by Mia Sheridan
“At least I waited until they were dead.”
“It’s not as satisfying if you don’t hear them scream.”
“That’s what makes you a demon.”
Charles laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He paused. “But you, Axel, really were exactly what he hoped for. He would have been so proud to know what he’d created. Are you sure you’re not the demon in this room?”
“He would have been proud, but he wouldn’t have understood. He was a demon, and demons don’t see truth.” Axel paced for a second and then stopped, staring at Charles. “I’m nothing like him,” he said. “He killed innocents for the pure pleasure of it, just like you. I do it out of necessity and for a grander plan, a righteous plan. I abolish evil and protect innocents.”
“What about her?” Charles nodded his head toward Arryn. “What about all of them?”
Axel glanced at Arryn, pressing his lips together. “It’s for the ritual. Only the power of a sacrifice will set us all free. It’s been written.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
Axel smiled softly. “Make light if you want. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t see truth either. Just like him.”
“No. He didn’t see truth, did he?” Charles said, more softly now. “He thought Everett was just like him. He thought Everett would take ownership of that room once he no longer could. I watched the videos. I know what he did.”
Axel stared at him for a moment, turning away and then back, his arms crossing and uncrossing as he became agitated. He let out a strangled chuckle, tipping his head to the low ceiling above. “Well, let’s see. That’s because my grandfather wasn’t only a demon himself, but he thought he had a secret recipe for his own demonic legacy. That’s what Everett was supposed to be! His legacy,” he repeated, voice going higher. “How could he let those special, special genes of his just die out? There are so few in the world, he said, those rare individuals who have the strength and the fortitude to extinguish unnecessary life.”
His legacy? Unnecessary life? Liza’s head was pounding as she tried desperately to understand. Gordon Draper was a . . . killer? What kind of alternate universe had she been dropped into?
“Those women were nothing more than manure for his garden—literally.” Axel let out another forced-sounding chuckle. “He hadn’t seen any possibility in our father,” Axel went on, “so he’d hidden his hobby from him, conducted his playtime elsewhere. But our father suspected. He suspected he was evil, and so he kept us away from him. Then our parents died and . . . well, we were at our grandfather’s mercy. He thought Everett started the fire that killed our parents on purpose. He thought he was fascinated by fire just like he’d been as a boy, but it was an accident. Only an accident. Everett was not like him. But he made him participate.” A high keening sound erupted from Axel’s mouth before he cut it off. “To hear my brother beg him not to . . . to hear him . . .” Axel’s voice broke but, once again, he gathered himself quickly. “He tried to make Everett his legacy. And instead he ruined my brother. He ruined him.”
Ruined. She stared at Axel in horror, trying desperately to understand what was happening, what this whole thing was about. Ruined. It was the word her brother had used too. The reason he’d wanted so desperately to set them all free.
In some sort of sick and twisted effort to create a legacy of horror, Gordon Draper had apparently traumatized his grandsons so severely, and in the wake of such a tragic loss, that one had taken his own life and the other had gone insane?
Was she understanding this correctly? It seemed too unbelievable to be true.
And yet here they were, chained to chairs in an underground cavern about to be set on fire.
“Explain it, Dr. Nolan,” Axel said, his voice hoarse. “Tell us all why he thought Everett’s supposed obsession with fire meant he’d inherited our grandfather’s demonic genes.”
Liza’s head cleared infinitesimally. Fire . . . fire.
She blinked, swallowed, mindful of angering him or . . . pushing some unknown button. “It’s called The Macdonald Triad,” she said haltingly. Gordon Draper had believed his grandson carried his same psychopathic tendencies, the same flawed sequence of genetics. “Your grandfather believed Everett had exhibited at least one of the three signs said to be predictive of later violent tendencies, particularly . . . serial offenses: animal cruelty, bedwetting, fire-setting.”
Axel’s mouth twisted into what she assumed was supposed to be a smile. “Ah, well, there you go. Science.”
