silliest creature of the night 🦇

Heather was visiting Mary again, and she had agreed to take Jackie along with her. He had already found a metal pin yesterday, hidden under a table. Mackenzie-Clarke said she could pick the lock with it. It was an escape plan. He refused to call it by that name, but it was a cardinal sin either way, something he could never take back. 

He was afraid. Of course. But he could not say anything. Heather was so oblivious. She barely even spoke to him as they left the house. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders, to look into her eyes for the last time, to at least say goodbye. 

He did not. Of course. 

Heather and Mary and the rest were elsewhere. They had left him alone with Carter. But Carter wasn’t taking him to the cellar. Carter passed by its door without pausing and continued down the corridor. 

Jackie slowed down. The pin was still in his pocket—he touched it, confirming its presence, holding it like a lucky rabbit’s foot. 

Carter turned his head towards him. “Need something?”

Jackie shook his head and hurried close behind.

For a while, the only sound was that of heavy, careless footsteps, as well as Jackie’s own pattered stride in his effort to keep up. Carter’s rifle rattled under its strap, still slung over his shoulder. It had been polished clean. The light rolled and curved on its surface as they passed beside a lamp and came to a stop.

Carter began shuffling through a set of keys. Jackie didn’t recognize the room, although they were only a few turns away from the cellar. Carter found the right one and turned the lock. The door opened with a click. From where Jackie stood behind his shoulder, it was difficult to see any details, but he noticed a case of guns open on a table. There were steel-frame shelves, too, holding boxes of what were perhaps more weapons. 

Carter entered the room, and gestured for Jackie to follow. He did. Carter shut the door and began sliding a few boxes off the shelves.

The smell of polish and acrid propellant coloured the room, as well as the lingering bitterness of smoke. It was a small area, made even smaller by the wares and tables and containers surrounding them. Jackie found a place in the corner to stand while Carter worked, beside a cabinet with its top drawers open.

From what he could see, Carter was taking stock and marking numbers down on a sheet. Jackie couldn’t read them clearly. He could barely think straight. There was the smell of lubricant, too, warm like the smell of motor oil, and Jackie was sure that it was the reason his head was spinning. 

A lighter clicked, clicked again, then sparked into flame. Carter walked over as he lit a cigarette. The smoke was curling over itself and filling the room. That bitter taste filled his mouth. Jackie coughed.

Carter exhaled. Silver plumed from his lips, in between his white teeth. “Fuck, you really are tame. Didn’t make a sound.”

He nodded. “Could I—could I ask you something? Sir?”

Carter gestured with the lit end for Jackie to continue.

“Why didn’t you take me to the cellar?”

“Dunno.” He took another drag, exhaled again. Jackie’s eyes were beginning to water. “Mary didn’t want you talking to the blondie downstairs anymore. I didn’t ask why. Unless you know something I don’t?”

“I don’t know anything else, sir.” His careful plans were all falling apart. Perhaps today was the day. He could stop thinking of Bunny, except as a lifeless body that didn’t know any better.

“Yeah, well…” Carter looked towards the table and shrugged. The idea of scrawling down numbers didn’t seem to appeal to him. Then his gaze returned to Jackie. “Miss Rodriguez said you’ll listen to anyone. Is that true?”

Jackie blinked, but only hesitated for a second, then nodded again. 

“Hm.” Carter leaned over him. His hand was propped up against the wall, so Jackie was trapped between Carter’s shoulders and the cabinet. His cigarette was still poised in his hand. The embers glowed red, speckled with black. “You must know a couple tricks. Sit. Stay. Roll over.”

They were face-to-face now. Carter’s smile bared his canines and incisors, a grin like a nervous animal’s. With all these little vices, the cigarettes that seemed to be a habit, it was a miracle that Carter kept those teeth so unnaturally clean. The heat of his breath passed over Jackie’s skin. 

A buzzing sound startled them. Carter’s phone was ringing. Carter stood up straight as he reached into his pocket and picked it up.

Carter’s brows furrowed. “Yes? Oh. Okay, fine.” There was a long pause. “Wait. I said wait, there’s someone here with me. Wait a second.” All of a sudden he was walking out of the room, stopping just out of view of the half-closed door.

Jackie stared at the doorway. He couldn’t guess who the caller had been—it didn’t matter to him, besides. The room was empty now. The case of guns was still there, open on the table. 

He stepped towards it, his eyes darting over its contents. The handgun would work best. Easier to aim. Less heavy. There was a silver tin inside as well, which looked out of place beside all the matte-black metal. He picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. Several rounds fell onto his palm.

Carter’s voice was hissing outside. He couldn’t make out the words. He couldn’t think at all.

He had only ever fired a gun once, and that was many years ago, under someone else’s instruction. Still, he had seen Heather use her pistol enough times that he thought he could do the same. It was an uneasy confidence, but he remembered the process almost exactly. He slid about a dozen rounds into the magazine. He slammed the magazine into the base and pulled the slide back, until all the moving parts ricocheted neatly into place. Metal clicked against metal, a sound that echoed in the small room.

The voice outside trailed off. It fell silent. He turned the safety off. Please work. Please don't let him catch me. Please.

Jackie shoved his full weight against the door. It slammed shut. 

There was banging outside, then the rattle of the doorknob. The door was being forced open, slowly but surely. Jackie let go of it and staggered backwards. He hit a shelf behind him. Boxes rattled above him, and the steel frame shook. His hands slid into place, over the grip, centering the barrel. He aimed it where the light of the corridor outside was splitting wider, and wider, opening like a maw.

Carter staggered forwards, shoving past the shelves. Jackie pulled the trigger.

The sound was loud enough to make him flinch. The force of the bullet shuddered back against his grip. He screwed his eyes shut. Boxes clattered all around them, bursting open, spilling metal and rubber across the floor. He could almost smell the slight heat of the barrel. He could feel the handle’s warmth under his trembling hands.

Jackie exhaled. His ears were ringing. He opened his eyes. That is blood. What had splattered over his clothes, and what now dotted the wall. It was a familiar smell, much more familiar than tobacco and oil. He would recognize that smell anywhere.

The taste of smoke on his tongue had been replaced with salt and iron. His face felt wet. He wiped it with the palm of his hand, and it came away bright red. 

Carter was sprawled halfway against Jackie’s legs, and halfway on the ground. With the shelves and things, it was a narrow fall. Half his head was blasted off. Exposed bone glistened pink-yellow, with the light dancing like crystals on his flayed skin, fat and muscle meshed into the same red mass.

 He stepped away the best he could and dislodged himself from the tangle of Carter’s limbs. The rifle had fallen beside his body. It wasn’t so clean anymore. His white teeth were all stained, too.

He stared at the mess, breathing heavily. The hard part hadn’t even started, and he was already feeling dizzy. But he needed to focus. Focus. This is important. This is crucial. What did Bunny say? Precise. Swift and precise. What now? Bunny. He needed to free Bunny, so they could leave. They would leave, and they would be fine, and they would be safe. I just need to keep my shit together. We’ll be fine.

The idea was already fully formed. He thought he could stomach a few more bullets. A knife was personal, and a blunt object was unnecessarily brutal, but guns were the weapons of war. He would be punished regardless. He couldn’t change his mind now. Better to improve his chances and take a weapon, right? It couldn’t hurt.

He glanced around the rest of the room. The cabinet was still standing. The open drawer was irritating him, the strangely sensible part of him that still cared about things like neatness, so he moved to push it shut—he hesitated. His hand hovered over its contents.

It wasn’t much. A few tins, a couple pens, and a small, silver key. 

It almost glowed when its metal body caught the light. It could have unlocked anything, he told himself. But Jackie had seen it before, hadn’t he? It was familiar, so painfully familiar, the same key that Heather used to unlock the handcuffs. It had to be. He remembered it so clearly that it seemed beyond memory.

He took it from the drawer and closed his fist around it. Before leaving, Jackie picked up the fallen rifle. He shoved some more bullets into his pockets and stepped back into the corridor.

This time, he didn’t bother to move calmly. He tore down the corridor, as quickly as he could without dropping the guns, and rounded into the cellar door. He ran down the stairs. The steepness didn’t help much. He thought he would trip and fall a few times, but he didn’t, and then he reached the cellar door.

He opened it. “Bunny! Bunny, we’re leaving. Now.”

“What?” Bunny didn’t move, except to stare at Jackie. “Now?”

“That’s what I said.” Bunny hadn’t been informed of this plan, but hadn’t she anticipated something like it? Swift and precise, without giving any time to recoil. Something like that. “Here. Take this gun.”

“Wait.” Bunny took the bloody rifle, but it didn’t ease her alarm. “Jackie—I don’t—I’ve never used—”

“You won’t have to use it,” Jackie said as he unlocked the handcuff. “It’s just so you look intimidating. Hurry! Stand up. We don’t have time for this. I’ll explain whatever you want later, just—we need to go.”

She stood up, a little overwhelmed under the weight of the gun.

Jackie gave her one final glance. “Follow me. Quietly.” 

Bunny nodded wide-eyed. 

There were the stairs, and there were the railings, those features of the mansion he’d seen so often. Jackie ran his hand along the wood as they ascended. It was cool to the touch, turning red under his palms. The corridor was uncomfortably quiet. 

And there was the lobby. The light of the chandeliers, glassy and strangely calming. Jackie exhaled. This could work. This would work. Everything would be fine. He needed to relax. He needed to keep his head clear. For his sake, and for Bunny’s.

“Bunny?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you—”

He did not have the chance to finish. That sound again—a single gunshot, temporarily distracting him from the pain. Still, the pain was definitely there, after the heat faded in his chest. He staggered backwards and clutched his—strangely damp—shirt. Distantly, he heard Bunny gasp, a strangled, choked sound, as the smell of burning powder flared in the air. 

He looked up. Mary was standing there, pistol in hand. Her silhouette was blurred, out of focus, jittery. The muzzle was aimed dead-center of his vision.

