Page 23 of Antihero (Tregam’s Fractured Souls #3)

“Yes. It has occurred to me that this… violence is a substitute for that.” She won’t say the word lobotomy . Taking their minds, damaging them. I don’t ask if he’s hurt her as well.

“You’re married to a man who deeply hates women,” I point out flatly.

“I know.”

“And he still does this?”

Marion is quiet. She sees more than I should be showing her. Once again, it's Paige. Harry took her back to his house. All the while, Paige thought she was carrying out her own plan. But what of his? If I hadn’t come, hadn’t knocked on the door, would it have been him attacking Paige instead?

More importantly, if that was his intention, what of her next attempt? And what of his sick desires? They’re surely not sated. Men like that aren't satisfied until they've broken something.

“You’re not a journalist,” Marion says evenly.

I don’t deny that. “I believe Harry is the next target of the Wraith.”

Marion nods slowly, like she may have already considered this. If she has, has Harry too?

“That doesn’t worry you?” I ask. I need to leave. To find Paige and warn her. A glance at the window tells me I’ve been here longer than I expected, the Winter sun on its way to the horizon. It’ll be dark soon.

“Oh, my young friend.” For the first time, she laughs, a real, mirthful sound. “Whoever is taking these men off this earth, I wish them only the best of luck.”

***

Wraith

We’re approaching the shortest days of the year, the coldest and dourest. When I leave work, bundled up in my coat, gloves and beanie, the afternoon sun is already on the horizon in no glorious sunset, just a grey bleakness.

By the time I walk down to Kidswal and cross to the trail that leads to my house, it’s a cloudy and moonless early night.

Still, despite all of this, I smile the whole way. My thoughts are far from my numb fingers and toes, the gale stinging my face, even from the doctor, the tests yet to come. I’m thinking of him, of the baths, and I feel like a silly, giddy schoolgirl.

There are few lights on the short trail out to my cabin, but I always leave the front light on when I leave, a beacon through the scrub and low twisted trees for my return.

I’m still smiling; still thinking of when I’ll see Tristan next, when I lift my face.

I’m digging for my keys in my deep pockets when all happy thoughts vanish.

A shadow detaches itself from the corner of my house, just out of the pool of light. My steps falter, the cool feeling down my spine turning frigid. It’s not Tristan.

The man stands outside my house like he’s been waiting for me. My fingers clench around my keys as he steps into the light, towards me, alone here in the isolated night.. “Harry,” I say, stumbling over his name, taking a small step back. “What are you…”

“Paige,” Harry says, like I’ve just walked into a boardroom rather than up to the entrance of my own home. His smile reminds me of a bulldog, his jaw thick and eyes small. He’s tall, age hasn’t yet bent him like it had the others. “We didn’t finish your interview the other week.”

I stare at him, knowing my response, whatever it will be, doesn’t really matter.

People who show up to where you live uninvited normally don’t care about your opinion on the matter.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” I say, forcing a smile.

I could scream. But the only one who would possibly hear me if I did, is my neighbour, and I didn’t see his light on the way here, meaning James is probably out night fishing.

“Maybe I could stop by your house tomorrow…”

“Here is good,” Harry cuts me off, stepping closer, towards where I stand at the edge of the light. “You can finish what you started.”

My chest tightens. There’s something about his expression. The possessive look in his eye tells me that this man is dangerous. More dangerous than I'm equipped for.

He’s within reach now. “Let’s go inside.” Not a question, an order. “Keys?” He holds his hand out, waiting for me to hand them over.

That smile stays pasted on my face. I adjust my hold on the keys, preparing to pull them out of my pocket.

Then I jerk my arm up; the sharpest, largest of them, connecting with and dragging across the back of Harry’s hand. It doesn’t go far through by any means, merely breaks the skin, drawing blood and shocking him for long enough for me to turn on my heel and try to run back to Kidswal.

It doesn’t work.

He snaps out a curse. I don’t even get back to the trail, or the possibility of being able to hide among the trees, before he catches me, fist clenching painfully in my hair to drag me back.

Bent and gasping in pain, gripping his wrist, I tumble back into the clearing; screaming when he tightens his grip to crouch and pick up my keys where they fell to the gravel.

The last place I want to be is inside, locked in with him, alone.

