Pain-Killer (A Miss Hyde Novella Book 2)

by Kindra Sowder

  While all of my troubles and surroundings faded away, I could feel Hyde beginning to creep her way in, like she was crawling from inside of the mirror and climbing into my body. My frame of mind was already starting to change from the art dealer who wanted nothing to do with murder to the killer who only had slashing and gashing on her mind. Oh, and the ingestion of male human hearts that she kept in her freezer. In all of two minutes, there was only darkness and silence as I let Hyde do the only think that I knew could save me.

  Us.

  Chapter Three

  Everything began to come back slowly; muffled at first and then blaring to life once I realized exactly where I was. A high pitched car horn sounded from down on the street followed by people shouting and an overwhelming amount of traffic noise. I was in my apartment from the feel of the soft and cool satin sheets, and I cringed as I started to roll over onto my back, expecting to roll over in a nice puddle of blood that had only soaked into the sheets and mattress halfway and congealing the rest of the way. Then I remembered the fact that I hadn’t killed anyone in my apartment with the final realization that I was clean, and so were my sheets. My eyes popped open wide, and I bolted upright, using my hands to inspect the comforter covering my legs. I was also wearing a nightgown, which I hardly ever did. Did she buy me something new to make up for the mess? From the looks of it, it was brand new. I didn’t have one like this in my closet.

  The nightgown was crimson red and flowed down to my ankles, all elegance, and silk like something I would’ve bought for myself. She was making up for something but also reminding me of the prior event based on the color of the gown. Even the fact that it was long wasn’t lost on me; covering me from shoulders to ankles just like Kyle’s warm blood on my pale flesh. Images of his body in the shower and spurting blood and torn skin flashed through my mind. Red was definitely my color, but I didn’t want the thing on my body any longer. Not after everything I had seen the night before. I reached down, gripping the bottom of the gown below the comforter, pulling it up and over my head and throwing it on the floor.

  “What a sick and twisted sense of humor you have.” I sighed as I stared at the thing against the white marble tiles. The sun wasn’t up yet, which made me wonder what time it was. Turning to take a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table the green letters read six in the morning. My alarm would go off in the next half hour, so I could begin to get ready to meet this artist, who somehow is responsible for the painting of a lethal woman who just happened to resemble me in more ways than one. The mahogany hair, one green eye and one brown, and the half-eaten heart clenched in her fist. The future of Hyde and me seemed to be painted on that canvas, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked my spine, sending goose bumps cascading over my skin in waves. She moved within me, reminding me she was there and that I needed to thank her for her assistance. I sighed in frustration.

  “I wouldn’t have needed it if you wouldn’t have killed him.” I retorted when w tremor moved through me. It was like a feminine growl was resonating within my muscles and bones, pooling in the center of my chest right over my heart. My stomach decided it was time to speak up as well, but my phone rang, and it took precedence. The ‘Dexter’ ring tone echoed through my bedroom and Lauren’s name popped up on the touchscreen of the HTC phone that I was Hell-bent on replacing one of these days. Sliding my thumb across the screen to answer it I started speaking before putting it to my ear to hear her smoky and hung over voice. “Hi, Lauren. Yes, I made it home just fine. You don’t have to worry.”

  I could hear her moving around on the other end of the line. “Do you have to speak so loudly?”

  “If you didn’t want me to be loud you shouldn’t have called while you were still hung over. You know, Mom, you don’t have to check up on me every time we go out.” I let the sarcasm worm its way into my words as I spoke, pulling the comforter up to cover my bare chest.

  “I’m choosing to ignore that.” She cleared her throat. “What did you do after I left?”

  “I had a drink.” Did I want to lie? The quick answer was yes. “And then I went home.” She knew how I felt about going home alone. She wouldn’t buy it.

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like you.” Did she know me or what? I was beginning to think I needed to hang out with a more diverse group to avoid things like this.

  “Is that your nice way of calling me a slut?” It may have been true, but it was one thing for your friends to know it. It was a whole other thing for them to call you out on it when they were just as bad as you were.