He forced himself to not look away. He could not lose his grip now. Mary opened her mouth, about to say something. Jackie raised his handgun before Mary could speak and unloaded three more bullets.

Jackie leaned his shoulder against the wall. He didn’t check to see her body. It had been point-blank. Too close to miss.

“Jackie!” Bunny had rushed over and was now clinging onto his sleeves. Her voice cracked, went quiet. “No. No, you can't.”

“Hey—” He swallowed the knot in his throat and tried to push Bunny’s hand away, unsuccessfully. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not—” She blinked. “Jackie…”

There was a bullet in his heart. That was lucky. A bullet in the head might have slowed him down. The thought of being unable to protect Bunny was worse than the thought that he had just been shot. And the thought that he had just killed two people. 

Jackie’s arms were sore from the kickback, so he lowered them. The muzzle of the pistol clacked on the wall behind it. “I killed them.”

“She killed you!” Bunny said. “She—she shot—you’re—”

“Hey. Hey, listen. Look at me.” He placed a hand on Bunny’s shoulder. “Am I dead?”

She shook her head.

“Exactly. I’m fine.”

Footsteps clattered down the lobby, along with the sound of gunfire. Bunny ducked. Bullets tore over their heads. One clipped Jackie’s shoulder, and another pierced straight through his eye. 

Jackie turned around, and fired with his good arm. His first few shots missed and ripped into the wall. Then a bullet smashed into his sternum in retaliation. A perfect bullseye, dead-center. His vision was splitting in half. The sounds around him were becoming hazy.

He exhaled and aimed again. His last shot met flesh. Kate fell to her knees, buckling over her injured leg, then fell like a ragdoll on her side. 

He stepped forwards and shot her in the head. Kate stopped moving.

Heather looked away from Kate’s body and towards Jackie. She kept a safe distance of a few meters, but he almost backed away. 

“Jackie,” Heather said. “Put the gun down.”

He almost did as she asked. Heather was unarmed, though. She had gotten too comfortable here. Slowly, he aimed his gun.

“Don’t.” Her tone was commanding, but she still froze.

Wasn’t that exactly what Jackie had said that day, so long ago now, that day before it stormed? Still, he didn’t move his finger off the trigger, or lower the gun.

“Jackie.” She had not felt the things he had. She was still scared to die. “Don’t shoot.”

“I’ll think about it. Beg.”

She stared blankly.

“Beg for your life,” he said, “like a good girl, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please don’t shoot me.” She complied quickly enough. “Jack, please. Don't do this. Put it down.”

He shifted the gun—just a little, not anywhere near the pressure required to fire a bullet—but she flinched like he had stabbed her. He could make her pay, make her suffer, for everything, for all of it.

“That’s not begging,” Jackie said softly.

“Please. Please don’t kill me. I can't—please, I can't—”

“Sit down.”

“What?”

He gestured towards the floor with the gun. “Sit.”

She hesitated, but she got down regardless, kneeling on the glossy floor.

“Put your hands in front of you. Don’t move.”

She placed her hands in her lap. Her gaze no longer met his. She didn’t know shame like he did. It still scared her.

“Bunny.” He didn’t turn around, or lower his gun yet. “Try to start the car. The butler has the keys, I think, if you can find him. I’ll meet you outside.”

Bunny set off towards the rest of the house, quickly. Her movements were loud in the pure, uninterrupted silence. 

Heather blinked hard, wiping her eyes with her knuckles. Her shoulders had slumped.

“They’re dead, Heather. It’s over.”

She said nothing, out of spite or grief, or an all-consuming terror that stifled her voice.

He knelt down to look at her. He took her face in his grasp and forced her to meet his gaze.

“Do you feel sorry now?” he asked. “Do you feel regret?”

Her eyes met his, flitting like they were searching for something in his stare, gleaming in the artificial light. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I want to.” He grazed the gun’s heated muzzle over her lips, just to feel her recoil under the metal. “What do you think it feels like? Did you ever wonder?”

She winced. He lifted the gun so she could speak. She said nothing, even then. 

“No. Death is too good for you.” He let the gun lower to her chest, pressed it there, above her beating heart. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand why. You didn’t have to do any of it. You could have shot yourself, if you were so unhappy. Isn’t there some small part of you that wants to die? There’s nothing left for us in this world. You’ll have to go on the run, if I let you live. You can't come back after this. I could kill you now, if you asked me to.”

He wanted an answer or an argument, but she didn’t even respond to that. The horror of it had already overcome her. And the guilt of it, he hoped. He wanted another apology, at the very least. He could make her apologize. But that would not accomplish anything. How many lies had he fed her under the pressure of a threat? Those words were not real. Any regret she could spit out would not be genuine, and it would not make him feel any better.

“I guess it’s too late now.” The novelty of his revenge was wearing off. He just wanted to go home, and the silence was getting on his nerves. He shifted his grip on the gun again. “I don’t know. There wasn’t a reason, probably. Was there?”

She shook her head. Her hair blacked out most of her expression, hanging over her eyes and cheeks, strands fraying like old thread, a few slicked with tears on her skin.

“I still love you,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice trembled, but she spoke sharply. “You killed them.”

“That means we’re even now.” He stood. “Get up.”

She stood as well. Red and blue lights were flashing from a window behind them, shining on the wall. He could hear the wails of police sirens. Someone must have called them, perhaps the butler. He did not feel as relieved as he should have. 

Jackie was exhausted and lightheaded. He couldn’t see from his injured eye. The wound was still leaking down his face. Heather was much more composed, in comparison. It seemed as if she wanted to speak, but that moment of tension passed. Her gaze shifted away from him.

They didn’t have much time. He couldn’t know someone the way he knew her, never again, not like this. He wished that they could know each other once more, as better people, in a better place, without the silver threads that tied them to one another. Without the webs of silk clotting in their memory. Maybe in another life.

“I don’t care if you need to leave this city or the country,” he said. “I don’t care what you need to do. I never want to see you again. I’ll end your sorry life if I have to. Is that clear?”

“I understand," she said.

He lowered the gun. They stood motionless, as the lights continued to flash across her face. 

"Just go." He spoke to break the silence. "I won't tell them where you went. I won't look for you. There's nothing else left to say. You can leave. What are you waiting for? Leave."

Heather was startled by that outburst. It was enough to sever her reluctance. She didn’t wait any longer, not even to glance back at him. She was gone so quickly, through the corridor, unrecognizable in the darkness. There was only a second’s grace, and then he couldn’t see her anymore. He would never see her face again, what she looked like, the pitch of her voice, her eyes. Life would go on, forever.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl @lthrboy @whumpy-wyrms @yassifiedinformation @creppersfunpalooza

@vidawhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @inkwell-and-dagger @neverthelass @whump-since-2010

@vampiresprite @davey-the-disturbed

As always, thank you for reading. These past two years have been absolutely amazing ❤️ I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all the people who have been with me during that time, whether it was since the first chapter or the last couple of weeks. I've met so many people since joining the community and I couldn't have done any of this without that support. Whenever I lost my passion, seeing the comments or asks or fan art or likes as people binged my series would remind me why I loved making this series so much. And, if you're reading this at a different time, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to you too, for reading my writing all the way through. I hope you enjoyed the ending as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Jackie was in the backseat. He didn’t bother putting the seatbelt on. He restrained himself from banging his head against the windows, at the very least. Peter didn’t seem to mind either way.

The butler cleared his throat. His voice was a proper baritone rumble—and his words were eloquent, too, well-articulated. “We’ve arrived. I was told to follow you to the door.”

Jackie pretended not to hear. He had briefly considered asking Peter for help, but that was probably a bad idea. The truth was that Jackie was running out of ideas. He couldn’t even leave the house without permission, and Bunny was still stuck in a cellar. 

Peter left the car and reappeared, a few moments later, outside the backseat door. He held it open for Jackie to step outside.

“Fine.” Jackie stood and stepped, a little ungracefully, out of the car. “Let’s go.”

“Yes. We should hurry.” Peter turned away and started up the cobblestone path. 

Coward. Can’t even look me in the eye. Jackie considered making a run for it, but the gate was already locked, and Bunny was still inside. He walked forward. He was one bad thing away from putting that butler’s head in a paper shredder—but he forced himself to calm down and walk forward, one step at a time. 

He came closer to the front entrance and saw the fountain again. It seemed distasteful in the broad daylight. He hated the carved siren, the mundane banality of it, how ugly that wounded expression seemed… He hated that mansion, not a home but a tactless display of wealth and power, disembowelled of all its grace. The sight didn’t ease his anger.

Mary opened the door. Her dress was a plain faded-pink, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. Her hair hadn’t been combed. Strands of it trailed on her cheeks like thistles. “Hello, you two. Good, you’re on time.” 

“Evening, Mrs. Callaghan.” The butler dipped his head respectfully. “How are you?”

“Busy,” she said. “A new client showed up this morning. And I haven’t gotten anything out of that investigator yet. It’s a whole mess. But enough about that.” She gestured dismissively. “Come in. Oh, and close the door behind you.” 

They entered the lobby. Peter discreetly side-stepped around them both and hurried towards the hallway, which Mary didn’t pay any attention to. Her eyes were on Jackie.

Jackie didn’t say hello. He wouldn’t debase himself like that.

“Don’t be so morose, Rockwell.” Mary nudged his shoulder forward. “Walk with me. We haven’t had the chance to really speak yet, have we? We’re both busy people.”

He walked forward, by Mary’s side, although it was a distinctly uncomfortable position. He knew what she had done to Angie, however sweet she wanted to seem to him. Still, it couldn’t be any worse than what he had already gone through, he told himself. Mary didn't know about his immortality. Compared to Heather, compared to that collar, it couldn't possibly be worse.

“How long can you hold your breath?” she asked him.

“What?” He wasn’t really paying attention to her. At first, he had been disoriented, but now he recognized the path they were taking. He had been in this hall before. This door led to the cellar.

