Sick Like Me (A Miss Hyde Novella Book 4)

by Kindra Sowder

  Now, here I was. Back in the place that had blackened my soul so much more than whatever I had to endure when it came to Hyde and her sick and twisted games of cat and mouse. The cat always won. Hyde always won. There was no way around that.

  ***

  The room was dark except for the one fluorescent light shining down on the bed that I had been strapped to. Mitch was nowhere in the room, only Johan’s prone form lying in a pool of blood that had grown cool and tacky between my toes. I wiggled them, the slickness of it making my stomach turn. Johan’s unmentionable bits were a mangled mess of meat and blood, and I had to force myself to look away from it and into the darkness beyond the dangling light.

  All the emotions I felt in this room hit me like a tidal wave. Fear, horror, revulsion, grief, suffering, and a sickening satisfaction rolled through me, one right after the other. Over and over and over again.

  Laughter I recognized as my own moved through the room, drifting from within the blackness beyond the yellow light. It was maniacal – animal. Just like every other time I had encountered Hyde in one way or another, whether it be a dream, inside of my own head, my own body, or talking to her in my own sinister reflection. The flash of a dingy white shirt exactly like the one I now wore with absolutely nothing underneath shown in the dimness. Red hair in tangles peaked out, but barely, retreating out of the light that offered no comfort.

  “Hello?” I squeaked in fear.

  I knew exactly who this was, but even that left no solace considering it was my murderous alter-ego that occupied the space with me. It didn’t matter that it was in my head. She seemed to hold the power in the realm of the mind, where I held little leverage. I was weak here even though I should have been stronger. It was my mind, after all.

  Hyde’s laughter was so thick with malice that it stroked my cheek and moved down to take hold of my heart beating like a jackhammer in my chest.

  “Hello, hello, hello?” she mocked with uproarious laughter. She continued to chuckle.

  “Hyde?” I probed.

  Only amusement was her response. She continued in a frenzy for what felt like an eternity, but then did something I hadn’t expected. Stepping into the light, she giggled like a schoolgirl, a soft, warm heart grasped firmly in her pale hand. A sound of disgust left my throat, and I took a step backward, only managing to coat the bottoms of my feet in blood completely.

  My hand covered my mouth and muffled the, “Oh my God,” that sprang from my lips.

  “Don’t be so shy, little pig. You’ve been the wolf far too many times for this to disgust you,” Hyde finally said, her lips curling into a sinister snarl.

  “What do you want?” I asked, taking another step backward. My back hit the far wall, any point of bare flesh scraped against the roughly textured wall painfully.

  Hyde almost guffawed at the question, her teeth far too white where they weren’t coated in blood.

  “I don’t really think it’s about what I want, Blythe. I think it’s about what you want,” she answered.

  “And that’s supposed to mean?”

  Hyde moved toward me, her green eyes glowing in the dim light. She raised the dead heart to her lips, and her tongue jutted out, licking the smooth muscle free of blood. It coated her tongue perfectly, and she sighed, the iron taste of it hitting her in a pleasure-filled ripple I watched move through her entire body. Closing her eyes and her mouth, she moaned and whimpered slightly with an animalistic desire that I had never seen or heard from her before. And absolutely never from myself. Not to my recollection.

  “It’s about acceptance,” she purred as her bright green orbs opened up wide to look at me. “You want to be accepted.” Hyde paused to swallow the blood that I knew coated her throat. “Not just that, but you want to accept.”

  “Accept what?” I asked before she had a chance to say anything further.

  “Don’t act so naïve. You know exactly what I mean.”

  Taking a few brazen steps forward, she stood before me and took my hand in hers, forcing my palm open. Then she placed the warm heart in my open hand and closed my fingers around it as best she could considering the size of my hands. I could barely close my fist around it. It glistened sickeningly in the yellowed light of the lamp swinging from the ceiling. My stomach lurched, but I swallowed the sensation down. This was what she meant.

