CHAPTER 37
Ivy
The remnants of pure terror whisper to me, calling me out of the darkness once more. As usual lately, waking up is nothing short of torture. I find the strength where there’s none to be found, my mind already locked on Noah.
My beautiful Noah.
I’ll never forget the look on his face as he struggled against Raoul to get to me. The stark horror and love in his shimmering blue eyes.
As I fully come awake, my position sinks in. Seated. Tied. Behind my closed lids, I see the glare of lights. A television screen? Fighting back the drugs, I open my eyes. No. Not a television screen. Multiple screens.
A scream lodges in my throat when I realize what I’m watching.
“NOAH!” Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s enough rational left for me to process the sound of that shout—barbaric in its fear; animalistic in its pain. My body, however, has disconnected from higher reasoning. I thrash back and forth in my bindings, uncaring of the pain as they bite into my skin. “Oh God! Noah, nooooooo!”
Grief suffocates me. All I feel is the pain. The pressure. Like being submerged by a twenty-ton tidal wave. Except, my body isn’t being torn apart from the outside. No. The destruction is coming from within as my mind and heart collapse under the strain.
My parents.
Now they’ve taken my Noah.
Another scream is ripped from the pit of my chest. I don’t know how long I stay like this, crying, screaming, thrashing in a pathetic bid for freedom. All I know is that one moment, the whirlwind of dark emotions has me in its grips.
And the next, all the energy leaks out of me. All of it. My will to scream. My will to fight.
My will to live.
I slump in the chair, heaving breaths. Through the haze of tears, I see that the screens are still playing scenes.
More images of . . . Noah’s death?
My eyes fly open, jumping from screen to screen. It takes a few seconds for what I’m seeing to fully penetrate the fog of despair.
It isn’t just one scene. No. It’s many of them, all featuring black-haired men with Noah’s build. Men that are strapped down, facing away from me so I can’t make out their facial features.
Men being abused and killed.
My heart cries out that maybe one of them is Noah. That I’ve already watched him die. Logic, however, keeps reminding me of the games these fucker’s like to play. There’s no reason they’d be torturing with the possibility of one of them being Noah if he were really dead.
Sensation begins returning to my extremities. I inhale a shaky breath, sitting up straighter. The scenes in front of me are beyond horrible, yes, but I push that aside as I try to make out some sort of detail on those men. A clue that’ll tell me if one of them really is Noah.
As I’m searching, another deplorable thought sinks in: these videos are definitely real. Men being killed just to torture me.
And if one of them isn’t Noah . . .
Dear God, do they have him locked away somewhere, doing the same thing to him? Forcing him to watch as women die simply for their resemblance to me?
My gut tells me that’s exactly what’s happening.
Two big, fat tears leak out of my eyes as I think about those men and women dying, all because of a motherfucking resemblance.
An eternity passes with me stuck like this. Trying to get out of these thick, leather binds is pointless. One peek down at my wrists and I see blood on the edges of the bindings. More than once, hysteria tries to set in. How could it not? I can feel the toll on my nervous system from all the drugs and mental torture.
The constant anxiety of wondering if we’ll get to live.
My mind flashes back to my parent’s bedroom. Slamming my eyes shut, I grit my teeth and pray for strength. Don’t think about that now, Ivy. Noah needs you. That reminder is all I have going for me right now.
Opening my eyes, I crane my neck to look around the room. It must be huge, because past the glare of the screens, I see nothing but an ever-expanding darkness. No matter how much I strain, I can’t see anything past the lights of the screens.
Then, out of nowhere, one by one the screens begin to change scenes. Instead of the Noah-lookalikes, I’m stuck watching a replay of Anne and Robert’s death.
From all angles.
The blood. The gore. The relief that Noah was still beside me in the end.
My rock.
Get your shit together. Remain calm and find a way to get out.
All I can do is take a deep breath and close my eyes, striving for a calm I lost long ago. Waiting for Valerie to make an appearance and move her fucked up little game along.
I’m going to make you pay, bitch. One day I’m going to make you pay. I’m not foolish. I know what these thoughts I’m having mean.
Retribution.
Vengeance.
Days ago, before I was taken, I would have never entertained the idea of hurting someone, not unless it was self-defense. But Valerie has to die. Many people have to die. We won’t be getting out of here any other way.
How? I don’t know, but the resolve is strong inside me. New, unsettling, but undeniable nonetheless.
“Too cowardly to look, I see.”
Knew it was a matter of time. Of course she would come to needle me.
Slowly, I open my eyes, practically a statue. Not just to taunt her, mess with her, but because my new path is sinking in. The irrefutable reality that this woman will die by my hand before it’s all over.
“Ignoring me?”
I stare blankly ahead.
“Hmm . . . should I bring Noah in here and make him scream to get your attention?”
My chest shakes with my next breath. She’s messing with me. Playing with my mind. Still, her words nearly make me collapse into hysterics again from the fear. Swallowing, I struggle to keep my voice calm. “Where is he?”
“You might see him soon. That is, if I don’t decide to kill you right now and finally rid the world of such an annoying little bitch.”
Funny how we feel the same exact way about each other. I yearn to see her blood stain the floor. “What do I have to do to see him?”
“Do you really want to see him? Like really really want to see him?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod. Not replying to her the way I want to almost takes more willpower than I have, especially now that I know it’s Valerie. “How bad? Will you do anything for it?” Damn her, because she knows I would. Again, all I can bring myself to do is nod. “You must not want it bad enough since you won’t even respect me enough to speak aloud.”