“Trust me,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I’m good at what I do. You’ll be just fine.”

He stood paralyzed as she pushed the door open. 

Before he could take more than a step backwards, Mary came up behind him, blocking off his exit. “Easy. You’re a skittish one, aren’t you?”

Then, she stepped forwards, with her hands on his shoulders guiding him closer to the cellar door. Her shadow passed over him, spilling across the wall. 

He waited for as long as he could. Then, reluctantly, he turned around and descended down the first step.

“There you go.” Mary followed close behind. The door shut behind them. 

This part of the mansion was quickly becoming a familiar sight. He realized, with a twinge of surprise, that the smell didn’t bother him anymore. He associated it with seeing Bunny, and he probably always would—that scent of stagnant, rotting wood and mold. It was almost pleasant. Which was a ridiculous thing to think, but he couldn’t help it.

They came to the end of the stairwell and then eventually into the room where he had last seen Bunny. And Bunny was still there, sure enough; she rose to her feet as they entered. She had gained a few more cuts along her legs and arms, and she leaned slightly towards one side, taking the weight off her injuries. In the middle of the room was a small bucket of water.

Without warning, Mary took a fistful of Jackie’s hair and twisted his head back. 

“Good morning, detective,” Mary said. “You’re awake already.”

Bunny said nothing. 

Jackie realized what was happening and remained quiet. His gaze moved between Bunny and Mary, at the edge of his vision. At least this wasn’t really about him. If he was to be a pawn, at least he wasn’t in Mary’s spotlight. And he could make this go easier for Bunny by keeping calm.

Unfortunately, Bunny was past being calm. Tough. She stared only at Jackie, those seaglass eyes now cutting into him. “Leave him alone. He’s innocent.”

“Is he?” Mary cheerfully replied. “Well, you two are close. Friends, maybe.” She yanked Jackie’s head to the side, for effect. His scalp hurt now, but he was still composed. “Poor Rockwell, huh? Look at that sweet, trusting face. Such an innocent little lamb. If you cooperate, he doesn’t have to come to any harm.”

Was she threatening to kill him? Jackie’s expression wavered—he had to tamp down a smile before either of them noticed. But the threat had worked on Bunny. She was horrified. Poor Bunny, Jackie thought. I wish I could tell her. But knowing that would just make Bunny reckless, and she wasn't as bulletproof as he was.  Jackie tried his best to look sweet and naive. He silently willed Bunny to accept Mary’s terms, whatever those were, to just give up. 

“Tell me who you’re working with,” Mary said.

“I’m not working with anyone.” But Bunny’s face was too pale, and her eyes were still on Jackie.

Jackie was pulled forwards. Mary forced him onto his knees, her hand still holding on to his hair, and another securing his shoulder in place. He stared at the tub of water in front of him. It was just a plastic bucket, heavy and stable but still plain. It was full to the brim with clear water. He saw his own reflection in it, moving gently, warped by a slight splash as he placed a hand on its steady plastic rim. 

“Last chance,” Mary said.

Bunny did not take advantage of it. Jackie couldn’t help but feel disappointed—but he wasn’t hopeful, either way. Bunny would talk. She would sing like a bird.

Mary brought out some zipties and began securing them around Jackie’s wrists. But his hands were still in front of him, and they were flimsy, easy to break, so he gave it little thought. “Come on. Isn’t this worth ratting for? Not even to save your friend? Your darling Jackie? That’s cruel.”

“I’ll say it again,” Bunny continued flatly. “I’m not working with anyone. This is honestly childish. I don’t think you’re capable of it, either way. I won’t—”

Jackie didn’t hear that last bit. Mary pushed his head down abruptly, shoved it into the water. He broke the surface like he was breaking through solid ice—cold, unbelievably cold, sharp as shattered ceramic, freezing the reflex to pull away—but as his lungs burned, and he made an effort to move upwards, he found that he could not. Mary held him under. Air bubbled from his throat. Water rushed into him, filling his chest and dragging him below, weighing him down, his vision churning with bright flashes of pain. He knew he was drowning.

Just as sharply and without warning, he was pulled back up. There was a snap, a ringing in his ears. He gasped and spluttered. Water ran from his mouth. He hacked uncontrollably. The zipties were not as flimsy as he assumed. He twisted against Mary’s grip but could barely do anything except continue coughing up his lungs. The room spun, and before it came to a halt, he was pushed back under.

It hurt, it tore his insides deeper than any blade. The force of the water and urge to breathe in was immediate, serrated as it sank into him, impossibly heavy. He could not suffocate, and he would not suffocate, but he could not think of anything above the need to survive, the need to breathe, piercing his chest. He thrashed blindly against it. 

This time, when he was allowed to surface, he gasped for air before anything else. He felt hot and cold all over. White patches faded away from his vision, clearing up, but he did not look at Bunny, didn’t even think to.

In any case, he could tell that Bunny’s confidence had faltered. Her voice was shaky. “Don’t—” 

“I won’t if you give me what I want.” Vaguely, he heard Mary speak, but Jackie did not care about this conversation anymore, and he made no effort to listen. “It can’t be worth watching someone die. Drowning really is a sad way to go. I know you’re lying, Mackenzie. Just make it easier on yourself. You’re going to lose either way.”

Yes, Jackie thought, this was a pretty lose-lose situation. He rested his head against the plastic and tried to slow his breathing down, to no avail. 

“I—I won’t—” Bunny hesitated for a moment too long.

Jackie was pushed under again. It lasted much longer, this time, and he was too exhausted to prepare for it, or hold his breath. He was swallowing too much water. It was making him lightheaded. Nausea was coming over him in crashing, shuddering waves, buzzing underneath his skin, in his guts.

The world tilted again and he was pulled up. The feeling of air in his lungs was starting to hurt just as much as the water. He would rather just keep drowning, in all honesty. The sensation of being on a particularly unpleasant ferris wheel was not wearing well on him.

“He’s not struggling anymore,” Mary said to Bunny. “I can’t help him if he goes unconscious. You know that, right?”

“I’ll talk,” Bunny said abruptly. “I’ll tell you. Just—let go of him.”

“I’ll need a few names, first.”

“I spoke to Stevens. And—and Thompson. They didn’t approve of my coming here, but they were aware of Heffner. Please. I did what you asked. I’ll tell you whatever you want, just…”

“Of course.” She let go of Jackie.

He collapsed and crashed into the side of the tub. He lay there, his shoulder leaning on the plastic and his head on the rim, still coughing, glaring at Bunny from the corner of his eye. He didn’t care if this wasn’t Bunny’s fault, he was ready to crack someone’s head open right there and then. The pain was all over his body, and it wasn’t helping things. He could hardly see straight. He couldn’t even speak. He felt it still bright and flashing, hissing and spitting inside him, coming apart like burning flesh, bitter and overwhelming and wild, caustic and raw.

“I don't know a Thompson,” Mary said. “Stevens, you said? Not Richard Stevens, surely? I thought he knew better than that.”

“No. Someone else. They’re not local police. They—they’re somewhere higher up, I’m not sure exactly where. That’s all I know.”

“And the money? Do they know where it’s from?”

Bunny shook her head.

“Well. In that case…” She walked away. Her footsteps landed dull on the damp wooden floorboards. “Sorry I can’t stay for longer. Peter should be upstairs somewhere—he’ll be back soon. Sit tight.”

The door slammed shut. It shook the tub, disturbing his reflection and spilling water over the side. 

He didn’t move for a while. Drowning was loud; churning water and the failing panic of a sluggish heartbeat, the intensity of sound that naturally comes with unbearable pain. This tranquility was nice. Breathing was still a little hard, but he was sure that would go away soon.

“I’m sorry,” Bunny said. 

“I don’t care,” Jackie said. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. You already gave her what she wanted. It doesn’t make a difference if you’re fucking sorry or not.”

“I just made up some names. She won’t find anything.”

“You couldn’t have just made up some names any sooner?”

Bunny didn’t snap back at him; she sank down the wall and sat in the corner and stayed silent, looking anywhere but at Jackie. Her voice had been shaky and unusually quiet, barely self-contained. 

That was a mean thing for Jackie to say. They were both in a bad situation. Bunny wasn’t in the best state of mind, either. It was worse to have people counting on you.

He stood up. He was in a steadier position now, so when he raised his wrists and brought them down, the zipties snapped in half like twigs. Then he kicked the tub of water over.

It banged on the floor and spilled its insides on the wood. The water splashed onto her face. Bunny flinched. She stayed tense as the tub stopped rocking and settled into place. 

It wasn’t nice, what Jackie was doing, acting out these savage impulses whenever the desire struck him. He didn’t mean to scare Bunny like that, but he wasn’t sure how to apologize. When was the last time he had slighted anyone like Mackenzie-Clarke, so sophisticated and tough, so hard to hurt—perhaps his sisters? But childhood was so far away; he didn’t remember how he had been forgiven. It was easy to apologize to Heather. He just begged and rolled over and suffered through whatever she fancied until she forgot about it, or some bigger issue came up. Bunny was a lot more well-adjusted, however, so she probably had higher standards. 

Besides, Jackie still had a bit of a headache, and that made it hard to think. He didn’t want to stay here aimlessly anymore. Unfortunately, when he tried the door, it was locked. He rattled it a few times, then gave up and stood against the wall. 

Peter the butler was nowhere to be seen. He felt sort of out-of-place now, standing around and waiting for someone to give him an order or herd him into another room. He couldn’t stand Bunny’s presence. He couldn’t stand a silence like this. He needed to say something.

There was only one topic that ever made Bunny happy. “I thought I saw a few pins under a table yesterday. You said you could pick the lock, right?”

“Yeah.” Bunny kept avoiding his gaze. “Listen, Jackie. I don’t want you to waste your time. Even if I have to die, you don’t. You could still get out of here. You could tell everyone what happened.”