Liza closed her eyes, picturing Everett, his shy smile, the gentle demeanor. The stack of comic books he’d brought to camp and kept on his bedside.
“He was wrong, Axel. So very, very wrong.”
He’d been tortured.
And Everett’s suicide had evidently completely thrown his brother over the edge of reality. Whatever he was attempting to do here was part of some wild explanation he’d come up with for the trauma they’d both endured. Some answer to the inexplicable question of why.
A life raft to clutch to in a black, bottomless sea.
And she was part of it. She and Arryn.
“Why her?” Liza asked, nodding over to a still unconscious Arryn.
Axel smiled. “All demons have a weakness.” He nodded at Charles. “His is Josie.” He cocked his head to the side. “He let her go,” Axel murmured, staring at Charles, his expression almost . . . perplexed. “Not once, but twice. My grandfather never would have done that. No loose ends, he always said. Never any loose ends.” Axel’s voice trailed away, eyes going distant before he startled slightly, coming back to himself, gesturing toward Charles again. “I let him know Josie was at risk and just as I thought, he fell right into my hands.” He smiled. “I prepared this. All of it. It took meticulous planning, lots of time. Months and months. I followed all of you . . . Josie”—he turned toward Arryn—“Josie’s family.” His smile grew tender and a distant shiver went down Liza’s spine. “I watched Arryn, I even talked to her once. She was kind. Innocent. Pure. Perfect.”
Liza’s head cleared a little more, the room becoming sharper, more real.
“Your grandfather is dead, Axel,” Liza said. “Isn’t that enough? Please, let us go. Let them go”—she nodded to Milo, Sabrina, and Arryn—“and we can talk. You don’t have to kill anyone, not even him.” She extended her head toward Charles. “We’ll talk and we’ll figure this out, just like we talked before. Then”—she looked over at Milo and Sabrina—“we’ll all talk, okay, Axel?”
“No,” he said. “It’s too late for that now. You have to understand, Angel, this is for you too. It’s the only way to escape hell and evade evil once and for all. You want that, don’t you?”
He looked over to the others shackled to the chairs, his gaze moving between Milo and Sabrina, who looked to be in various stages of regaining consciousness. He addressed Charles. “They understand evil.” He walked over to Liza and ran a finger down her cheek. She shrunk back, groaned. “This angel, terrified of the dark because her father locked her there, alone, for days.” Something in Charles’s face shifted as he watched her. Liza looked away.
Axel walked over to Milo, placing his hand on his shoulder. “And this angel, who numbs himself to keep the visions at bay, the memories of what those men did to him.” He moved to Sabrina, smoothing her hair away from her face, though it fell immediately back to where it’d been with her head bent forward. “Her, attempting to exorcise the demons through paint, splashing the memories of every slap, every kick, every vicious word, and every broken bone that never healed quite right onto canvas.” He sighed. “My grandfather hadn’t started our . . . lessons yet when Everett and I met you all at Camp Joy, but later, I remembered.” He looked around at all of them. “I remembered you—I remembered us—as I sat alone in our room, reading Everett’s comics, listening to him beg, listening to those women scream in agony for hours.” He drifted off, face going slack for a moment, shoulders shifting forward. “I reme
mbered, and I realized who we really are.”
Axel swiveled, his eyes landing on Charles, his expression blank, the eyes of someone who wasn’t all there. “And my demon? Well, you already know Everett’s and my demon. You wanted to know about our grandfather? He didn’t just hurt us, he thought he’d create another version of himself. He thought he had the perfect recipe.”
“Well,” Charles sighed. “His recipe was a little off because you’re a few cinnamon sticks short of an apple pie, my friend. You do realize that, right?”
“You think you’re funny?” Axel smiled benevolently. “You think this is a joke? Of course you do, because you’re the same as him. You’re not as clever as you think you are, Charlie, because I caught you, didn’t I? He made us study you, you know. You and others like you. Motivation,” he said. “It’s how I know all your secrets.”