  “Absolutely not,” she responded, her voice filled with mock surprise. She was working way too hard to sound offended.

  The line went silent for a moment and then her soft breathing came on the line. That was when I knew she had fallen asleep while on the phone with me, which was typical even after just one drink. I ended the call and placed the phone back on the end table next to the alarm clock, looking around the room to make sure everything else was in order. Everything was as it should be and I was thrilled to see that Hyde had even laid clothes out for me to wear to meet the artist that could have very well painted me, without ever having met me. The black dress was hanging on the closet door just waiting to be slipped over my skin. My favorite black heels were pushed up against the bottom of the door, the red soles calling out to me with power I never knew the hue could have.

  With a sigh I pushed the covers off of my legs and swung them off of the edge, letting the cold marble chill my feet sending a shiver up my spine. One reason I loved marble so much was that it was always cool. I got up and made my way to the bathroom, taking as quick of a shower as I could, but making sure I was still clean enough to appear in front of people. After this meeting, I’d be stuck in the gallery and then possibly out with Lauren or alone again. Maybe it was really time to catch up on “The Walking Dead.” Contrary to what Hyde would want anyone to believe I wasn’t just a killing machine. I was a woman who wanted all of the usual things in life like a night in watching some television with some ice cream or maybe even chocolate.

  Once I was showered, lotioned, and hair was dry and styled in a loose bun with a few tendrils hanging loose around my face in soft curls I was ready to slip the dress over my head, slip on my shoes and make my debut with the artist who already seemed to know me somehow. The feeling of how uncanny it is that this artist seems to already know me is unshakable. I was still tired and bags had formed under my eyes, but I covered them quickly with some concealer. They had become more of a pale green then lavender purple, so I decided that it was good enough. Eyeliner with a sheen of lip gloss finished the look, and I was ready to be out and about in New York City yet again. I was still shaken by what had happened to me and what Hyde had done while I was a ghost to the world, but I couldn’t dwell on it. I needed to move on, and this was how I would do it. I took a deep breath in and stared at myself in the mirror. All I could smell was roses. My absolute favorite scent when it came to lotions or sprays of any kind. It worked well with my body chemistry when nothing else seemed to except the smell of blood and gore, which I had to say wasn’t very appealing to me. To Hyde yes, but not me. It seemed that the only thing that could cover up the smell of death around me were roses. How fitting was that?

  It was a great thing no one knew about my affliction because I didn’t want the stigma attached to what I was. Damned. That was what Hyde had called it, but how much more was there to it? My reflection smiled as I watched, nodding at me as I stared. I wasn’t sure what to do but walk away from it and finally make my way down towards the street and speeding taxis.

  The hushed hallway was disturbing as I made my way to the elevator, spying a man in a black pinstripe suit waiting for the elevator, noticing me as I moved to stand beside him. He made no effort to hide his stares, but I didn’t even care. Men had a tendency to do that when I was around, and it was something I had grown accustomed to. Not that sometimes I didn’t want the eyes to finally look away and never notice me
ever again. Yes, I was the rich and successful woman who was complaining about always being the center of a man’s attention just because of her looks. I wasn’t as superficial as some believed and they were always shocked to learn it. Granted, I never went to bed with an unattractive man, but who said I wouldn’t be at some point? Well, at least, someone who wasn’t attractive to others. If anything, my looks had a tendency to get me in trouble, which was evident if the situation with Kyle was an indicator at all.

  I felt this man’s eyes roam over me as the numbers ticked by and we waited. He took a deep breath like he was about to speak. It was time to stop it before it started. Turning to him I let my eyes meet his and saw his expression change from one of amusement and lust to one of confusion and bewilderment. He had seen what I meant him to see.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.” The words slithered from my lips to caress his cheek like a viper waiting to strike as soon as he tried to speak again. With wide eyes, he looked away and didn’t even care to follow into the elevator he had been waiting for. I couldn’t help but wave at him as the doors closed. Even I had to admit there was something in my eyes that scared me a little once I saw my own reflection in the shining metal. My mouth dropped open when the luminous green in my eyes right beneath the brown shone in the light of the space. There was no mistaking it. There was definitely a monster inside waiting to be let out.