“You’re not going to die,” Jackie said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s not my point. You could put an end to this. With or without me. You shouldn’t wait for something that will never happen. You shouldn’t have to stay in a place like—like this. You deserve to be safe. Laura’s family deserves to know what happened to her. Our families deserve to know.”

“How would I even do that? What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to move on. Escape. You can’t hesitate anymore. It needs to be precise.”

A clean cut was crucial. Swift and precise. That was important. But there wasn’t any point if the detective couldn’t come with him. The world outside would be just as cold and lonely as before. Jackie didn’t have any real stake in these politics. He didn’t have a family to worry about. He didn’t care about the miserable state of this city. He didn’t care about Angie or Matthew or any of those faceless names. He cared about Bunny.

It was true that they didn’t have much longer. He needed to act soon. Living with this anticipation was worse than anything. Better to get it over with. Even if they got caught, and Bunny died regardless, Jackie would finally be free of this debt he owed. He wouldn’t have to care after that. It wouldn’t matter anymore. 

The thought was heavy, nevertheless, settling like silt in his guts. It was a difficult thing, betrayal. It was unfortunate. But it was for Bunny’s sake. Heather had already made her choice.

It would be a fitting end, at least. There was a certain closure in loss.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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He was so tightly wound that sleep seemed a distant dream and, if he did somehow manage to close his eyes, he would be startled awake by the slightest sound. Often, he found himself dwelling over the way his sister had died, the abrupt moment she had been snuffed out of this world, the lack of fear in her mangled face, the permanent silence that came over her. He wanted nothing more than to forget about Bunny, but his thoughts came back to that cellar like water spiraling in an eddy, thoughts of blood seeping into wood. 

Bunny didn’t deserve to die there. She was more selfless and honest than all of them combined. Jackie didn’t want to live with that knowledge, that he could do something to save her if only he was less of a coward. Perhaps that was for the better. Perhaps it was a good thing. Without the heat of a risk, Jackie wouldn’t have been able to keep going. There was no reason to, otherwise. If Bunny’s life didn’t matter, if nothing mattered, then why did he get out of bed? Why did he bother waking up at all? If he could help someone else, he thought he could live with himself. Even if he never got out. Even if Heather never changed.

That was all the justification he needed. It was not a question of if or should, but how. And… Jackie did not know how. But he would figure something out, sooner or later. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The next time Mary invited Heather over, he was given permission to see Bunny. He stood there in the cellar again, wincing at the smell of the cellar but trying not to show it. 

The detective was still alive, albeit less untouched than the last time Jackie saw her. The bruise on her wrist had started to fade, but there were patches of burned skin along her face and arms, and she also sported an obvious black eye.

It was an obtrusive shade of muddy purple, with shades of gray and green woven in, swollen around the right eye and nearly forcing it shut. She seemed to be doing okay, otherwise. She wasn’t dead. The bar was low.

Jackie leaned against the wall beside her. “You don’t look too gorgeous, Cottontail.”

“Nice to see you too, Jackie. Did Rodriguez tell you anything about the key?”

“No. She said the cuffs were hers, but that’s it. And I haven’t found the key yet. It might not even be in our house.”

“Our?” Bunny echoed.

“I mean—her house. You know what I mean. I just—anyway, you must have other ideas. In case we don’t find that key. You must have a backup plan. Right?”

“I could pick the lock. Though I’d need a hair pin for that. Those small metal ones.”

“Do you have a plan that doesn’t require me to find something for you?” 

“If you’d prefer. It’s a last resort, but even then.” She cleared his throat. “I’d been speaking with some officials while I was conducting the investigation. Individuals from the CIA. I’m sure they’ve noticed I’m missing by now. They might have already started the search. Chances are they’ll find us sooner or later.”

Jackie waited.

“That’s it.”

Jackie didn’t say anything.

“What?”

“You are the worst private investigator I’ve ever met.” Jackie turned away, towards the cellar door. “Oh my God. You’re never going to escape. I give up. It's no wonder you got caught.”

“Suit yourself,” she said. “You don’t need to be involved in this. Go back to your master like the good lap-dog you are. I’ll escape without you.”

“Hey, that’s low, even for you.” He faced Bunny again, with as much venom in his voice as he could manage. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty. I’m helping you whether you like it or not.”

“I’m so grateful. How will I ever repay you?” 

“It’s okay,” Jackie said calmly. “It was your dumb plan anyway. If you wanted to leave so badly, you should have come up with a better one.”

“I didn’t—” Bunny leveled her voice. “I thought it was worth a try. We might still find that key. Don’t give up so soon.”

“You should have asked me to find a screwdriver.”

“Right, that’s definitely easier.”

“It’s still a better idea than yours,” Jackie shot back. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We can’t do anything until we open those handcuffs.”

They both glanced at the metal cuffs, which seemed to shine even in the cellar’s dull light.

Bunny was silent for a few moments, with that distant and calculating look on her face again. “You still don’t know where the key is.”

Jackie nodded.

“Well…” She took a deep breath. “It won’t be pretty, but we could always cut my hand off.”

“No, the blood loss will probably kill you.” And the thought of such a weeping, open wound was disheartening at best. “Besides, we don’t have any knives.”

“We could dislocate my wrist.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He tried to find a reason and found he could not. It was a bad idea. It just was. He knew it instinctively, without the need for petty reason. 

“Well, you’ve been captive for a year, haven’t you?” Bunny asked. “Have you come up with anything? You must know the way these places operate.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jackie said. “These places don’t operate. It’s not as simple as you apparently seem to believe. It’s not that easy. It’s not something you can fucking predict. I’d like to see you try and come up with anything when you’re being—”

“I understand,” Bunny interrupted. “I get it—it’s hard enough to keep your head above the water. I’m sorry for saying that.”

With his speech cut short, he fell silent, though he still looked at her with displeasure.

“We should quit arguing about this.” And with those words, all the prior tension was gone from Bunny’s voice. “I’ve been less patient than I should be. I really am sorry. We'll never get out if we're always snapping at each other. So, from now on, let's not fight. We can find another way if we give it some time.”

“Fine." He glanced towards the cellar door, but no one had come to open it yet. They had some time before he had to go. "What else do you want to talk about, then?”

“Right, that reminds me. I wanted to ask you about Rodriguez.”

He huffed. “What about her?”

“What’s her motive? I can’t understand what she wants. Heffner’s easy enough—she wants to avoid prison. And Callaghan finds this all fun, as far as I’ve seen. But Rodriguez… I don’t understand why she’s involved.”

Jackie shrugged. 

“No, really. What’s your relationship with her? I don’t get it. Apparently you’re her captive, but she lets you visit me whenever you want, and you’re not handcuffed to anything. And then there's the injection she gave me. I‘m starting to think it did nothing at all. She seemed disappointed about it, too…”

“It’s her work. Her research.”

“What is she researching, though?”

“It’s…” He couldn’t think of an answer.

“And are you her prisoner?”

“Yes. More or less. It’s complicated.” Jackie searched for something appropriate to say. Anything he could say wouldn’t help his point, though. “I’ll tell you eventually. When we get out of this place. I’ll explain everything.”

Although curiosity was still bright and restless in Bunny's eyes, she didn’t push it. “That’s fine. I can wait.”

That day seemed far enough away. Maybe their escape would never come. If Bunny died, he thought dryly, then the issue would resolve itself. And if they ever got out of this charnel house, like the detective seemed to believe they would, Jackie would surely be ready to answer her then.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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When Heather finally came downstairs, startling him thoroughly, she just sat down on the sofa across from him and sighed. 

Jackie swallowed. Bunny seemed to have it all figured out. Bunny, who didn’t seem to realize the gravity of this task, who didn’t quite understand the things Jackie was allowed and not allowed to do. It was easier to believe such fantasies when the detective was right in front of him, precious and tangible, pure with hope. Back in the cellar, he didn’t have the heart to break the detective’s dream, but it was just that. A sweet dream that Jackie couldn’t possibly carry out.

Heather leaned her head against her hand and her elbow up on the sofa. Under heavy-lidded eyes, she glanced at him. “Did you enjoy the party?” 

He nodded.

“Don’t lie so much. You’re not that good at it anymore.”

“Okay, fine, I hated it.”

“I see.” It had been three or four days since that dinner. The dates often blurred together in his mind, but he made an effort to remember now, over Heather’s voice. “I expected as much. What did you think of Carter?”

“I thought Carter was annoying. All your friends are. He probably only cares about his guns. And he’s got an annoying laugh.”

“Ugh, Carter…” She closed her eyes for a long moment, in a coy gesture of exhaustion. “He is kind of irritating, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“Mary is happy that we're getting along, at least.” She opened her eyes to look at him again. “You’re up early. And you’re not hiding from me. Is there something you want?”

“I—I mean…”

“I’m giving you permission. Go ahead and ask.”

He knew what he wanted. It was crystalline in his heart. Still, the right words wouldn’t come out. “Did… did Mary… did you see anything in the cellar?”

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “I met someone. A prisoner, or something. I didn’t ask that many questions.”

“You mean Mackenzie-Clarke?”

He furrowed his brows. “You know Bunny?”

“I’ve met her, yes. And she’s the reason Mary borrowed my handcuffs. Her real name isn’t Bunny, though, is it?”

“I think it’s just a nickname. To keep her identity a secret, I guess.” 

“Exactly, that's what I was thinking. That’s usually the case with detectives. I’m certain she’s not a professional, though. Not in this sort of business. I could tell she was in over her head.”

He nodded and said nothing else. All this pleasant conversation was going nowhere. Bunny, when they first met, had laid it out clearly for Jackie. Apparently, Carter had mentioned off-hand that the key to the cuffs was in a drawer somewhere. Jackie was supposed to convince Heather to divulge information about its location, and if that failed, he was meant to hunt through every drawer on God’s green earth until he found it. That was all that was necessary on Jackie’s end. The detective would figure the rest out. 