  “I want to accept you,” I stated in shock even though it had been lingering just under the surface all along. Even though I had come to realize it with her help, my head began to shake as if I were refuting the revelation in itself. “No. No, I don’t. I can’t.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, she leaned forward until her face – my face -- was mere inches from mine, noses almost touching.

  “Why is that, little pig? Why can’t you accept me?” she asked with a teasing lilt to her voice.

  “Because you’re evil,” I replied. But that wasn’t true, was it?

  “But is it just me? Really?” she asked again with the same tone.

  That was the way she always spoke to me – except for those heartfelt moments in the warehouse. The moment I dreamt about her, and she gave me more insight as to who I was. Who we were as a whole. She had answered questions I never even realized I had, and she would continue to do so until I finally learned to accept what my life was. What our life was. There was no denying that we were a part of each other. An important part that couldn’t live without the other. If I died, Hyde died – and vice versa.

  The entire situation was even more fucked up than I ever wanted to admit. On my own, I was a terrified little girl running away from what she knew she was. By herself, Hyde was a monster who killed unceremoniously and without prejudice. The both of us together were a well-oiled machine, and I could stop her from killing when the necessity hadn’t presented.

  In terms of psychology, if we wanted to think of it in those terms, we were the three basic human drives. Hyde was the id, the most basic of drives, taking whatever they wanted when they wanted without fear of the consequences. Takes pleasure when it wants it. Kills when it wants. Immediate gratification was the only gratification. I was the superego, overtly moral in so many ways, especially when it comes to the death of men and the pleasure Hyde gains from it. Operating on the fact that only morality mattered and nothing else. Granted, even I skewed from the norm more often than not. The two of us together were the ego. The mediator between myself and Hyde, coming together so that Hyde didn’t run rampant with her desires which would then cause an overflowing of male human hearts in my freezer.

  Maybe us together wasn’t such a bad thing after all if I thought about in those terms. But could I continue to allow her to murder innocent men for the Hell of it? Okay, no, it wasn’t for that reason, was it? It was to satiate an urge, a hunger, for what lie within their chests. Something that fed her and kept us alive.

  Shaking my head, I took a step away from the wall and toward her. Well, me truly. Another part of me that I had tried for years to deny actually existed. She was there, and it was about time I finally accepted her, right? Was that the next logical step? And inside, was I as disgusted and terrified of her kills as I had led myself to believe? The answer was simple.

  “No,” I shook my head and reached out toward her, “it’s not just you.”

  She dropped the hand with the bloody heart in it to her side and reached out to me with the other, beckoning to me.

  “Then who is it, Blythe? Who is the monster within you? I want to hear you say it,” she probed.

  I took her hand in mine and held it there, our eyes meeting for the first time in years with the strongest of convictions in what I was about to say out loud. Something I had always known but refused because I didn’t want to be a part of what made me a monster. I couldn’t accept it. Not until now.

  “Us, we are,” I whispered.

  Her emerald eyes, my emerald eyes, sparkled with acceptance in the dim light and the corners of her mouth perked up in a smile. Something usually tinged with evi
l was now filled with glee. No, was that really it? Could something like her that had filled me with so much horror truly feel something as pure as glee? Was that even possible? Of course, if I were looking for honest answers all I had to do was take a deeper look inside myself. So yes, yes it could.

  And now, here I was, hand in hand with my own personal demons. Hand in hand with the devil.

  All good intentions flew out the window at that moment, replaced with uncertainty and fear for our future. What damage would we cause? Then there was a presence at my back. One I recognized and didn’t all at the same time. And Hyde was no longer staring at me. Her eyes glowed that brilliant emerald green as she looked over my shoulder toward the presence I felt that now pressed itself against my stiffened back. It was no longer just Hyde and myself in the dark, dank room where my torture had taken place. There was another, but this wasn’t just a development in the metaphysical realm. It had taken place in reality as well.

  We were no longer alone, and it caused relief to flood through my veins -- relief and terror. A seductive energy rippled through the room that sent a heated chill up my spine.

