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THE POISONER

DIYA

H e left the same way as he came, just as quick, just as noiseless, becoming a part of the crowding darkness.

I sighed.

He was a fool to underestimate me, a fool to think that he could somehow escape his sins, because… what was I? A weak woman who could be threatened into keeping her silence?

So fucking wrong.

And even though a part of me resented him for coming into my home, for threatening me, his touch excited me. My brain was still overflowing with the hit of dopamine and adrenaline.

I was angry, aroused, and I craved even more. More blood. More death. More of Asher in his mask.

“Only hell for you, Diya,” I grumbled, closing the cottage door and locking it before walking to my bedroom. Bending down, I opened the small safe hidden under my bed.

There were metal tins and vials arranged neatly in rows filled with colorful flowers, dried berries, and leaves.

My prized possessions. My little soldiers of death.

Oleander. Nightshade. Monkshood. Foxglove. Datura. In the prettiest, most beautiful shades of pinks, blues, purples, yellows and reds. No one understood how lethal pretty things could be.

“One pinch in your food,” I mumbled. “And you’ll be done for.”

Did I want to kill him? I didn’t know. Did I want Detective Knight to come crawling back into my life again? No.

With a sigh, I slid them back into the safe. A part of me burned for the liberation that came with death, the control, but for now, my only priority was to stay out of prison.

I reached for the brown envelope tucked in the corner of the safe. Ripping it open, I grabbed the small trackers. If I couldn’t kill him, I had to stay one step ahead of him at all times.

I couldn’t afford to let him catch me off guard. Never again would Asher find me at a disadvantage.

Closing the safe, I grabbed my phone and called Layne.

“Dee?” Layne picked up after the third ring. “What’s up, babe? It’s late.”

“I messed up,” I grumbled, sitting down on the couch.

“Just a sec. Let me conference call Trina.”

There was a long pause, and then I heard Trina on the other end. “Do you want my help to bury a body?” she asked with a chuckle, yawning as she did.

Trina and Layne Montagna. My foster sisters. My best friends. My only family.

“No. I witnessed a murder, and the killer knows it,” I said, rubbing my brows.

“So what are you waiting for?” Trina’s voice was drowned out by a loud cheer. “Where the hell are you, Layne? It’s so fucking loud for midnight,” Trina said.

“I’m at an art festival. Artists are so good with their hands,” Layne said, and I could almost see her winking at an unsuspecting man right about now. “The champagne is cheap, though, and the sandwich tastes like toothpaste. Oh, and Dee, just poison him. The headache of keeping him alive won’t be worth it.”

“I can’t kill him, Lay. I barely got away the last time, remember?” I said with a frown. “If Knight hears even a whisper of suspicious death, and my patient in the same sentence… I’m done. He was like a dog with a bone the last time.”

“Oh, fuck Detective Knight,” Trina grunted.

I missed them both, and some days, when life was too much, when everything felt too overwhelming, I wanted to beg them to come live with me in this prison, but I knew they would hate it.

“Yeah, fuck him,” Layne said. “He’s not smart enough to catch us.”

“He almost caught me,” I said with a sigh.

I met Trina and Layne when we were all sent to live with Max and Martha Stills.

Layne and I were fourteen, and Trina was twelve, and we were too young to understand the full weight of the world, but old enough to know we were on our own.

We formed a bond that went beyond friendship—it was survival. We had to become each other’s lifelines. We had to fight each other’s battles, and kill our monsters together.

“Do you know who he is?” Trina asked.

“Yes. Asher Maddox.”

“That the one who gave you an orgasm without even touching you?” Layne asked, voice high-pitched. “Oh my monsters!”

“Oh, interesting. Tell me more,” Trina said, her voice filled with laughter.

“I’m going to...” I said with a grunt. “I don’t know. Pretend?”

“Or you can blackmail him to fuck you to keep your silence. Well, you’ll obviously scream when he fucks you…” Layne trailed off.