It wouldn’t work, obviously. Heather would know. She would see right through Jackie. She would recognize the look on his face. Jackie just couldn’t do it. The idea was all right in theory, but he knew better. He had learned his lesson. He knew what he felt in the basement, alone, or with her hands sliding up in between his lungs. He knew that feeling. It was pain, like a film of oil coating his heart. 

He already knew what he needed to know. He knew that disgust he felt, he could name it, or he could put his hand over his chest where he felt it burn. Mackenzie’s words were just fantasy, the kind of dream that Jackie repeated under his breath over and over. None of those tender wishes actually mattered.

The dawn light was tearing, gradually, through the slats of the blinds. Heather was staring at him with curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you think I could see her again?” He had promised Bunny something. Maybe not escape, but the comfort that Jackie had at least tried. It would be cruel to betray her without ever telling her why. “I want to talk to her before she dies.”

“She’s going to die soon.”

Heather had said it without any emotion. He could not decipher any deeper meaning from her tone, and in the end it was not a real answer to his question.

“It’s fine if I can’t.” He had tried. It wasn’t his fault that Bunny decided to get her hands dirty with the investigation. “I’m not… I’m not trying to… either way, I’d do what you wanted.”

“I never said you can’t," Heather replied. "I don’t care. Mary will probably invite me over again, whether I want it or not.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I might try the test again, too. It’s my only option, at this point. Maybe the blood wasn’t fresh enough. I don’t know. I might as well.” 

Jackie didn’t understand what that meant, but Heather wasn’t actually talking to him. She got up and walked away. After a moment, she was gone.

He was breathing heavily for no apparent reason. It was just another useless biological response, and he had learned to ignore that ache at this point.

Bunny is going to die, Jackie thought. It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to work.

Jackie exhaled, feeling the resistance of his heartbeat. Bunny would be happy to see him. He wouldn’t say any of this out loud—he would go along with whatever fantasy the detective liked. It would be nice to talk again.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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Heather was carrying a bag with both hands. Glassware was both heavy and delicate. She set it down for a moment and unfolded the coat she was carrying. As she spoke, she pulled the sleeves over her shoulders. “Are you sure the blood is positive? Beyond doubt?”

She scoffed. “You scientists. Why are you wearing your lab coat today?”

“I want to avoid contamination. And keep my clothes clean.”

“Well, I certainly don’t mind, in any case." Mary leaned in and placed a hand on the lapel of Heather's coat. "I always love to see a woman in uniform.”

“Then it’s the right—”

“It’s the right type, honestly, do you think I check these things with my eyes closed?”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“You’re so sweet.” She glanced at the stairs. “Should I come down there with you?”

Heather looked back at Mary. “Do you think it would be a good idea? Is she…?”

“Dangerous? Bunny? God, no. She’s quiet for the most part.” Mary gave her a pat on the back. “You’ll be fine. Go right on ahead. Meet me upstairs when you're done.”

It was clear that Mary wanted her to hurry, for whatever reason. After a second, faced with Mary’s expectant silence, Heather descended the stairs.

The dim lights were just barely enough to see by. Heather hadn’t been down here before. The passage was narrower than she had assumed. It was less beloved than the other parts of the house, evidently. The smell of rotting wood hit her before she even reached the cellar.

She rattled the cellar door until it opened. There wasn’t a lot inside. There were a couple of deep freezers. Opposite them was a metal table, which was thankfully a little cleaner than everything else. Heather set the bag down on its surface where it settled with a thump. Her new test subject was asleep in the corner of the room.

Heather came closer to survey the damage. There were several burns across her skin. Her wrist in the handcuff was ringed with bruises. But she was alive, yes, and breathing all the same. For Heather’s work to have any chance of continuing, she needed a mortal like Mackenzie-Clarke. A new vessel. A suitable body—a living one, too, a human one, and not a mouse or a rat. The animals she used didn’t take the injections well. Heather would have tested it on herself just as quickly, but Jackie’s blood would clot with her own. It was lucky that she met Mary when she did, and along with her, the unfortunate detective.

Even Heather’s arrival didn’t wake her up. She was practically unconscious. Heather put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Wh—” Her eyes snapped open. “What—what do you—”

Heather knelt beside her. “Mackenzie-Clarke? Is that right?”

She blinked and scrambled up the wall, her back to the corner, not yet able to stand up and shake off the weight of sleep. 

“I need you to answer a few questions,” Heather said. “First—”

“Y—you’re Heather—Heather Rodriguez,” she stammered.

Heather stopped for a moment. “You know my name.”

“I… somebody told me.” She exhaled. She put her hand against his chest, briefly, as if checking that her pulse was still beating there. “I was… I remember you.”

“No, you don’t. We’ve never met.”

“No, we haven’t.” She shook her head. Her hair was matted badly. It curtained over her eyes. “I just mean that I—I’ve heard your name before. Heffner’s wife—I asked her about Laura—or, Angie, whatever you call her—she said—a—and Rockwell…” But she seemed to run out of steam at last. She fell silent, just trying to catch her breath.

Heather waited for her to continue. It was apparent after a few seconds that she wasn’t going to.

“Well,” Heather said. “Small world, I suppose.” She had to admit that the detective wasn’t handling captivity very well. She just hoped that it wouldn’t interfere with her results. “That must have been a while ago. Your memory is sharp.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Remember one more thing for me, then. What did Mary do to you?”

There wasn’t a response, just a weak attempt at a glare, and then the detective looked away.

“Right, in that case...” Heather stood up and surveyed the room. Mary said it was somewhere over—there. Heather stepped over a stray power drill and picked the cattle prod up from the floor. The moment she turned it on, sparks of electricity came to life between the two prongs.

Her breath hitched. “I—I’ll talk. Don’t use that.”

“I might not,” Heather mused. “Considering the burns, this doesn’t seem like an effective solution. I’m sure it would send you into cardiac arrest eventually. Now, the drill, there’s blood on that one. Did Mary ever—”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me for.” She managed to meet Heather's gaze, eyes narrowed. “Mary’s done a lot of things.”

“I mean, if I have to be specific, did she give you any medication? Anything like that?” Anything that affected the blood, anything that might prematurely kill the organism.

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“How good is your immunity? Have you ever gotten sick before?”

“Yes, I… I have. I’m not sick right now.”

Then she really was mortal. Either way, someone who carried the organism wouldn’t be in such a rough shape.

“Good enough. I trust your recollection.” Heather turned off the electricity and put the prod down. She didn’t want to put any more strain on the detective’s heart. If her only chance at testing this ended up dying, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. “Take a deep breath. This won’t hurt.”

After she opened the book bag and pulled on her gloves, she filled the injection with the vial of Jackie’s blood. When Heather approached the detective again, Mackenzie-Clarke didn’t move, except for the slightest wince as the needle punctured her skin. 

Heather stood up and dropped the dirty needle into a separate bag. “That’s it. I’ll see you tomorrow. It should work by then.”

“What is it?” Her voice was low, scraping in her throat. 

“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t kill you.” Heather slipped the book bag over her shoulder and turned towards the door. “If it works, it should have the opposite effect. We’ll see.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The experiment was another failure, however. Heather drew a vial of her blood the next day, but the organism hadn’t acclimated to her body. Even before Heather took it home to examine, she could tell. The detective's skin was still mottled with injuries. Heather was starting to think that it wasn't just the right blood that kept the colony alive. Professor Callaghan had been the most successful subject, managing to move in short spasms after rigor mortis, but even his body couldn’t sustain itself for long. There was some other factor she still hadn’t determined. 

Besides, if Mary kept treating her captive that way, Mackenzie-Clarke would be dead within the week. Heather didn’t have any interest in continuing this series of tests. It was out of her hands. The only recourse was to find a different mortal. The detective would be much less useful as a corpse, after all. All that work would go to waste.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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He nodded.

“I'm sure you'll manage." Her gaze returned to the front. She twisted the keys out from the ignition. "If you get lost, ask for help. If you get scared, pretend you're not. Don't cry..." She paused. "Actually, just don't cry in front of me. Don't die. That isn't acceptable, either."

“You didn’t tell them about the immortality.”

“Of course not. Nobody would believe that.”

Mary’s house was big, to put it mildly. Bushes of pink and white and yellow flowers lined the cobblestone walkways, curving around a sculpted fountain, which spewed out thin arcs of water into a wide cobblestone base. 

All this scenery was viewed through a large gate, made up of black metal curls and engraved leaves, and narrow but tall bars in between. The property was fairly secluded as well, covered on all sides by a patch of pine trees, a forest even thicker than the woods on Heather’s property.

The view was beautiful, and it was getting better by the second. A pair of white peafowl came strutting down the manicured lawn. This is just ridiculous, he thought. There was a peacock with an impressive king’s-coat of a tail, trailing behind its reedy legs, and a less impressive peahen following close beside. He wondered who fed them. Or had time to tend the garden, for that matter.

A stately middle-aged man, wearing a formal suit, opened the gates. That answered Jackie’s question. The man could only be a servant. A housekeeper or the like. 

Heather was already out of the car. Though Jackie was dreading this, he still followed her. It was evening already. The smell of roses and motor oil was making his stomach churn. He was not wearing the shock collar, thank God, but he didn’t want to see Mary again regardless. 

What he wanted was irrelevant, however. Heather had already started up the pathway with her hand around his wrist. He followed. At least I’m outside. He could run. Past the bushes and the picket fence. Hilarious. I’m sure Heather won’t mind at all. And when Heather didn’t mind something, she locked him in a dark room for three months. There was nowhere to run to, besides, unless he wanted to starve to death in the forest. But there was the door, and they were already up the steps, and Heather had already rung the doorbell. 

Even before the sound could fade away, the door swung open. There stood Mary Callaghan, her face bright and rosy in a full face of makeup, her eyes sparkling. Heather’s previous expression of mild irritation switched in an instant, to mirror hers.

