by Nikki Landis
“Me, of course. His K.D. ratio sucks.” He smiles and leans against the counter as he gulps down an entire can of Coke without pausing, burps loudly, and tosses the empty can in the trash. It’s kind of gross but I forget as he saunters closer and places a palm against my cheek. “You alright Leigh?”
Leaning into his hand I wish I didn’t have to deceive him, “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”
“Need me to keep you company?” There’s a gleam in his eyes as he offers and wiggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
I giggle but shake my head, “No, I’m tired. I just needed some water.”
A brief flicker of concern crosses his features and I wonder if he suspects my treachery. “I’ll come check on you in an hour.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Before I can react he places a gentle kiss on my lips and utters with a soft murmur, “Sweet dreams baby.”
Watching him leave the room an emptiness spreads into my chest. I have the weirdest feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake by not telling my brother and Derek about the note but it’s too late now. As I slip from the house I hear the two of them laughing and giving each other shit about their scores.
The air outside is warm, the perfect early fall temperature that’s still holding onto summer but reaching for the cooler nights of autumn. I sneak around the outside of the house, make my way toward the main gate and pass the garage. I’ll have to be fast and quiet. It’s nearly one a.m. so most of the house is asleep and my chances of running into anyone else is minimal. When I reach the gate where the cab is waiting I exhale in relief.
After I tell the driver the location it takes over an hour to arrive. My mind is full and I spend the entire ride coming up with scenarios in my head and trying to decide on a plan. If my phone is confiscated I won’t have much hope of contacting Dev or Derek in an emergency. The cab driver pulls up to an old brick building that instantly gives me chills before I can finalize anything in my head. I’ve always been an impulsive girl and it doesn’t seem like that’s changing anytime soon.
Graves Sanatorium appears in large letters above the front entrance. The massive gothic style facility is completely unexpected . . . and familiar. I can’t quite place it, but I have an uneasy feeling and sense of dread as I climb from the cab.
With slow and deliberate footsteps I make my way up to the door and nearly jump back in surprise when it opens for me silently, not a soul present. I’m just about to turn around and run when I hear my name being called. Knowing that Ivey is depending on my cooperation I step inside as the door clicks shut with an ominous finality.
“Welcome to Graves,” a male voice greets as I enter the front foyer. He’s an average height with short, dark brown hair and a medium build. A long white medical coat covers most of his body as he smiles, a leer that is both sardonic and undeniably psychotic. My eyes lift from his clown-like grin and to the coldest gray eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re strange and glow with an unseemly silver light that causes a pit of uncertainty to lodge in my stomach.
He’s Dr. Strange and not the comic book hero. Oh no, he’s Dr. Strange Eyes – and he’s freaking me the hell out. He keeps staring, not saying another word as I’m tempted to take a step back and run for the door. Shit, my bestie and I are straight up fucked. This guy has the most unsettling demeanor I’ve ever seen and something tells me I’m about to engage in a fight for my life as well as hers.
I should have brought back up or left Dev and Derek a note.
This is suicide.
I’m immediately on the defensive, figuring out this man’s plan of attack. I’m so focused on him that I don’t pay enough attention to what’s happening around me. A huge mistake and one that’s costly. A sudden whoosh of air close to my ear alerts me a second before a pinch in my neck. I spin in time to look into the deep green eyes of a monster as my vision blurs and I stumble, my hand rising to my neck where I slap the syringe aside.
My fight or flight response kicks in as adrenaline floods my system.
Punching with my right fist I swing and make contact with a hard jaw, laughing as I hear the grunt of pain and surprise. The drugs might impair my judgment but I’m not going down without a fight. I spin and find the doctor in front of me, his stale breath in my face as he grins wider.
Shit!
My body lurches forward as I knock him off his feet and we fall to the ground, limbs entangled. Using this to my advantage I kick out, catching him in the stomach as I scramble back to my feet. I’m woozy but I can still fight.