“I get it, Lay. I get it. You’re as funny as a dead clown.”

“That’s so accurate.” Trina snorted.

After enduring another twenty minutes of Layne and Trina throwing out ridiculous ideas about how I could blackmail Asher for sexual favors, I finally hung up and made my way to the bedroom, rubbing my tired eyes, and smiling despite everything.

I fell on my bed with a sigh, tossing and turning. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw Asher’s eyes, the way he looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, seeing my secrets, and it was disconcerting.

Knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep, I grabbed my laptop and searched The Gates.

A website popped up soon enough. The Gates was a gentlemen’s club in Hollow Heights. High-end, ostentatious, and exclusive.

I searched through the website until I found what I was looking for.

Tomas Hannigan. The owner of The Gates. He looked like he belonged in one of those old mafia movies.

I knew who Asher might be going after next.

When the alarm rang, I was startled awake. The laptop was still open, and I was haphazardly bent over the pillows.

I had no idea when I fell asleep.

Groaning, I stood up and stretched, rubbing my burning eyes as I walked into the bathroom. After a quick shower, I dressed to get ready to meet the murderous bastard again.

Pouring a steaming coffee into my tumbler, I walked out of the cottage, taking the familiar trail that would lead me to the psychiatric facility.

Hollowhaven was ancient, and creepily lonely. There were trees everywhere, surrounded by more trees. It was secluded, private, buried, like no one wanted the reminder of this. As if they wanted to forget it and the people who lived here.

I stared at the building towering over the trees, spires reaching toward the sky, twisting like the hands of a giant.

With brick walls strangled by vines and creepers, Hollowhaven was an odd mix of ancient Gothic ruin, riddled with some modern convenience.

Statues of two gargoyles sat sullenly on the tower gate, watching over the asylum with inky black eyes. Whenever I looked at them, I was reminded of Detective Knight’s knowing eyes.

“Morning, Oswald,” Greeting the guard with a smile, I walked into the gated yard.

Clusters of pink azaleas and oak leaf hydrangeas flowed through trimmed grasses, in complete contrast to the world beyond the walled space, where trees bridged the gaps between the earth and the sky.

Michael sat with Nurse Dona in the swing, whispering to his wife—the one he had lost in a tragic accident. Michael’s wife frequently visited him, asking him to come to her. His repeated attempts to kill himself were what brought him to Hollowhaven.

Jimmy was sitting in front of the vegetable patch, singing a song about a soldier who killed his fellow soldiers before the war.

“The war is over, but it ain’t won, I pulled the trigger. I became the gun. The price of mercy, the weight of sin, I carry in my soul. I’m not alone. I’m not alone. I was the last man standing, but now I fall alone, a traitor, a coward, a ghost on my own. I’m not alone. I’m not alone.” His voice was hauntingly beautiful.

I closed my eyes, moved by the way his voice dipped and broke at certain parts.

Jimmy had been a long-term patient at Hollowhaven. He had been in and out of the facility for years, and from his records, he always came back. He suffered from severe substance use disorder and hallucinations.

When he saw me standing there, his eyes widened before he smiled at me.

“That’s a sad song, Jimmy.”

He gave me a solemn nod. “Death is a cruel thing, Doctor Sharma.” He picked a Cherokee rose andhanded it to me. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

He went back to his song, and I walked toward the facility.

“Good morning, Doctor Sharma,” Nurse Becca greeted me as soon as I walked into the building, with a smile that said Doctor Tomlinson’s body wasn’t discovered yet.

“Hey, Becca,” I said. “I need some details about Asher Maddox.” I studied Becca’s face and saw a flicker of surprise there.

Becca was the head nurse, and she had been working in Hollowhaven for more than a decade. She knew every detail about everyone committed to the institute.

“You have his files,” Becca said, looking away.

“What do you think of him?” I asked right when Doctor Camille Adams walked into the facility. She stopped next to me with a smile.