God, I hate her. Hate her. The loathing practically chokes me and I’m not even surprised when my mind immediately fixates on images of her demise at my hands.
“Okay, forget it. You must not care about him at—”
“Wait! I’m sorry.” No one will ever know how much it costs me to utter those words to her. “Yes. I’ll do anything to see Noah again.”
“Okay.”
No sooner has that word left her mouth, and the screen directly in front of me changes.
All of sudden, I’m looking at Noah, strapped to a gurney, the camera overhead aimed at all the bleeding wounds in his chest.
Puncture marks.
Deep ones, like he’s been stabbed with a screwdriver.
I can’t see the top of his face, can only see him from the chin down, but there’s no mistaking how his lips are parted as he struggles for breath. His chest convulses and I nearly vomit at the realization that his lungs are collapsing.
They punctured his fucking lungs!
As I’m forced to sit here and watch, they’re flooding with blood, suffocating the life out of him.
Then, before he even has a chance to struggle for that next breath, a gloved hand appears out of nowhere, a knife gripped tightly.
In a single move, that knife parts Noah’s neck, just like Robert’s was when Agnes killed him.
My mouth parts, gearing to scream—
The camera shifts suddenly, showing me Noah’s face.
It takes me a beat or two to realize the eyes I’m staring into, the eyes rapidly losing life, are green, not blue.
That isn’t Noah.
“Oops. Had you going for a bit there, didn’t I?”
No words. There are no fucking words to encompass this woman’s twisted madness.
A madness I think she’s infecting me with. I can feel the urge to hurt, to kill, spreading like black sludge within my chest.
Panting, I fist my hands and bite back every malicious threat I want to hurl at her. Voice shaking, I ask, “Where is he? Where is Noah?”
“Being prepped. Just like you.”
It’s too much to ask that she’d give me a straight answer. Again, another thing I’ve learned in this vicious hell-hole the last few days. “Okay, so I’m being prepped. For what?”
“Did I fucking give you permission to speak? To question me?”
I have no choice but to bite down on my cheek one more time, choking on everything I wish I could tell her. All the damage I wish I could do to her.
“Answer me. Did I?”
Forget hatred. Forget loathing. This is something way beyond that. An evil in my heart so vicious I can’t help but be frightened by it. I want her blood on my hands almost more than I want to be with Noah right now. “No.”
“Then why do you insist on talking back, bitch? Do you want Noah to die?”
This time, there’s no hesitation. This bitch wants my full obedience and I’m in no position to deny it to her. Not yet, at least. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“How sorry are you?” Her tone is nothing but gloating. Pleased.
My skin crawls with this savage need to hurt her. “I’m really, really sorry. Please don’t hurt him.”
Valerie laughs. “Oh, honey. That was always going to be the end of it. Did you think either one of you would get out alive? That we killed so, so many just to let you both go?”
“No,” I say honestly, tone flat. “We’ve known all along this ends with us dying.” And I wouldn’t put it past the bitch to not let me see him one last time. Despair threatens to overwhelm me again.
“Would you? Would you like to see your precious Noah one final time?”
And Jamie, but as much as I love my friend and I’m dying to save her from this, Noah is my priority. He’ll always be my number one priority. “Yes. Please.”
“I love it when you beg.”
I bet she fucking does.
Before I can respond, I hear the sound of a door opening behind me and footsteps. What also sounds like carts being pushed on wheels. Craning my neck, I look as far behind me as I can.
The guards, in their black clothing and identity-shielding helmets.
Carts full of what looks like makeup are left near me, as well as a wardrobe on wheels. I almost ask Valerie what this all is, but remind myself it’s pointless. She hates being questioned and will let me know on her own time.
“I’m finally training this bitch well. No undue questions, just respectful patience. If only I could have made that lesson sink in long ago. So much trouble would have been avoided.”
I school my expression before she can glean any reaction from her little slip. This lowlife just admitted her real reason behind choosing us. I don’t doubt she’s been involved in this for a long, long time, but this is why we were chosen.
She’s always despised my very existence.
And even more than that? She hated Noah’s connection with me from day one.
“Silence from you. Do you have any idea how beautiful that is? Don’t answer it. I don’t want to hear your voice. As for what all this is? It’s time to get you ready for our spectacular ball—yours and Noah’s final act.”
A ball? Our final act?
Our death, she means.
But a ball also means we’ll be reunited. Out there, with the monsters that helped do this to us. We’ll have some sort of chance to make some of them pay.
My heart races with newfound excitement, hope, and bloodlust, but just as last time, my expression remains flat.
The men all leave except one, and he stops in front of me to start my makeup right away.
I stare off into space, letting him work, mind racing.
Most likely, Noah and I are going to die at this event. They’ll probably be too many of them for us to beat them.
Yet, we might be able to find a way to take some of them down with us. Enact some revenge.
My heart beats harder.
The man working on me tilts my head while applying my foundation. He leans down closer, focusing on his work. Clearly, they need me perfectly done up for the party-goers.
The same “men” and “women” that probably want to sexually abuse Noah and I before we’re killed.
The hunger for death grows almost unbearable at that thought.
I’m still staring off into space, lost in my fantasies of bloodshed, when a sound reaches my ears.
A voice.
Whispering.
Jerking my attention back to the present, I strain to hide my reaction, strain to better hear . . .
The man doing my makeup is talking to me.
“I need you to stay calm and listen to me very well.”
Oh God. My hands break out into a cold sweat and I’m almost too afraid to hope.
Then, I hear it. The one group of words I never expected to hear from anyone in here.
“I’m here to help get you out.”