Mary tucked a strand of hair away, cleared her throat, and clasped her hands together. “Heather!”

“Mary.”

“You’re here!”

Heather seemed to falter now that they were finally here, on the verge of falling into uncomfortable silence—but she managed to push Jackie forward. “Say hello, Jackie.”

“Hello, Mrs. Callaghan.”

Mary barely glanced at him. Her attention was fixated all on Heather, hook-line-sinker. “His suit is so cute—did you buy that?”

Heather nodded.

“I have to show Carter—Carter’s here, did you know? And my wife. Katie!” Mary turned around to call her wife’s name. “Kate! Heather’s here! Do come inside. The weather’s awful out there. You can give Peter the butler your things. He’ll take care of it.”

So that was the butler. Peter the butler. Mary disappeared around a corner, and Heather stepped forward, but Jackie lingered behind.

He was studying the fountain. It was some sort of siren. Like a deer in the headlights, her marble surface was lit up by the manor’s bright glare. Water spurted from her eyes, from the arrow wounds in her neck and chest and her spiralled fishtail, from the stigmata marks carved into her palms. Her stone muscles twisted in agony. It was unlike any fountain he’d seen before, certainly, but it still held a degree of serenity. The sound of falling water was gentle under the harsh cicada songs. He could listen to that sound all day.

It was interesting, but he didn’t have time to admire the architecture. Before Heather said anything, he hurried forward. 

Inside, the mansion was even worse. It was absolutely gorgeous. The ceiling was way too high. And there were way too many chandeliers, three whole chandeliers in a row, and that was just the lobby. Two staircases curved up around the main hallway, the beginning of a double helix were it not for the last steps ending on the second floor. He was sure that there was a third floor, too, maybe a fourth. If Heather’s house was the height of luxury, this was… this was really something, all right. 

Peter the butler shut the door behind them. At the same time, another woman entered. Her eyes were dark and her tawny braids fell long and straight, down and over her shoulders. She wore a plain blazer, unlike Mary, who wore a ruffled dark-pink dress. Kate, probably. 

Heather greeted the stranger, but Jackie wasn’t paying attention. If this was the lobby, those rooms upstairs would be bedrooms, or guestrooms, or something similar. And forward, that would be a living room—or whatever name rich people used for the main room. If this was a dinner party, then there was probably a kitchen and a dining room. The floors were shiny, smooth wood, nearly the texture of glass. The ceiling was high, like that of a chapel. Leafy fiddle-figs stood in large ceramic pots, arranged near the main entrance, waxy and oversaturated in green. The only practical piece of furniture he could see was an elegant-looking table, placed in the perfect center of the two staircases. 

And this was just one room. He could not imagine living in such a place. It was far too open, for one thing, and it would take forever to clean. Poor butler. 

This train of sympathetic thought was interrupted by a harsh creak—the door swinging open. Someone entered the lobby.

The stranger lifted a hand in greeting. In his other hand, he was holding an assault rifle. “Hello. You’re Heather, right?”

The gun wasn’t pointed at anyone. But it was an off-putting sight, nevertheless. Jackie backed up a little.

“Yes, I’m Heather.” She put a hand on Jackie’s shoulder so he would stop moving. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And who are you?”

“That’s Carter. My business partner," Kate said.

He gave a grin and a half-shrug. Which was all he could manage, because one shoulder was weighed down by the rifle. His teeth were an unnerving shade of white between his lips. “Hey, who’s that?”

“This is Jackie.” Heather pushed him forward a bit. “He’s my… friend.”

There wasn’t any real word for it, but the implication was clear enough. 

Carter studied him with a half-curious expression. Jackie decided that he hated Carter. So cheerful and easy-going, that blight upon the world. They were horrible, every one of them. He hated them all. 

Already, this was too much. He was tired and he was irritated. The clothes Heather made him wear were scratchy and far too hot for the weather. He wanted to go home. That would have to wait, however—Carter spoke again.

“It’s been lovely, but we’ve had enough chit-chat,” Carter said. “Go ahead. Heather and I will be just a second.”

Jackie watched sourly as Kate departed down the hallway. Mary trotted close behind, though she did give Heather a brief glance before she disappeared completely.

Again, he attempted to step away from Heather. This movement accomplished very little. She held him tighter. Carter hadn’t noticed at all.

“So,” Heather said. “I didn’t know Kate had a business partner.”

Carter laughed. It was a high-pitched sound, like the scraping of metal. “I guess someone has to do the dirty work. I’m not surprised she didn’t want to mention it.”

“Right.” Heather settled for a small smile.

“Yeah, well, that’s how it goes.” Carter ruffled Jackie’s hair, rougher than he honestly needed to. “Your friend’s well behaved. What’s his name?”

“Jackie,” said Heather.

“Cute. Did you name him?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I… did, actually. Name him.”

“He’s different from Angie.” Carter, at last, leaned away from Jackie. “I can take him off your hands while you're here. The cellar locks from the outside. If that’s okay with you?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll see you in the parlor, then?”

“Sure. Enjoy yourself.”

Heather disappeared quickly enough behind the shadowed corridor. The lobby was bathed in hollow silence, and he was alone with Carter.

Jackie stared at him. He didn’t have the choice to run, not here, but his posture was tense regardless.

Carter, on the other hand, had not shifted from his amused sort of expression. “What do you look so nervous for?”

That was an easy question to answer. The assault rifle was still poised in Carter’s hand. Magazines and handles stuck out at jutting angles, obsidian-black, and there was a rough fabric strap hanging down its side. The barrel was a slender stick, topped with a round muzzle, with the base braced against the handguard. Fine beads of dirt and grime dotted its surface.

He noticed Jackie’s staring, and held up the gun. “This? Oh, don’t worry. It’s not for you. You can relax now.” Jackie did not relax, but Carter kept talking. “Anyway, I haven’t got all day to waste.” He gestured down the hall, to a door on the right. “The cellar’s that way.”

Carter started forwards and, when Jackie didn’t follow, grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the cellar. Jackie reluctantly stumbled alongside him. The door led to a flight of stairs, leading downwards. They were built on a steep incline, but Carter walked quickly—he came down there often, Jackie guessed. Lights were studded along the ceiling in haphazard angles, but it was darker than the lobby, and the smell of mold and damp wood seeped through everything. 

Carter put a hand on his back, ushering him forward through the cellar door. “There’s a water bottle in the freezer. Someone will be here in a few hours. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

Jackie barely had time to find his bearings before the door shut, its latch screeching and locking into place. The damp smell was even stronger, now mixed in with something metallic and rusty and deeply unpleasant. 

The floors were wood planks and the walls were wooden too, although they seemed off-colored and wet in places. The ceiling was comprised of wooden beams, closely fitted together until they almost formed a flat surface. The cellar door didn’t look too well. It wouldn’t break under pressure, but it wasn’t pretty, not like the lobby doors. The wood was roughly carved and poorly fitted to the frame, and the metal doorknob seemed dull in the dim light. Nobody had tried to tidy this place up in a long time.

Which was really quite rude. If Jackie had to spend a few hours somewhere, he would at least appreciate a chair, or something—the only pieces of furniture, he discovered when he turned around, were two full-sized freezers, a metal table, what appeared to be a toolbox, and a pair of oddly familiar handcuffs in the far left corner. One end was attached to a metal loop stuck in the wall and the other, he discovered as his stare drifted downwards, was attached to a wrist. The wrist was attached to a person. Not a corpse, but a living person, sitting down and attempting to gnaw the metal off.

Her head lifted so quickly that her hair, straw-blond and tied into a short ponytail, was thrown sharply backwards. She stood to face Jackie. She was tiny, only reaching his shoulder. There was a long moment as they both stared at each other. The stranger’s eyes were narrowed, and her irises were a blue so dark that they seemed waterlogged, not pale like Mary’s eyes. Her button-up shirt was mostly a clean white, save for a few places where the fabric was stained or torn, and Jackie didn’t notice any injuries. 

Jackie didn’t come any closer. In the corner, shadowed by the freezers, the stranger was cast into near-darkness. The only lights were the reflections in their eyes, sharp and bright as sparks of flint. 

A prisoner in the cellar. Nobody had mentioned this before. It was apparently irrelevant. Two captives and four killers walked into a mansion—it sounded like the start of a bad joke. 

Jackie hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, as if any loud sounds would startle this sudden apparition. “Are you… Angie?”

“Angie?” The stranger didn’t recognize the name. Angie was dead, anyway—it was a stupid question. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“I asked first.” 

“I’m not the one handcuffed to the wall, am I?” Low-hanging fruit, but Jackie didn’t trust her. “Spit it out already.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, but she spoke. “I’m Mackenzie-Clarke, private investigator, currently employed by—”

“Mackenzie? Is that your first name?”

“No, but if it’s really that important, you can call me Bunny Macken—”

“Your first name is Bunny?”

That must have hit a nerve—Bunny, or so she was called, did not finish her introduction. She continued tugging on the handcuff, somewhat half-heartedly. There was one injury, actually. Her wrist inside the handcuff was ringed by a bruise, splotched purple and blue, turning green in some places like a rotted fruit. “Don’t interrupt me.”

“My bad.” He lifted his hands in apology. “Keep going.”

“Never mind. It doesn’t work anymore. You ruined it.”

“I don’t know. It sounded pretty impressive to me. Private investigator. That’s a cool job.”

Bunny took this the wrong way. She shut her eyes, perhaps to avoid looking at Jackie any longer than necessary. “If you’re here to kill me, can’t you hurry it up? I don’t care to listen to you prattle.”

“A lot of people say that. But I really like your voice, actually. You have a nice accent. Ireland, right? Keep talking.”

“Go to hell.” Bunny Mackenzie-Clarke opened her eyes to size Jackie up, possibly ruminating on the idea of a physical altercation. “You don’t need to introduce yourself. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s kind of nihilistic.”

Bunny had no retort. She glared with those deep, dark eyes and waited.