  I hadn’t let her out with Kyle and even now she was fighting against my fine-tuned control, rolling around in his blood inside of me. The leftovers of his heart she had ripped from him and chewed on like a dog with a bone. It was raw and bloody, tasting of iron and sinew. I swallowed down the thought along with a touch of sour bile and closed my eyes, trying my best to force them back to normalcy. Something that I knew I could never have. Not ever again. I wanted to control her, and I wanted the dark nights snuggled with someone who was just like Dax, but Hyde didn’t see fit for any of that.

  All she wanted was warm, fresh crimson flowing down her throat and down her chin. Maybe she would get it. Maybe not. I guessed it was all up to me. Her. No, us. Yes, us.

  Chapter Four

  I was standing in front of a large brick building. I had just stepped out of a taxi and handed the driver his fair, and he drove off without a word like he didn’t even want to be there. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood. Hell, I was on West 22nd Street in Chelsea looking up at the windows of the apartments as I felt my heart race. A condo. It just had to be a condo. That was all this building was made up of, and they weren’t cheap either. Granted, most I saw in his area were gorgeous pieces of architecture, but I loved my apartment quite a bit to want to get rid of it for a smaller place that cost me more money. Not like I was here to scope out a new living situation anyways. This was where the artist lived, and I could honestly say that based on the one painting I saw I could see how they could afford it.

  The artist was a young woman named Cyra, who was originally from Columbus, Ohio. She had moved to New York City to become a known artist and, from what I could tell, she was accomplishing just that. Even without the striking similarities, I would’ve grabbed her pieces up for a showing at the gallery regardless. When I had Lauren call her a week ago to set up this appointment, she was ecstatic. So ecstatic that when I had finally been able to draw myself away from the painting that was brought in, I could hear her from within ten feet of Lauren and the phone. After standing there for what felt like an eternity trying to get my heart to stop its frantic beating, I made my way inside and into the elevator. I hit the button that would take me to the floor where her condo was located. From an artist’s perspective this building was a very inspiring space, but not somewhere I wanted to live. Thank goodness there were no men with wandering eyes in this one. I was truly alone.

  “Alone except for you, baby,” I whispered to what was living inside of me. Because of Hyde, I was never truly alone even when I felt like I was. She would make sure of it. She laughed inside of me, and I could feel it vibrating inside of my body as it buzzed inside of my head. I shook my head slightly to make her stop, and it seemed to work for a few seconds until she was back, chortling even louder inside of my head at that point. I chose to do what I could to ignore it, but what made it even harder was the grin on the face of my reflection. She was never this prominent until I tried to hold her at bay. I guessed this was her way of showing me that no matter what she was in control and she wouldn’t be going anywhere, but then again how would she? She was fused to me, to my very soul. So there wasn’t a way to detach her and this I knew, somehow.

  I turned out of the elevator, leaving Hyde’s smiling image behind in the reflection, but could still hear her laughter like what I was doing was silly, and it was utterly insignificant. It wasn’t to me, so she just had to come along for the ride. In that, she didn’t have a choice. Without even realizing it, I had ended up in front of her door with my hand raised to knock. The large 5D glaring at me as I blinked the few seconds of missing time away. I shook it off and rapped my fingers on the solid wood door. It made a lovely echoing sound down the corridor as it bounced against the exposed brick within the hallway.

  The door opened, and a young woman who I assumed was Cyra was standing at the door in a white tank and black yoga pants, her short hair slightly unkempt but more like she had been running her hands through it instead of just rolling out of bed.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes scanning me with interest as she took in my appearance. I could see something in her eyes as she stared at me, meeting my eyes as she did so. Her eyes widened a little bit, and I knew what I had just seen. Recognition. I dropped my hand and grabbed a business card out of my purse, handing it to her with a well-practiced flourish that had taken me a year to get down.