  I turned in the pool of blood, the tacky feel of it only became worse the more it cooled around my bare soles. What I saw when I looked up was the broad chest of a faceless man in all of his glory. Not a single stitch of clothing covered his perfection. Warmth spread through my entire body along with horror at the sight of him above the neck. He was, quite literally, without a face. It was underneath, his dark features marked but blurred so severely I couldn’t make them out. His head was covered in luxurious hair, clipped short at the sides and slightly longer on top. Hair I felt the irresistible urge to run my fingers through. I settled for placing my hands on his bare chest. I didn’t know this man, I couldn’t see his face, but I felt a pull that left me weak in the knees.

  His muscles tensed and then his hand jutted out, his large fingers closing around my throat and tightening slightly. But there was no intent to harm pouring from him. Not even close to it. And, strangely enough, I wasn’t afraid of him. His grip didn’t cut off the vital air that I needed. If anything, it was as if he was trying to hold onto me. Like I would run at the first available opportunity.

  I wouldn’t.

  He was hungry, but not just for the sustenance that those like me typically wanted. He was hungry for me. I could feel it move into me through our contact, flowing through my veins like a dam that had been left wide open. Desire pulsed between us and, even though I couldn’t see what he looked like, I knew exactly who this was. The only person I knew who was like me, but whose face I had not seen. A man I had never met.

  Adam.

  The first of my kind.

  He leaned forward, placing his lips right next to my ear. The graze of his lips sent another thrill through my body as if I were a raw nerve ending. His breath was on my flesh, which made the thrill of what could happen now even more electrifying despite the fact that this was just a dream. With increasing realization, I was coming to see that that wasn’t the case. This was more real than anything I had ever experienced outside of my own head.

  Soft, searching fingertips grazed my bare stomach. “You belong to me,” he whispered, making it impossible to recognize his voice. It was deep and throaty, but that was all I could make out.

  Either way, it didn’t matter to me. The pull and the feel of him was enough. It didn’t even matter that I had no clue who he truly was and couldn’t see his face. None of it did except for how Hyde and I reacted to him. There was nothing else. There was no one else. Just us and the building need.

  ***

  I bolted upright, coming into wakefulness with a jolt of electricity. My breath came in ragged pulls and my heart hammered against my ribcage. The dream had felt too real not to be and, here I was, feeling the reactions of my ethereal body in my physical one. I still felt his touch against my belly and throat, and his breath at my ear.

  Lauren was passed out on the other portion of the sectional, fast asleep and ignorant to the dream world I had just awoken from.

  I didn’t know what the dream meant, but I would find out.

  Chapter 6

  It was late. Or early. I was never certain exactly how it worked when you were up in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. The book sitting in my lap had given me a renewed energy at the prospect of learning more about what I was and my family lineage. The old book was large and bound in weathered dark leather.

  Beautiful.

  There were no embellishments, but it was still one of the most beautiful things I had ever held in my hands -- as if the allure of the creatures within my family emanated from the thome itself. It attracted me and pulled at me with a lot of the same energy Hyde lured men with but in a different way. Not seductive, but something else entirely.

  As if triggered by the mere presence of it, Hyde rolled inside my belly with the same irresistible heat as always, blazing up my center and through my chest.

  “Simmer down, Missy,” I sighed.

  Gripping the front cover, I opened the book and noticed that the paper was old papyrus type paper. Thick and rough, nearly ready to fall apart but still sturdy enough to be read and hold the ink. Something else caught my eye. The beautiful swirl of weaving lines and curves created the portrait of a young woman, gorgeous with the familiar lines of the McAlister genetics. She had the same sleek jawline as well as the elegant nose and finely arched eyebrows that sat atop the ridge of big, almond shaped eyes. There was one striking difference.

  One green eye. One brown eye. The only splash of color on the page.

  A trait that had been passed down through the ages along with the talent in the arts. A relationship had been bonded with this woman not because of our shared surname, but because of that similarity between the two of us.