Right when I think I might stand a chance I’m grabbed by several pairs of strong arms. I could fight one or two off but I don’t stand a chance against three or four. At this precise second my humor decides to dominate my brain. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe it’s the drugs. Or maybe I’m just completely crazy.
But I laugh.
Madly. Deeply. Maniacally.
I laugh and laugh and laugh. It’s so ridiculous but I can’t stop.
I laugh loudly. Hysterically. Psychotically.
I’m clearly disturbed but I don’t care. This is fucking hilarious. How stupid could I be?
I’m captured by Hunters . . . and I walked right into a trap.
They probably don’t even have Ivey. How utterly amateur that I don’t ask for proof before I drag my sorry ass here in the middle of the night.
At this moment I’m no different than any other sick and twisted villain. Maybe I’m more like Harley than I ever thought because I want to rip the throats out of every single one of these idiots and dance on their bones. I want to soak in their blood for the hurt and pain they cause others. My only desire is to maim, inflict suffering, and smile while I’m doing it.
Perhaps I’m more like the Joker than Harley.
Isn’t that poetic?
They’re restraining me, all four orderlies holding me down as a syringe plunges a murky white fluid into the vein in my left arm. I guess one wasn’t enough. I stop fighting, kicking, and punching, my body becoming subdued as my control lapses. I know I’m a goner now. There’s nothing I can do because they take my strength from me. I’m becoming incoherent.
The fight gone from my body, my limbs relax. I feel weightless and light as a feather. The more my body succumbs to the drug the more my mind focuses and sharpens with rage and humor. It’s a volatile combination. I can’t stop the laughter as I nearly choke with the force of my chuckles. They’re bone deep, chilling – ruthless in a way that should warn the Hunters and doctor their careless behavior needs to stop.
I laugh, continuously, as Dr. Strange Eyes – that’s what I’ve named him for sure now – narrows his gaze.
“You won’t always laugh Harleigh. Tomorrow we start your rehabilitation. We’ll see if you find it funny then.”
He thinks this statement will unhinge or frighten me.
No way.
If I haven’t said it before, I’ll remind him now.
“I’m a volatile vixen baby,” I declare to the world as I keep laughing, enjoying the unmistakable hate and disgust that fills his silver gaze. “You’ll never break me.”
He sneers and leans close, his tongue swiping up my cheek slowly. “I like to break in new toys.”
Chuckling with devious mirth I turn, catching the tip of his tongue as I bite down hard and rip a piece of it off. Spitting blood and the flesh back at him, I continue to laugh, “You can’t break what’s already broken!”
He lifts a hand to strike me when I hear another male voice echo from some kind of intercom system overhead. “Don’t touch her until I say.”
Dr. Strange Eyes drops his hand and storms from the main entrance where I’m being dragged from, wiping his mouth and pressing a cloth to his tongue to staunch the bleeding. I hear nothing else as the orderlies drag my limp body from the room and out into the cold, stark white, sterile hall.
They pause as a straightjacket appears in front of me. My arms are shoved inside, crossed, and I’m being tied up in this monstrosity. Doe
s no one else find this ironic? Or funny?
Come on!
As I’m flung into a white room without windows complete with padded walls, I hear that deep male voice over the intercom one last time. “Welcome home Harleigh.”
The door shuts and locks as I lean back and tilt my head, calling to the voice with mirth, “Thank you fucker!”
I laugh, longer than any sane person could ever sustain, more like the Joker with every second that ticks by, and continue until I pass out but I know he’s listening . . . watching . . . and waiting.
Laughing at the thought until I slump over . . .
There’s only darkness to embrace me.
Chapter 14
I awaken with a groan passing through my parched lips. My throat burns with thirst as I let out another moan, coherency returning to my senses with a sluggish trickle. Maybe it’s the drugs.
There’s a symphony dancing in my head, a combination of strange melodic sounds like tribal music and string instruments, both jarring and soothing the pounding within my temples. My arms are still wedged within the confines of the straightjacket, numb and limp as if they aren’t really connected to the rest of my body.