  “I’m Blythe McAlister from…”

  “From Agora Gallery!” She said as her voice rose in pitch and her eyebrows rose. It was almost like she had forgotten the appointment and suddenly remembered excitedly. I tried not to let a giggle slip out. Have to keep the professional façade intact for now.

  “Yes.” I put my hand out to her for a handshake. “I’m here to take a look at more of your work.”

  Instead of taking my hand she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug. I had to say, I was surprised, and it took me a moment to adjust to the fact that every time I saw her, I’d be getting a hug instead of a handshake. I could never get used to the feeling of my personal space being somewhat violated, but this was part of working with artists. You never knew what you were liable to get. At least, she didn’t get any brightly colored paint on my dress like one had done the year before. Sunburst yellow with streaks of green. Even with dry cleaning, it was safe to say that the dress had to be thrown in the trash. Doing a quick once over, I noticed she didn’t have any paints, charcoal or any other kind of artistic medium on her that could ruin my clothes. I let out a reticent sigh of relief as she ushered me into her condo.

  I had barely taken two steps past the threshold before I was greeted by a black cat weaving its way between my feet. Good thing I wasn’t allergic. It stopped, sat back on its haunches, and stared at me, meowing like it was trying to speak to me. For all I knew it was. You never knew with animals, and usually they hated me, which was why I didn’t have one of my own. You can only stand getting growled at by a cat or a dog so many times. My parents had wanted me to take horseback riding lessons when I was a child, but I got bucked off as soon as I had hopped into the saddle. That was how my parents learned that I had been gifted the curse by their genetics. I never knew which parent was the one that passed it down to me, but it didn’t matter anymore did it? They were dead. I was still here, and without so many of the answers, I desperately needed. I got to learn it all on my own with Hyde’s little bit of help along the way. Now, maybe Cyra could help me too. My fingers were crossed. I stared into the cat’s bright green eyes as she meowed at me again and pawed at my leg.

  “Oh, Shadow,” Cyra exclaimed as she picked the cat up and cuddled he
r chest, nuzzling into Shadow’s pitch black fur. “Sorry about that. She normally doesn’t like new people.”

  I knew the feeling all too well. I thought as I watched Cyra pushed her pink bangs out of her eyes. That was when I noticed how short her hair was and that the rest of it seemed to be her natural chestnut brown. It was a cute pixie cut that fit her facial features perfectly. Her brown eyes met mine, and that strike of recognition hit them again, and she was trying her best not to stare at me, which was making this meeting even more awkward. I thought of telling her where she knew me from, but I had a feeling she already knew that and wasn’t going to say anything at risk of sounding like she needed some time in the loony bin.

  “It’s alright. I like cats. They just normally don’t like me.” I spoke the words with a smile and kept my eyes on the green-eyed beauty in her arms. A flash of my own green eyes in my reflection moved through my mind with lightning quickness, but I ignored it.

  “I’ll take you to see what I have.”

  She began to move out of the foyer and into her expansive living room. The decoration of her condo was minimalistic at best. A couch, coffee table, lamp, and a flat screen television were all that broke the sanitary white of the room apart. I closed her door and followed her as she passed a beautiful kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances and down a hallway, passing her bedroom and heading towards a second room that she said she was using as her studio. She never had guests who stayed the night, so she didn’t care about having a guest room. All I did was nod as she led me farther into the condo. She moved with a grace I had only seen in dancers. From what I knew about her, she never had been. Maybe she was just born with it. Some people were.

  Cyra put Shadow down right outside of the open door to her studio and held her arm out in a welcoming gesture, letting me know that I could enter without even saying a word. I wasn’t going to lie. I felt right at home here and probably would’ve walked in without her treating me like a long lost friend. The cat was like my shadow as I passed Cyra and stalked into the studio, examining every painting I came across. From what I could tell about them, they were a series of them and the painting at the gallery was possibly the first one of them.