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I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate when I just found God. Or rather, I think I just became one.

But how can I feel like a god, yet be completely stripped of power when it comes to her?

I don’t know.

All I know is I fucking love haunted fairs now.

"I got caught up with something," I murmur, sweeping the room for lingering employees. Or any deadly surprises if the murderous look in the psycho girl's eyes is anything to go by. She's still planning on killing me, and the notion is laughable.

If it were so fucking easy to kill me, I would've been dead long ago. These scars are proof of that.

After our confrontation, the broken doll and I decided to team up for the time being. Since Mark decided to take matters into his own hands and try to kidnap and enslave my girl, I decided he was no longer worth keeping alive. The two seconds it took for him to conspire against Addie was the equivalent to writing his name in a Death Note.

There’s no chance of his survival.

So, we knocked out the four of them. The doll said she’d take them somewhere where the guests wouldn’t find them and meet up at midnight to get my answers and finish them off for good.

Claire, of course, witnessed the entire thing, and the doll sent her running. I couldn’t do anything at the moment when I had four men to handle, but the second I walked out of that haunted house, I had one of my men find her and take her somewhere safe.

Plain and simple, Claire is an abused woman who deserves to live a life in peace. But she also bore witness t

o a crime, and I can’t allow her the opportunity to tell someone.

Afterwards, I immediately went and found Addie and tracked her the entire time. I let her have her fun, visiting all the haunted houses and creepy carnival tents, and ride the thrill rides, all while I stayed quietly behind her, just out of sight. Making sure no one even looked at her funny without consequences.

"Where are they?" I ask, pinning my eyes back on the strange girl. Blood is already splattered across her white nightgown. I arch a brow but don’t say anything.

She nods towards the stairs. "Up in my playroom."

She begins to lead me up the stairs but stops short and looks off into the foyer, seemingly staring at something. But I see nothing.

"Stay down here until I call you guys up," she says, still staring off into space. My brow lowers as I try to figure out who the hell she's talking to. She pauses for a moment before she says, "I can handle myself," and continues up the stairs.

Well, this is fucking awkward. I've gotten myself into a lot of interesting situations over the years. Real interesting situations. But this one hits the top of the list.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "So, uh, what's your deal?"

“What do you mean, my deal?” she snaps.

“Those people you were talking to—do they not like me?” I ask, amusement prominent in my tone. I'm still not entirely sure what's going on with her. Maybe she's high off drugs, maybe she's mentally ill, or maybe she can see spirits or some shit.

“My henchmen? No. Nor do they trust you.”

Her henchmen? The fuck is this girl actually seeing? And are they supposed to be her helpers or something?

“You uh, told them to stay down there and that you can handle yourself?” I ask. “They’re not coming up too?”

She pauses on the steps, whips towards me, and throws her arm out to point behind me. "Do you see them walking behind you?"

I don't even turn to look. No one will be there. Aside from the two of us and the four men upstairs, no one else is inside this house.

I smirk. "No."

“Then there’s your answer! I don’t need my henchmen to protect me from you. And since you’re here, I figured they could sit this one out,” she explains impatiently.

So, she's mentally ill. Got it.

“Ah.”