewhere, buried beneath layers of data and sequencing I haven’t discovered yet.
He chuckles and walks back to his drinks, taking my glass with him to refill. “I’ve been taking your concoctions for the last seven years, Gray. You’re about the only version of safe I know. My wife included.” I snort and watch as he smiles at me, his neck twisting as he hands me another drink. “You mix it and get comfortable. I’ll deal with her and let you in.”
“You’re a maniac to even contemplate it. Neither of us know how that will work out.”
“And yet you’ve brought her here to me,” he says, sitting back on the couch. “Don’t fool yourself.”
“I didn’t bring her here for that.”
“Yes you did. You just haven’t thought it through yet.”
No matter what he’s thinking, that is not what I brought her here for.
A bustle of noise starts out in the hall before I can question the logic in my head, loud footsteps followed by heels walking. I wait, watching the door, and eventually see Faith coming into the room alone. She kisses Malachi without acknowledging me, her lithe body slipping into his lap with her normal cat like grace. Noises are made, hushed words between them. I look back at the skyline out there instead of listening in, part of me now giving some consideration to thoughts I shouldn’t be processing. More stupidity. Still, the thought circulates, idiocy proving me as dense as Malachi is being.
Time passes by as I think. Maybe I’m trying to find sense in his idea, give it credence. There isn’t any. We all know it. But here, in this castle with its strange hedonism downstairs and the air of nature in here, the fantasy seems plausible. Intriguing, at least. As is the thought of just fucking her and getting it out of the way. Rough, hard. No connection. No drugs. It would be done then.
Finished.
I wander to the chair, wondering what Faith’s done with Hannah. She’d need talking to about this, consent offered for anything I might be considering rational.
“In your guest bedroom, Gray,” she purrs, still looking at Malachi. “I haven’t touched her.”
That answered that.
“Shame,” Malachi says.
“I don’t think he wants me to touch her. I don’t think she does either. I might be sad about it.” She turns her head to look at me, eyes narrowed under her soft swathe of blonde hair. “She’s spitting a lot by the way. Angry about something. You, I think.”
“Me?” I ask.
“Yes. Something about you not protecting her from monsters with face veins.”
Malachi laughs. “Face veins?”
She shrugs and leaps out his lap, reaching for the decanter and a glass. One shot downed and she sways out of the room swinging her tail in her hand, probably with the intent of going to hurt something.
He looks at me. “I know nothing about face veins.”
“No, but I do.”
Chapter 19
Hannah
I ’m shaking, shivering. I don’t know where I am, or what I’m doing.
I think there was someone with me a while ago, but I’m on my own now. I perch on the end of this bed, staring blankly at the dress I was wearing. It’s been thrown at a chair. Tossed as if irrelevant. Maybe that monster did it. Maybe he brought me here and stripped me of my clothes, did things to me that I can’t remember. Where’s Gray gone? He was with me before it happened. He was with me, attached to me by this chain scrunched into my hand, and then the monsters came.
My finger wraps into a ringlet of my hair, twisting it about as I try to think, remember before the monster. There’s nothing but that music and that dance and those veins in his face. My finger taps at my temple, trying for sense and lucidity. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. It was vibrating. The floor was. Or maybe I was. I don’t know anymore, but I’m swaying to something. A song. Waltz. Everyone was dancing to it, twirling and dancing and laughing. At me. Me. They laughed at me, as he moved closer. One step. Two. He kept coming. And then I fell onto the floor, and then into something hard.
After that – nothing.
I gingerly stand and move around this room, looking over the furniture. It’s lavish. Huge. Golds and silvers. An antique bureau. Paintings on the walls, gilt framed. Tall wardrobes. A pair of vast cream damask curtains cover the bay window, the colour matching the four-poster drapery I was just under. Two chandeliers hang low in the room, ornate and opulent. I stare at one of them, watching the light dance in the crystals, and then notice another door at the end of the room. I’m in a house, a mansion maybe. How? I was in that place with neon lights and cold clinical rooms, pills on the tables and people with strange outfits on. Where’s this?
I shrink back towards the curtains, hunching. I’ll hide in them. Wait. Or maybe I should escape. Run. I can remember that. Run, run, run. Get away from the monster. My hand pulls on the cream fabric, tugging it out of the way.
The sight that greets me makes me gasp and back away from it. There’s nothing as far as I can see but snow and ice, mountains and trees in a murk of light. It’s so bleak, so barren of any life at all. I creep back to it and stare, my fingers resting on the curtains for security. Bleak and barren. Those two words seem to resonate, waking something up inside my mind. I tap my head again, trying to think. What’s bleak and barren?
Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
The sudden imagery of the funeral hits me, my dead husband coming soon after. I crumple to the ground, knees buckling under the vision, and then the memory of what he did hits home. It was that woman. What was her name? Deborah. He fucked her behind my back and then died. Bleak and barren. I laugh lowly, my fingers tapping the floor and my eyes looking at the thin gold chain on my wrist. My life is what’s bleak and barren. Widowed. Alone. But Gray Rot
hburg. Gray was real. And I was with him, linked by this gold strand of chain.
“Gray,” croaks out of me. “Where are you?”
A calm settles back into me, as I lay on the floor and keep tapping my finger. A sullen, melancholic calm maybe, but it’s better than the irrationality I was just in before I remembered what my life is. I rub my cheek on the carpet, grating it back and forth for reality in this place. It hurts after a while, itches and scratches. I don’t mind that. It’s enjoyable, grounding. It’s tangible against whatever this room is around me.
I don’t know how long time goes on before I hear the door creak. I twist my gaze to look at it, my body still curled up on the floor, and keep tapping the carpet under my finger. Shoes appear. Shiny shoes with laces. Black trousers. I watch them move to me, and then watch as a hand presents itself in front of my eyes. Gray. I don’t recognise the look of the hand, but I do recognise the smell for some reason. I can taste it on my tongue, as if it’s been in my mouth.
“Hannah?”
I keep grating my cheek, trying to make sure this is real, and gaze upwards a little. He looks down at me, scowling eyes meeting mine. I should be scared of a look like that, like I was of the monster, but I’m not. It’s real to me. Dark and black under the shadow he’s making against the chandeliers. I can see the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw foreboding and ominous above me. I smile at it, remembering it as we cut through tunnels to the place I was in before here.
“Where am I?” I mumble.
“In Malachi’s guest wing. Recovering.”
“Malachi?”
“Jones. I believe you met his wife earlier – Faith.”
I don’t remember a Faith. I only remember monsters and veins in faces, people dancing around me, laughing. At me.
“You left me.”
“You don’t like to dance?”
“Yes. No.” My thoughts blur. I don’t know. Not like that.
“I wasn’t going to stop you having fun. It’s what you’re here for.”
A Distraction of Lies Page 13