That’s when I notice the cool air on my lower half.
Fingertips, rough and calloused, slide along my skin, pulling off my pants first and then my lacy thong until I’m bare, as naked below as the day I was born. Without conscious thought a whimper leaves my throat, scratching and tickling my vocal cords.
I blink.
It’s Dr. Strange Eyes and he’s licking his lips as my vision clears.
A strangled scream echoes in the room as I begin to kick, fighting him as he forces my thighs apart. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my skin, hard enough to leave bruises, as his body lowers. The grin on his face is sardonic, a mixture of pleasure and sadistic satisfaction. I see the injury to his tongue where I hurt him the night before and smile. He resembles the Joker, oddly enough.
If I wasn’t about to be raped, I might find that humorous.
Sneering at his expression I continue to fight, using the only weapon I can think of – my words. “You try to fuck me and I’ll kill you.” The low deadly calm of my voice, the malice it contains is a direct contradiction to the fear that knots in my belly.
This man will hurt me . . . and he’ll enjoy it.
He moves closer, his half erect cock in his hands, pumping fast as he groans, “I’ll fuck you alright, and enjoy bringing you as much pain as I can.”
I’m amused, believe it or not. He can’t get it up. I use the opportunity to taunt him, hoping I can distract him but also frustrate him enough that it causes his little dick to soften even more. “What’s the matter? Can’t get it up?”
With a roar he punches me in the face, sending my head backward as I hit the side of the wall and I’m dazed. For a few seconds I’m afraid he’s hard enough to do the job. He shoves his pelvis closer to mine and lines himself up, determined to enter me against my will. He slaps me with his dick, thinking he will draw this out as long as possible, but the little noodle isn’t quite cooperating.
The symphony in my head grows louder, steadily, until I’m wracked with pain and can’t think clearly. The noise is deafening. Fear is slowly being replaced with an eerie calm. Rational thought is fleeting. I grasp the rage that roars inside me and then . . .
Silence.
Calm washes over me.
A flip has switched inside. I don’t know how or why but I sit up, no longer dizzy or disoriented but fully in control. I lean forward and head butt this asshole, breaking his nose on contact as blood gushes from his nostrils. He yells as his hands raise instinctively to the injured area as I ram my knee into his groin. He howls in misery while I leap up and begin to pace in front of him, my eyes narrowing with a calculating gleam.
He’s not going anywhere.
Not now. Not ever.
Vengeance is my only thought, replacing the rage. With a cool and detached sense of necessity I shove my shoulder into the nearest wall, dislocating it instantly. I never feel any pain. There’s nothing but revenge, a red haze that fills my brain like television static. I’m still calm, my heart rate steady, which should never be the case with such an injury. I don’t pause to analyze.
My arm slips within the straightjacket as I twist and contort my upper body until I’m free and toss the offending material to the side with an impatient glare and turn to the doctor. He’s quick, I’ll give him that. He thinks he can overpower me.
His first mistake once I’m free, but not his last.
He lunges in my direction with a syringe, the murky white fluid rolling in waves within the tube. He’s got the cap off already and assumes I’m at his mercy. None of his little needles will inject me, in any way, especially that pencil dick of his. Why that’s suddenly funny to me, I can’t say.
I laugh for the first time, unfazed by the ruthless mirth as it passes my lips.
The doctor pauses, uncertainty flashes within his eyes, second to fear. He’s mine now.
We both know it.
Stalking him, surrounding my prey, I bend forward ready to strike. For a breath – a mere few seconds there’s a pause, a sliver of anticipation as I await his next move. He won’t pass up the opportunity to drug me again. If I fail, he’ll use and degrade me in every perverted way.
He throws himself into my torso and desperately slams the needle down. His arm is a fraction of a second too late as I swerve and he misses, plunging deeply into his own thigh. Before he can disperse all of the liquid drug into his system I yank it out and toss the syringe across the room. I want him coherent and awake for what I’m about to do next. He needs to feel pain. I’ll make him suffer.
