Page 3

2

FALLEN

ASHER

T his woman was neck-deep in trouble, and she didn’t realize how far down the rabbit hole she’d fallen. This wasn’t going to be a Wonderland, not for her.

“Don’t let your conscience get the better of you,” I whispered, resisting the urge to inhale that damn scent of hers. Vanilla mixed with something strange I couldn’t name. Heady and distracting.

I hated our one-on-one sessions, I hated the way she rambled on and on, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how she smelled. It always made my head spin.

“Good night. Sweet dreams,” I said teasingly, and she muttered, go die, you psycho, under her breath. “Did you say something?” I asked, enjoying this game more than any sane person should.

She scoffed and stilled when I pressed the knife to the back of her neck.

“Answer me,” I said, my fingers trailing up her skin. She shuddered.

“Nothing. Are you going to leave now? You’ve overstayed your welcome. Next time, pay me if you want a fucking one-on-one therapy session,” she grumbled. “But, you probably can’t afford me.”

I blinked, a little surprised by the acid in her voice. She sounded more exasperated than afraid.

“You won’t stop talking even now?” Shaking my head, I yanked the knife back, and her body went lax in my hold.

“I’m paid to talk,” she whispered, pushing herself against me, her ass grinding into my cock.

What?

Much to my shame and confusion, my cock responded with more enthusiasm than I’d like to admit.

Fuck me.

A soft groan escaped her lips as she shifted again, rubbing against my growing erection. My breath hitched, and my brain short-circuited. For a moment, there were no thoughts in my head.

What the hell was happening here? Was this some kind of physical manipulation? Some bizarre psychiatrist Jedi mind trick to throw me off?

If she was trying to confuse me, she was succeeding.

I have to get away from her. NOW.

If I didn’t move, I’d explode and come all over her. Like a fucking sex-starved maniac. I was. It had been a while since I had sex. Committing yourself to an asylum wasn’t exactly good for your sex life.

“Pervert,” she whispered when I finally pulled back, even when I wanted to stay right there, her ass against my cock.

Cursing myself and Diya Sharma, I stormed out, rubbing a hand against my erect cock with a wince.

Heel, cock. Heel!

The fucking thing didn’t listen.

The cold wind bit into my skin, a sharp contrast to my burning body, as I made my way through the dense trees toward the back of the sanatorium. No one used this side of the asylum anymore, and it was the safest place to hide my belongings.

When I reached the small metal door at the back of the building, I pulled out Dr. Tomlinson’s key and unlocked it with a sigh.

Before I had the key, I had to pick the lock every damn time, but now, thanks to the doctor, sneaking in and out was a lot easier.

I moved toward my room, keeping an eye on the nurses’ stations. Most of them were empty by now like they usually were.

I knew this asylum’s routine like the back of my hand by now. I had spent five months locked up, learning the nooks and crannies, hidden hallways, and buried secrets.

Once safely inside my room, I locked the door and dropped onto the bed with a sigh.

It had been a long fucking night, and getting caught by my sexy, slightly insane psychiatrist? Yeah… that was definitely not part of the plan.

I hoped she would keep quiet and not stir up more trouble for me. I needed to finish what I had started eight years ago. I had been doing everything I could to be here since I found my best friend’s dead body.

Sighing, I closed my eyes, rubbing my temple, thinking about Diya Sharma.

What was her story?

She looked harmless, but no innocent person ran quite as far as she had.

She had worked at St. Anthony’s hospital in New York just before she came here. She was thriving at twenty-seven, and then out of nowhere, she quit her job and moved to Hollow Heights to hide in this asylum. This wasn't a wise choice or a great career decision.

Yes. There was a story there. I wasn’t curious before, but now I had to know. It was the only way to gain the upper hand.

“I’d really hate to kill you, Doctor Sharma. Don’t make me,” I whispered to myself, pulling open the drawer and taking out Riley’s letter, hidden between the pages of an old book. I’d read it so many times I could recite it by heart.

Every word was a desperate cry for help, and no one had answered. Doctor T had read her fears, her pain… he knew she was dying every day, and he protected the monster who did this to Riley.

He let her kill herself.

Dear A,

He’s right. He’s always right. The spiders won’t stop…

Always come. They can’t stop. He can’t.

They are inside me, all over me.

My skin burns. Cutting my skin doesn’t help.

I try, I try, but they won’t go.

Pain. So much pain. And blood. Everything is blood.

I cry, but there’s no tears.

I think the only way to truly run is to stop running. To stay still, to never move again.

I’m tired of running, Asher. I’m tired of this pain.

I want the quiet. I want the weightless feeling of… nothingness.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

‘What flowers do you want for your funeral?’ he asks.

I hate flowers.

I tell my doctor how much I hate flowers.

Doctor T says it's okay, he will save me.

Asher, I miss you so much. I miss you.

Will you come at least to say goodbye?

Please?

Riley.

I was eighteen when I left Hollow Heights with my mother, happy to finally break free from the small town that had always been too small for me and my dreams.

My only regret was leaving Riley behind in Hollowhaven asylum.

When I first left, Riley and I had kept in touch for a while. She used to send letters, saying that writing to me was part of her therapy and that reading my letters helped her not think about other bitter things.

And then, one day, the letters just stopped.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

I assumed she got busy, and then I got busier.

And then, out of nowhere, fifteen months after her last letter, another one came. Her writing was a messed scribble, and the words were barely coherent.

The moment I was done reading, I knew something was wrong.

I didn’t think twice. I packed a bag and went back to Hollow Heights.

When I walked into Hollowhaven Sanatorium, the whole place was looking for Riley. She was missing, but deep down, I knew she wasn’t just missing.

Her last letter to me was practically a suicide note.

I was the one who found Riley in the woods hanging, but smiling, as if she knew I was coming to collect her broken body. She was cold, her face bloodless, her wrists slashed, her body stained with blood.

As I stood there, my heart breaking, I blamed everyone, everything. I blamed myself.

I couldn’t save the girl who had always been there for me—the one who had my back for as long as I could remember.

Riley had been my best friend, my sister, my confidante. And when she died, a part of me died with her.

The autopsy report said she’d killed herself, but the bruises on her legs, the cuts and gashes on her hands, and her broken toes, were all the proof I needed.

She might have taken that final step herself, but someone else had pushed her to it.

Someone had killed her long before she died.

She was only twenty. Too young to die. Too young to stop existing.

Sighing, I folded the letter carefully and pushed it between the pages.

If I had come sooner, just a few days, a few months, I could have saved my best friend.

“I am sorry, Riley, I’m sorry I was such a bad friend, but I promise you. I’ll find Hannigan, and everyone who has ever hurt you. I’ll butcher them all for you. That’s all I can do for you now.”

Eight years. I had planned for this for eight years, and this was the first solid lead I had after Doctor T, and I wouldn’t let one nosy psychiatrist mess it all up for me.