As Harry drags me towards the door, I swing out my elbow and it connects with his gut.

I hear the breath whoosh out of him. Suddenly, I know nothing.

It takes two long seconds for the pain to clear, then sharpen, before exploding next to my eye where he's struck me with a flung backhand.

My hands curl into the gravel where I’ve fallen. I can hear the clanking of the keys and Harry’s muttered curses. He’s standing right next to me, fumbling with the lock as I struggle to control my dizziness and gain my feet again.

“Who do you think you are?” he’s cursing at me, “You think you can come to my house, do god knows what with a man who isn’t me, then never give me what I’m owed?”

The door clicks open, and I feel the usually welcome rush of warm air. I shake my head, consider trying to run again and know it won’t do any good, then turn and latch my teeth on to his leg through his trousers instead. I bite so hard my teeth hurt.

He screams, tugging away and out of my reach.

He braces himself on the doorframe, and I pull myself unsteadily to my feet, leaning on the wall for support.

I can taste blood, my own, my temple throbbing from where he struck me.

Then he’s on me again. His dry, rasping hand clamps on my throat, pain erupting from the pressure in my head as he pins me to the log wall.

He points the keys at my eye and snarls, “You’ll pay for that, bitch. ”

That fact I’m no closer to getting away from him, that I may have just made this worse for myself, doesn’t escape me. I spit blood into his face. That snarl again. I brace, waiting for the next strike.

Somewhere behind him, back in the shadows of the trees, a twig snaps. Loudly.

With a jolt, Harry casts a look over his shoulder. Of course, he wouldn’t want someone to see him, the respected ex-surgeon, beating up a woman. Something rustles. “Who’s there?” he demands.

I manage a gargled chuckle. “Maybe it’s the Wraith.”

His small eyes come back to me. “Keep your mouth shut, slut.” Of course, I’m seeing it now. To Harry, every woman is a slut. We all deserve whatever he dishes out. Lobotomy, beatings, rape. We all have earned it in his eyes.

Then the growl. Harry lets me go as he spins around, facing the unknown. He steps towards the bushes like a man trying to shoo off a dog. “Get!” he hisses, thinking it’s some kind of animal. But that growl, it wasn’t an animal.

My voice is strained, but I speak anyway, even though each word stings my throat. “You don’t remember me. Do you remember any of us?”

Harry faces me, staring me down like I’ve grown horns. “I told you to shut the—”

I pull myself off the wall. “ You took their minds. They weren’t sick, and you destroyed them. You were our devil .”

A heavy line appears between his brows, like he’s trying to look closer at me. “You’re mad. You’re not from there… none of them are here anymore! They’re all gone!”

“Oh, we’re here. And we’re haunting you.” My words come out dry, strained through my damaged throat.

I see something like fear as it flashes in his eyes, among the confusion.

Then the shape detaches from the shadows, stepping up behind Harry.

Harry stiffens, turning around slowly, like he knows fate is waiting behind him.

Tristan is fast, his foot snapping up and against the side of Harry's knee.

The pop is followed immediately by Harry's scream as he drops and keeps screaming, clutching at his thigh.

Panting, I press back against the wall, feeling outside my body as I watch Harry look up at Tristan, at his face, and see his death written there.

But he still tries, gargling, "Please…" Before he even gets the whole word out, Tristan's hands clamp onto his head… and twist. The crack reverberates through my own bones, and I come back to myself. Harry’s body flops to the ground, limp.

Dead.

Tristan stands over the body, letting his hands fall to his sides. My breath is stuck in my chest as he looks up, and relief floods me, releasing me. I slump, knees weak.

But he's there, catching me, propping me back against the wall. “You’re…”

Swaying but straight, I steady myself. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just need a moment.”

Tristan stares at me, but steps back, perhaps reading my internal plea to him; not to ask, not to hold me. I feel it in the way my fingers tremble. I’m too close to breaking. If I shatter now, I won’t be able to bring myself back together in time to fix this.

“Your neighbour?” he asks, glancing away, worried James is about to stumble out of the trees and see this.

“Out on his boat…” my voice croaks. “Night fishing.”

He stares at me a moment, then nods once. Stepping away, he crouches down to pick up the body, slinging it over his shoulder. I follow, breathing out in a long, deliberate exhale.