Jackie should have been panicking. He sort of was panicking, but it was a viscous sense of alarm, slow to settle in and slow to be noticed. He wasn’t sure what to do. He never ever imagined such a day would come, finding another person in the same situation as him. Jackie, perhaps irrationally, assumed that he would always be alone here. There was something uniquely unlikable about his being that warranted getting locked in a cellar, and nobody else shared this quality. But here was this stranger, like a mirror-image, scrutinizing Jackie the same way Jackie scrutinized her.

Not the kind of meet-cute he was expecting, but another prisoner was an enemy of his enemy, and everyone knew what great friends those people made. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I’m Jackie. Jackie Rockwell. How long have you been here?”

“Three days.” She glanced at the door. “I assumed Heffner would kill me herself. She doesn’t usually leave it to someone else.”

“Heffner?”

“Kate Heffner.” She paused for a moment, as her gaze shifted to meet Jackie’s. “You do work for her, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Why are you here, then?” Her hostile expression eased into something more gentle, something that might have even been hopeful. "Are you here to help me?”

“If you want.”

“Great. Unlock these handcuffs.” She shook her wrist for emphasis.

“I don’t have the keys.” Jackie turned towards the two freezers. “Do you want some water instead?”

Bunny did seem a little disappointed, but she stopped glaring at Jackie, and the thought of escape seemed to cheer her up. She nodded.

Jackie opened the first freezer. It did not have any water. There was a garbage bag, wrapped around two arms, two legs, a head, a torso. The silhouette of a person. Proof for a client, perhaps. He closed it quickly. 

“Say,” Bunny said, “if you don’t work for Heffner, why are you here? You weren’t expecting to see me. And that freezer seemed to have… surprised you, so you can’t be a client.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He opened the second freezer—it was empty, except for a single half-frozen plastic bottle of water. “Kate’s sort of like… a friend of a friend. It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s complicated.” He closed the freezer and tossed the bottle over. Bunny caught it, despite her limited range of motion. “Someone asks me to fix their car, then one thing leads to another, and now I’m locked in here. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Oh.” Bunny tilted her head to the side. “You’re stuck in this cellar too.”

“I am not.” He tried not to look at Bunny, but it was a lost cause. Those eyes were like sea-glass, with their strange color and their hadal depth. “Okay, I am. But only for an hour. Don’t think we’re in the same boat, Mackenzie-Clarke.”

“Why not, Rockwell?”

“Let me guess. You went after the wrong person.”

“No one is above the law,” she said. “There is no wrong person, just criminals and those who are too incompetent to care. I have proof that Heffner’s been keeping the police quiet. There’s been about four separate missing people, all in this area, and nobody investigated? Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

 “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Jackie lowered his voice. “Well, I figured that out weeks ago! The police don’t do what they’re supposed to, so what? You got caught anyway. It was all for nothing.”

Bunny ignored his comments. “How did you meet Kate Heffner, then?”

“I didn’t. There’s a lot of criminals in Seattle. There’s a lady with freckles, I don’t know if you’ve seen her. Heather Rodriguez? Does that ring a bell?”

She shook her head.

“Whatever.” Jackie sat down beside the freezers. “We’re never going to see each other again after this. I can’t help you and you can’t help me. You should just forget I was ever here.”

“Maybe so.” Bunny sat down as well. Her cuffed wrist was suspended at an odd and probably uncomfortable angle, but she seemed strangely confident, despite every piece of good advice Jackie had just given her. “How would you describe this Rodriguez person? I’m curious. Does she work with Heffner?”

“No, she’s just friends with Kate’s wife.” For all the times Jackie wanted to complain about Heather, he felt too shy in front of this stranger to speak completely honestly. “Don’t ask me how that happened. She’s easily impressed. You’d think she’d have more self-respect, but they drink tea together once and suddenly they're all lovey-dovey. It’s unbelievable.”

“So what you’re saying,” Bunny said, “is that this Heather person is easy to manipulate. Easily… convinced.”

“I guess. I don’t know. She’s just acting weird lately.”

“Only recently? How long have you known her for?”

“I think…” He counted back the months in his head. “About a year.”

“A year? That’s a long time. You must know her well.”

“I know enough about her.”

“Enough to, maybe, if you think about it…” Bunny trailed off, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably. “Oh, I don’t know, convince her to… let you visit me? And, you know, hypothetically, maybe this Heather person has a set of keys that unlock these cuffs—”

“Forget about it,” Jackie interrupted. “I’m not going to trick her. It’s not going to work.”

“Well, you can do whatever you’d like. I am going to leave this cellar, and I would really appreciate it if you found me the keys to these handcuffs.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know who keeps them.” And trying to escape never worked out in his favor. He didn’t want to even entertain the idea. “Besides, it’s too obvious. There’s no reason I’d want to come back to this place.”

“You’re right.” She tapped her knuckles to her mouth and glanced down at the floor. “But we need to communicate. If we’re going to come up with a plan, we should discuss—” At once, she sat up straight. 

“What happened?” Jackie asked, his eyes wide. 

“I have an idea.” She gestured for Jackie to come closer. “Listen. It’s important. I overheard something yesterday, when Carter came down here. I need you to remember exactly what I say…”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The thought of Mary Callaghan had mostly left his mind. The afternoon he was reminded of her, Heather had been preparing dinner, while he read the same paragraph from a book over and over. 

“Jackie?” she said, still standing over the stove.

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“We’re going to have a visitor tomorrow. I need you to cooperate with her. That’s all.”

He already knew who she was talking about. Heather didn’t know many people anymore. 

“In return,” she continued, “I’ll take the handcuffs off once she leaves. It’s been long enough. You’re doing much better now.”

What she meant was that he wasn’t bringing up things that annoyed her anymore. And he was eating a little. That part about the handcuffs got his attention. Sleeping on a chair was fine for a few days, but a few weeks was more than enough. She had offered to let him stay chained in her bedroom instead, but he refused to enter that place ever again. He didn’t want to see the bloodstained rug, or the place where it had been before she had likely thrown it away. He missed the living room. The kitchen was uncomfortably hot most days.

Routine gave him the facade of safety, and this was a deviation from what he knew. It was difficult to sleep that night.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Even then, Jackie managed to slip into dreams. 

Day broke with a bright sun and a dry, dense heat. Cicadas were singing outside. The air was thick with their chirps and rattles and trills, although the sound was muffled by glass. He was sore but, even worse than that, he was thirsty. And where was Heather…? No sign of her in the kitchen. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Two pairs of footsteps—what had she said? Something important was happening. A visitor. 

Voices echoed down the hall. A voice he recognized, and one he didn’t. Mary’s voice was high-pitched, like the tittering of wrens outside, the little birds that would flit from branch to branch. She and Heather had finally spoken, apparently. Although his apprehension was growing, he wasn’t in a position to leave. Or to run, or hide. So he waited. The footsteps became louder, and the voices focused into clarity. The door opened—

“…And that’s Jack. Or Jackie, I suppose.” Heather ushered Mary through the doorway. “I don’t usually keep him in the kitchen, but, you know—“ She laughed nervously. “He’s awake. That’s good. Hello, Jackie.”

He didn’t bother responding. Instead, he studied Mary. She was tall, taller than him, taller than Heather. She wore a pale-pink dress gilded with ribbons and ruffles and bows. Her nails were done. Her face was small and round, brown like the professor’s, framed by short black hair. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked back at Jackie.

Mary was holding a purse in one hand. It took him a moment to name the other object she was holding. A few moments later, though, he recognized the shape of it, the material, the buckles hinging on the loops. It was a collar, made of black leather. 

He blinked. He imagined sleeping on something soft, somewhere other than this room.

“It should fit him,” Mary said to Heather. “It never fit Angie quite right, but I made sure to get it adjusted properly this time. Do you want to…?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Sure.” Heather took the collar from her hands. 

She approached him with the collar. Out of instinct more than anything, he flinched, recoiling before it touched him. 

But her stare was reprimand enough. Some flicker of an old fear returned, a discomforting reminder. He stopped moving and let Heather put it on. 

She fixed the collar in place. Heather stood over him, so close that her hair fell over his chest. He screwed his eyes shut. Her arm moved over his shoulder. He could feel the cold surface of her hands, grazing the back of his neck as she fastened the loops and catches. 

It was locked on. She attached some sort of small lock on the back. He couldn’t see it, but he heard the click and saw the tiny key she was holding, glinting in the corner of his eye. So tiny that it looked like a toy, a wind-up doll part. The collar itself was a little tight on his throat. Jackie could feel his pulse beating against its surface. 

The leather seemed genuine. It was studded with gold rivets and buckles and loops here and there, with gold gilding around the punch holes. There was also something at the front, something he could not recognize or name. It sat right above his Adam’s apple. A sort of small, flat box. Not heavy enough to be uncomfortable, but there was a bit of weight to it. Behind the box, two metal prongs pressed into his skin.

“Jackie,” Mary said, rolling the sound in her mouth. His name was foreign on her tongue. “He doesn’t have any heart conditions, right?”

“He doesn’t,” Heather said. 

Mary nodded. Then she stepped closer to Jackie. He held still, not even daring to look at the stranger. He could sense her unwavering stare, though. It made his skin crawl. 

Mary held her hand out. “Shake hands.”

He took her hand and shook it. 

It wasn’t something to lose your mind over, but Heather beamed at him. He was still confused. He wanted to ask her what was happening, but he knew she wouldn’t answer him now.

“Fascinating.” Mary clasped her hands together. “He’ll do anything you tell him to?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything at all. For one day, he could manage. It was easy, shaking hands and keeping quiet. Carrot or the stick, he supposed. Though it was mostly just stick, in this situation—his reward could be taken away, but there was no limit to the punishment.

Mary was delighted, in any case. “Really? How did you get him so well trained? Mine would never listen to me.”

“I'm not sure. He used to act like that in the beginning.”