Milo began lifting his head, but then it dropped, lolling to the side once again. He didn’t wake.
“I know you think I’m crazy, and maybe I am,” Axel said, turning back toward them. He shrugged. “But maybe madness in itself is a kind of sight.” He paused. “The things I’ve seen . . . the things that were done to them . . .” He nodded to Liza, Milo, and Sabrina in turn. “All these so-called experts can call it whatever they want, make excuses for it, blame it on any number of things, try to treat it, medicate it, incarcerate it if they want, but they can’t ever convince me evil doesn’t exist. And evil. Must. Be. Destroyed. None of us were meant to be . . . here. And all I want, all I want, is to go home.” He leaned back against the wall, letting his head fall back, breath coming sharply.
“You can’t go home, Axel,” Charles said. And though he’d been almost flippant a moment before, Liza was caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. She wondered if it was real or pretend. “Take it from me. No matter how many people you kill, no matter how much justice you exact, you can never go home.”
Axel stood straight, opening his mouth to address Charles when something caught his attention on a shelf near where he was standing, a picture blinking to life. “The motion sensors,” he muttered, moving closer. Liza strained to see, ice hitting her veins as she made out the figure on the camera. Reed. Oh God, Reed. He’d found them. How had he found them? She wanted to scream for him, but he was far too far away, and she was in a pit under the earth.
Axel set the monitor back down. “Detective Davies won’t interfere,” he said. He looked at Charles. “I have tripwire at the perimeter of the property, right at the edge of the fence. Explosives. I told you, I’ve planned this. I couldn’t risk anyone surprising us. Because this is my night. The angels are on my side. All of heaven is cheering us on. But . . . we don’t need to watch the detective blow up, do we? That would be . . . unpleasant. I’m not a cruel man. I had to keep you all safe though. It had to be done.”
Liza’s stomach plunged.
She looked over at Charles and his jaw was tight with something that looked like rage as he glanced away from the monitor that Axel was still watching, his attention focused there as Reed walked around his car, looking up at the front gate. How far was he away from the perimeter of the property? The edge of the fence? Oh God. “Not good timing, Caleb,” she thought Charles muttered. She stared at Reed’s biological father as his eyes moved to the other three people in chairs across from them, and then finally to her. He pinned her with his eyes.
Her gaze moved as he slowly lifted his feet, his stomach muscles straining. She blinked up and saw that a red strip of skin was peeling back from his hand as he held his weight entirely by his arms.
Her eyes flew to Axel and then away. His back was still to them.
Liza’s eyes widened and she stared at Charles again, confused and horrified as he moved his feet slowly upward. She blinked. There was a small metal tool in the side of his running shoe. Her eyes flew to his again and he nodded to the video screen that Axel was beginning to set down. Go, he mouthed. And in one movement, he brought his feet around to her shackled hands and she plucked the tool from his shoe, Charles lowering his feet to the floor in the second before Axel flicked off the monitor and turned back around.
A bead of sweat dripped down Liza’s face. Charles Hartsman had given her a tool. Why? Why did he do that? Why hadn’t he used it himself? Maybe he couldn’t? Maybe he figured she would be quicker with her hands behind her back rather than over her head like him? Her heart pounded. Her hands felt slick with sweat, and she feared she’d drop the tiny file-like object in her hand. Go, he’d said.
Warn him. Warn Reed that he’s headed toward an explosive. Her heart sped, pumping blood through her veins so swiftly she feared she’d pass out. Charles was staring at her intensely, so she forced herself to calm down. Calm, calm.
She moved the tool slowly until she was grasping it tightly in her fingers, and she began to work on the lock behind her back.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Liza kept her gaze glued to Axel as he walked to Sabrina, tapping her lightly on her cheek. “Wake up, Angel,” he said. “It’s almost time. You’ll want to be awake for this.”