The symphony in my head returns as I grab the ballpoint pen from the clipboard left carelessly on the edge of my bed. It’s not like before, no longer chaotic and disjointed, clashing and clanging in my head, but smooth, erotic, and fluid like water. There’s a funky edge to it but it’s subtle along with a carnival like texture that makes me think of circus clowns riding bicycles – the Joker. It’s pretty badass actually.
Damn, I have fucking theme music. Yes!
My joy is short lived as my full attention lands on the doctor. He backs away on his hands and knees, scrambling like a crab across the room as I approach. I’m grinning like Harley Quinn when she’s about to kick some serious ass. Seems appropriate.
For a moment I think I should just stab him in the jugular and end this sorry piece of shit’s life as quickly as possible, but that doesn’t mesh with my master plan. I don’t give mercy. I’m not one of the ‘good guys’. I don’t think about consequences or right from wrong. Quite simply, I react.
I’m not a superhero or in the business of helping others sacrificially.
No, I’m the villain.
I’m a volatile vixen.
This fucker just pissed off the wrong bitch.
Sauntering forward until I drop to my knees, I’m oblivious to the fact that my bare ass is still hanging out in the cool room and crawl seductively closer. Despite the clear disgust on his face and the mixture of fear and pain, his eyes are locked on my lower body. I see the lust take control and my grin widens.
The drug has dulled his senses a bit but his semi erect dick flops against his stomach. I straddle his lap, careful not to let the shaft close enough to spear me. The man is either stupid, too drugged to care, or consumed by sexual need. I don’t care but I use it to my advantage. He’s not watching my hands but the undulation of my naked hips. My movements are wild, carnal, and filled with lust.
In some sick way I’m getting off on the idea of torturing him.
His left hand pushes on his thigh to stop the flow of blood that trickles from the slight wound from the plunge of the needle. He must have broken the skin. His right hand lands on my hip as his eyes roll back in pleasure. I have him right where I want him.
It’s time.
Gripping the ballpoint pen, I lift my hand, and plunge
the tip as hard as I can into his chest. A roar of agony pierces the air as he jolts. His body does a funny kind of flop while his arms shove me away and try to remove the pen but I yank it out and stab again . . . and again. His screams echo within the confines of the room. Blood spurts, spraying my face and chest, and I begin to giggle.
He’s trying to shove me off his lap but I lock my thighs and hold tight, stabbing again.
There’s a ruthless chuckle somewhere above when I hear the intercom overhead. We’ve got an audience. I should have known.
“Don’t disappoint me, Harleigh.”
His words diminish my rage and I fight the instinct to continue. Part of the bloodlust is forgotten. I won’t kill for the sick bastard’s pleasure. Whoever he is – the voice – he’s trying to control and manipulate me.
“Finish him Harleigh, or I’ll send in someone else.”
My chest heaves, the music grows louder in my head, and I give in.
I’ll never withstand an endless supply of adversaries. Better I finish off the doctor and retain as much of my energy as possible. I’m still weak from the drugs flowing through my veins. I’m lucky adrenaline has lasted this long.
The doctor is moaning, cussing, yelling at the voice but the speaker doesn’t utter another sound. My eyes find the doctor’s strange silver gaze as they rise. The stubble on his face is covered with splashes of blood like the walls, his white lab coat, my t-shirt, and . . . me.
With a smile as wicked as the Joker I raise the pen and then slam it down hard on his fully erect cock. Interesting the damn thing chooses this moment to cooperate. The doctor cries out and tries to shove me off his lap, screaming as blood pools in his lap. I stab continuously at his dick, his chest, his abdomen, until the jolting of his body and the screams stop.
There’s eerie silence.
No music. No whimpers or yelling. No laughter.
Just my breath and steady heartbeat which has never increased beyond a normal even tempo. Even with my dislocated shoulder I have no problems functioning and using my arm.
What the fuck?