  A name was scrawled underneath. One that I didn’t remember my parents ever mentioning up until the moments I killed them, ripped their hearts out, and ate them to feed the symbiotic parasite that lived within me. She squirmed inside of me as I read the name as if she recognized it herself, but I knew that couldn’t be the case.

  The text read, ‘Scarlett McAlister, 1670 – 1692.’

  The year. I knew that year. I stared at her gorgeous face as my mind swam with every single year I had ever learned in history classes growing up. This was something I knew.

  The Salem Witch Trials.

  Was my ancestor a witch? Well, a perceived witch? Seeing her in that book and knowing we were related, I was one hundred percent certain that this woman that stared out at me through the page was not a witch. She was like me. She was a succubus. And she had been killed for it, which made me even more cautious about having Lauren asleep in my living room while I sat in my bedroom – which I was still changing as of that moment – reading about those of my family’s past being prosecuted for being different. Something that was no one’s fault. That was unless you counted the devouring of human hearts to solidify the bond of the human half and succubus half as no one’s fault. If it even really worked that way.

  Why was she in the front of this book? Was it because there was something about her that bore mentioning specifically?

  I began to close the book, shaking my head, then thought better of it. Adam had given this to me for a reason. Had Cyra plant it in my apartment and make certain I knew it was there for a reason. I should at least get past the first page. Opening it back up, the woman’s eyes peered out at me, almost lifelike. The green eye glowed slightly, leaving me startled. I jerked up from the bed and dropped the book to the floor with a loud and heavy thunk. Of its own volition, my body moved toward the book lying on the floor, warmth spreading through every part of me.

  See, I heard the snake-like voice slither through my mind. My hands turned the pages, and I couldn’t stop them. I had no control. Then my hands slowed and ended on another page.

  See.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered as I scanned the room for another presence. Nothing. Nothing that was ou
tside of the confines of my skull. “Jesus,” I whispered again, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

  I didn’t want to wake Lauren and have to explain all of this to her. There was no way I’d be able to, especially since I didn’t want to get arrested for murder. Because I’d have to own up to that just like everything else, and I just couldn’t do that. This would continue to be the secret that would plague my existence. Nothing would change that.

  Without warning, my hands stopped turning the thick old pages and fell to my sides. I slumped forward, my eyes coming to rest on a page covered in beautiful scrawling hand just like the rest of the thome. The same person had written the entire thing but, upon further inspection, it was different handwriting than what was on that first page that depicted Scarlett McAlister.

  That first page was drawn and written by someone else entirely, leaving the rest to be filled in by someone else. I wanted to say it was likely Scarlett had written the rest herself, but to know for sure, I would need to read at least one entry. It made me wonder if the text would answer any of the questions I had.

  I crossed my legs and sat there on the floor, picking up the book and placing it in my lap so I could see the words more clearly. The paper was delicate and brittle under my fingertips as they grazed the beautifully written words and focused on the first few on the page. My curiosity piqued as I mouthed the words, the date at the top of the page coinciding with one of the final days of the witch trials.

  I am being accused of witchcraft, and my day of execution is fast approaching. If only they knew the nature of my true crimes. Then maybe my torturers would expedite my death and end my suffering.

  “Oh, my God,” I choked out as tears burned my eyes and my hand flew up to cover my mouth in shock.

  Apparently, I was never the only one to feel the way I did about what I was, even though I was certain I was the most ignorant of what it all meant and where it came from. It was clear these words belonged to the late Scarlett McAlister who was afflicted with the curse of what one person in every generation of our family since God only knew when had been plagued with. It was a hard secret to keep, and I could only imagine that it was even more difficult during the colonial period where most lived in small towns and colonies where everyone knew everything about anything. Especially someone’s secrets and secrets like this weren’t just evil. They were demonic even though that wasn’t true. This affliction was genetic, but those during this period didn’t know that. Had Scarlett trusted someone with her secret? Had she been betrayed? Or had someone put the pieces together when one too many mutilated male bodies began to pile up?