Liza used the fingers of her hand not holding the pin to locate the lock, bringing the pin to it and inserting it inside. A bead of sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging. She wiggled the tool inexpertly, frustration and fear making her want to scream. She didn’t know what she was doing.
Sabrina moaned, bringing her head up, her eyes opening slightly. “That’s it,” Axel crooned before walking over to Milo. He shook him a little harder, but he didn’t rouse. Liza removed the pin, taking a breath and inserting it again, trying desperately to keep her hands as steady as possible. She felt Charles’s eyes on her, and when she glanced at him, he was watching her intently, his jaw rigid, eyes dark with intensity. He made a slight movement with his head. Down, over. And then again.
Liza brought the pin from the lock again, taking a few seconds just to breathe. Her fingers were slippery with sweat and they continued to tremble. But time was ticking down, the room was rife with gasoline fumes, and the tiny piece of metal in her hand was her only chance.
Axel turned and Liza went stock still. He smiled at her, moving in her direction. Oh God. Does he know? Does he know? He stopped in front of her and removed a small bottle from his pocket. Sweat continued to drip down the side of her face and bead on her upper lip. If Axel sees, please let him think it’s a side effect of the drug and my fear.
Keeping eye contact, he pulled a pocketknife from his pocket as well and flipped the blade open. Liza’s heart lurched. “What are you going to do?” she practically panted.
“I just need a little of your blood, Angel. I’ll take it from your palm. It will only hurt for a second.”
Her palm? Oh God. Liza clenched the small pin in her hand, her mind spinning and her breath stalling as she tried to figure out what to do.
Axel walked slowly behind her and uncurled her fist.
The one not holding the pin.
Liza’s breath exploded in a relieved gush of air. She met Charles’s eyes as Axel sliced into her flesh. The pain was almost a victory in itself, and she gladly took it. He hadn’t discovered her secret. She felt Axel squeeze her palm as her blood dripped and when he walked back around, she saw the drops of her blood in the bottom of the bottle.
Axel brought the knife to his own palm and made a slow slice, blood pooling. “I’m providing the blood for myself and Everett, my brother,” he said, tilting his hand so his blood dripped into the bottle, mixing with her own.
He turned, taking the few steps to Sabrina, who was blinking around drowsily. With one final glance at Charles, Liza took the opportunity to grip the pin in her fingers. Down, over. Down, over. She inserted it into the lock and pressed down firmly and then moved it over quickly to the right as Charles had indicated. With a barely discernible click, the handcuffs fell open. Liza almost gasped with relieved joy, but managed to keep her face stoic, catching the handcuffs behind her back before they could clatter to the floor.
She didn’t dare look at anyone other than Axel, watching him to make sure he hadn’t noticed what she’d done. As he moved behind Sabrina and took her blood, Liza remained still. He was standing now, turning toward where Milo and Arryn sat near the door.
She turned her head slightly, looking at the short set of wooden steps that led somewhere lower, her pulse pounding with the knowledge that if she did get free, that might be her only escape.
Not if. When. You can do this, Liza. You can do this.
When Axel turned to face Milo, Liza very quickly hooked the handcuffs on the back of her chair so they wouldn’t fall. Her breath was coming short, and she was having trouble not gasping audibly. But she couldn’t do that. It would bring Axel’s attention to her. She watched as Axel sliced Milo’s palm, the man exhibiting no reaction at all. Even in her extreme fear, the deadened look on the man’s face made Liza’s heart ache. He’d learned how to accept pain. Liza didn’t have to wonder where he had developed that particular skill, or why.
I remember your story, Milo. I remember now.
Axel placed the vial back in his pocket and picked up a second gas can by the door, uncapping it and splashing it on the ancient wood, rivulets running to the floor. Arryn was next and she was closest to the door. Liza would have no chance of using that exit or going anywhere near it before Axel was on her. No chance at all.
And she had to attempt her escape now. Once the fire started, it was over for them all.
Her terror ratcheted higher.