“That’s the ticket, I think. Change takes time. There’s simply no other way. It honestly was a tragedy that I had to put Angie down so early. Such wasted potential.” Mary reached into her purse. “But I’m rambling. We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Mary handed Heather a small remote. There was a short antenna at one end. When Heather looked back up at him, her gaze seemed distant, not entirely focused on his face.

His heart skipped a beat. Right above his throat, heat pricked his skin, crackling down his neck. A sharp jolt stabbed through his entire body. Pins and needles punctured through his every vein, playing like lightning on his nerves. Within a second, it was over, but his muscles were tensed long after the pain subsided. 

A shock collar. He clasped the little box at the front. It buzzed underneath his touch.

Mary smiled at her. “What do you think?”

“It’s… effective,” Heather said. “I didn’t expect it to work so well.”

“It works perfectly. It took a few tries, but it’s flawless now. That was the lowest setting, by the way. There’s twelve more.”

Jackie swallowed. A warm, soft bed. I’ll be able to go wherever I want in the house. Carrot or the stick, carrot or the stick. Mostly just the stick. It was the smart decision, behaving. He wasn’t a coward. This was not a matter of grit or morals, only survival. 

Mary reached over and pressed the remote again.

He screwed his eyes shut and braced himself, but it didn’t seem to help. He tried to speak, but it was impossible. Without his voice, Jackie was reduced to his body. Muscles and nerves, always receptive to the electricity. The shocks and the warm air and his teeth biting down on his tongue. The reactions of his biology. He could not change that.

His heart stuttered without rhythm. The heat was cooking him alive. It felt like his flesh was peeling off. Then, abruptly, the pain stopped, and he was left hunched over the table, trying to catch his breath.

“I do wonder how you came across him,” Mary said. “I bought Angie.”

“How much?”

“A thousand or so. And you?”

“I just found Jackie. Lucky coincidence.”

From the edge of his vision, Mary nodded. “How sweet. And you’ve only had him for a year? He’s made wonderful progress.”

“Thank you. It’s impressive how far a bit of discipline goes.” 

“I know Carter would think he’s the sweetest thing,” Mary said. “Have you met Carter? You should meet Carter, Heather. He’s hilarious, you’ll love him.”

Heather laughed, in that polite way she always had with strangers. He could barely look at her. Was the heat making his vision blur? The shocks started again before Jackie could even finish that thought. He got the odd feeling that he was suffocating. The kitchen spun out of focus. 

He glared up at Mary as the electricity scorched through his bones. Crackling, searing, the smell of hot metal, muscle and hide and sinew. He hated their eyes, their stare. He didn’t want to be seen like this. To be seen was painful. It was humiliating. 

The voltage increased. It was all he could feel, all he could focus on. He gasped and put his head down on the table, curling into himself. His hands were shaking and rattling the metal cuff. He couldn’t think—all thoughts were black and charred. All other memories, all other dreams. Unmade by the simple physics of wires. 

“You’re doing great." Was that Heather speaking? He thought so, but it was hard to tell. “You’re taking it so well, Jackie. Get up.”

Death would be a mercy. Death was all he could ask for, the only sunshine. 

Her hand pushed against the side of his head. She spoke gently. “Hey. Didn’t you hear me?”

What a grand kind of love this was. Still, he supposed he understood why this was happening. Cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Jackie hadn’t done anything wrong. They just hated him enough to justify anything. They saw some repulsive thing in his face that he could not—they must have seen something that horrified them.

The kitchen went bright white. People spoke, but their voices were so far away. Sounds without meaning, without weight.

“I’m surprised he didn’t struggle.” From the corner of his vision, Mary pulled her sleeve up, and he caught the outline of a ragged scar before his eyes shut again. “Angie gave me such nasty injuries. See? Bit the flesh right out.”

“Christ.” Heather made a hissing sound, an admission of respect. “That must have been painful.”

“Right? It hurt so much. I begged Lukas for some painkillers—but you know him as Doctor Callaghan. My brother. My ex-brother, I suppose.” She tittered.

“Ah. I suppose so.”

The shocks stopped, all of a sudden. Apropos of nothing. Jackie took in great, heaving breaths. The room spun in dizzying spirals, a white carousel, a lurching pin-butterfly. Tears were smeared on his cheek, where he’d been plastered on the table. Oh, fuck. Fuck. 

“I asked, anyway, and he told me where I could put my request. He was always such a rude person, even as a child, always so arrogant. I do wonder…” There was a wry tilt in Mary’s tone. “Why did you kill him? I won’t judge. Get into all the gory details.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. It’s… it’s so embarrassing, you know. It’s not even that exciting.”

“That's fine. Anything you say is exciting, Heather.”

Heather relented quickly enough. “I guess I could… tell you a little, if you insist. I’ll give you the short of it. He… tried to kill me. In my own home, no less. And nearly succeeded. I got lucky. I always keep a weapon nearby.”

“Smart girl.” Mary sighed. “Oh, well. He’s dead now. I’m glad for it. I get his manor, did you know? All the pretty stuff inside, too.”

Her candor was throwing Heather off, evidently. “So… you’re not bothered that he’s gone?”

“No, not at all. I barely spoke to Lukas. I didn’t like him very much, if I can be honest.”

The shocks started up again. Jackie dry-retched. Bile heaved up his throat.

“Sorry.” Heather turned the remote off and set it down, presumably. “I always fidget with things. Bad habit, I know. Forgot that was there.”

“It happens to the best of us. Do you have tea, by any chance?”

“Tea. Right, I do. Give me a moment. I’ll get the cups.”

His head was still spinning. Jackie looked up at the blurry shape he assumed was Heather, with all the energy he could muster. Which wasn’t very much, frankly. He couldn’t move for the life of him.

Ceramic clinked. Water was poured into cups. The aroma of lavender and lemon wafted through the room. He studied the white tiles of the kitchen floor underneath the table, the black cracks in between, as the nausea subsided.

“It’s an electric kettle,” Mary said. “That’s nice.”

“Yes, it works very fast.” Heather shifted—she was probably handing Mary the tea. “Here. I don’t have any honey. Do you want sugar?”

“Sugar would be perfect, thank you.”

Goddamn tea party in the middle of the goddamn kitchen. His eyes closed. Now I’ve seen it all.

“You mentioned your brother’s manor,” Heather began carefully. “I thought it would go to his wife.”

“His wife died two years ago.” She sipped her tea. “That means I’m next in line.”

“What will you do with the house, then?”

“I’m not certain. I don’t want to sell it just yet. It’s rather spacious, and it has quite a few skeletons. I do love a good skeleton.”

“Fair enough.” Then it was Heather’s turn to sip tea. “Are the police still searching for him? In your letter, you said…”

“Of course not, silly. I bribed the police a long time ago. Haven’t you wondered why it wasn’t on the news? I paid them off. Things become much easier when you put cash on the table. They’ve turned a blind eye to the name Callaghan. Or the name Angie, for that matter. Angie is short for Angel. I thought it was cute.”

“That’s a nice name. How much money did you give the officers, then?”

“Ten million.” She let out a small laugh. 

“Ah.” There was shock rattling around in Heather’s silence. “Ten million. How did you ever come across that amount?”

“My wife Kate’s a bit of an entrepreneur, you see. We offer our clients certain services. They give us a target and we, well, get rid of them. Ensure their silence. Put them to bed with the fishes!" She cleared her throat. "We also take weapons across the border in the off-season.”

Heather was all wide-eyed, when Jackie glanced up. “You’re… married?” Which he thought was really the least concerning part.

“I am. For five years now. Kate shares my interests. She’s…” Mary paused. “How do I put this? She’s been in this business for a while.”

“Really?” There was awe in Heather’s voice. And more jealousy than Mary noticed. 

What a strange lady. She was worse than Heather, which was saying something. Then again, Heather came pretty close. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you before.” That was a new look on Heather’s face: hopeful and glittering adoration. Perhaps she had come near it once, with the professor, but it was duller then.  “I don’t know what to say, really.”

“Thank you. You’re a fascinating thing, yourself. I would have never been able to synthesize a paralytic like that. And your idea with the basement! I’m impressed.”

There was some heat to Heather’s cheeks, and sparkles lighting up her eyes. “It’s always nice to meet someone with the same interests.” Heather extended her hand. “Shall we call a truce?”

Mary took Heather’s hand. “I have another dinner next Saturday. Carter’s going to be there. And Kate, too. Do you think you can make it?”

“Of course. I’d love to see you again.”

 They had forgotten about Jackie, it seemed. Which was well enough—the pain was subsiding, but he was still feeling like mince meat. The sensation in his limbs had returned, so Jackie was able to sit up again, although he wasn’t keeping his balance well. 

Heather had noticed all this movement. “So you haven’t fainted.”

He winced. “Sorry. I’m trying my best.”

For whatever reason, Mary laughed at this. “He loves to talk, doesn’t he?”

“He’s a real parrot," Heather said. "The hard part is getting him to shut up.”

“Oh, he’s such a comedian. I do wonder how you keep him so cheerful.” She reached down to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a cutie, aren’t you?”

Cheerful was a stretch, but he didn’t interject. 

For a moment, Mary stopped her petting to glance at Heather. “Is it okay if I touch him?”

Heather nodded. 

A sudden detachment fell over Mary. She began to examine his facial structure with cold clinicality. Turning his head this way and that, tilting it in the light. Ow. Her nails were sharp, and far too long, and they dug into his skin like talons. 

“Interesting…” She pushed his head as far left as it would go. Jackie let her move him without resistance. “That’s a nice bone structure.” When she finally did release his jaw, she picked his hand up instead, rolling the joints. “He’s a bit skinny, though.”

“He is, now that you mention it.” She put her cup down on the counter. “It’s too hot in here, isn’t it? We should go to the living room.”

Mary stood up again. “Yes. That sounds lovely.”

Heather opened the door. They were leaving. It was over. He kept his composure. The door shut softly behind them.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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