“Asher was popular at school. I was a year above him, and every girl wanted him,” Camille said and then slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

If she could hear my thoughts about that asshole, she might die of asphyxiation.

I smiled, despite my urge to scoff.

Camille shook her head, her eyes shining as if she wanted to tell me more, but she didn’t. Giving me and Becca a wave, she walked away.

Becca turned to me, her eyes narrowed.

“Did he give you any trouble? He has always been quite compliant. Do you want me to talk with him?” she asked, getting ready to defend my honor.

“No, please. It’s just… I know he came to the hospital five months ago, but there’s not much detail about the causative factors behind his breakdown. I’m working on developing a personalized treatment plan, and having that information would be helpful. He’s making significant progress, and I didn’t want to risk triggering him by bringing it up too soon.”

“He… he found his best friend’s body when he was twenty,” Becca said, her face pinched. “Then, he came back to Hollow Heights five months ago to sell his parents’ old house and witnessed another gruesome murder. It must have triggered the past trauma. He stopped talking. Doctor T said it was a stress response.”

I didn’t know how much of Becca’s story was the actual truth, and how much was made up, but there must be some semblance of truth in his story.

“What was his friend’s name?” I asked.

“Riley…” Becca trailed off, a frown on her lips. “She-she was in Hollowhaven for drug addiction, delusional thinking, and bipolar disorder. She killed herself.” Becca winced, rubbing her face.

“She was a patient?”

“Yes, she was Doctor T’s patient.”

The final piece of the puzzle.

It was all slowly beginning to make sense.

“Thanks, Becca.” With a wave to her, I went to my office, and grabbed Asher’s medical file, leafing through it, trying to understand more about him.

He was here for Riley. Something had happened to her, something truly awful.

When the clock struck nine, I stood up and walked toward the massive hall where the group sessions were held.

There was Sarah, who always clutched a worn-out teddy bear like her life depended on it. Next to her sat Michael, muttering something, his eyes distant, talking with the ghost of his wife only he could see. Across the room, Millie was sketching furiously in her notebook, her art desperately chaotic. Next to her, Jimmy was humming a song, this one about five girls in a graveyard, and next to him was Asher.

The cold look in his green eyes intensified as soon as he noticed me.

Michael gave me a smile before retreating into his own world. Sarah sank back into her chair, and Millie murmured something before going back to her drawing. Asher remained motionless, still as a fucking statue carved from stone, his eyes following me. Stalking, hunting, and threatening.

Bastard.

“How are you on this fine day, Doctor?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m good, thank you, Jimmy. How are you all today?”

There was a chorus of replies. Looking straight at Asher, I opened my leather diary and sat down on my chair. If he thought he could scare me away, he had another thing coming.

“We will talk about old friends today. Do you want to start, Sarah?”

His body went rigid. I was poking the fucking hornet’s nest and I might get stung, but… I just wanted to see if he’d play along.

He didn’t look like he wanted to.

Sarah clutched her teddy bear tighter. “Mr. Kensington is my best friend.”

Jimmy laughed. “That’s a teddy bear, you idiot.”

“Jimmy! What did I tell you?”

“Sorry, Doctor Sharma. Sorry, Sarah.”

“How about you, Asher? Do you want to tell us something about your best friend?” I asked with a cheerful smile in his direction, and his lips went flat. I saw the flash of rage in his eyes. The spill of darkness.

“Isn’t it boring, staying quiet all the time? Come on, I’m dying to hear your voice. I know you can talk.” His nostrils flared, and my heart raced in response when he stood up from the chair with a growl.

Now that I knew his trauma was only a cover story, I wasn’t afraid to push him, to break him. He pushed me first.

“No,” he spat out, his voice sharp as a blade, as he stood, towering over me. His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury.

I leaned back in my chair and offered him a smile. “Oh, what’s this? Are you throwing a temper tantrum now? How very mature of you,” I whispered, and his eyes went into slits.

One of the orderlies, Leo, moved and stopped when I shook my head.

Asher’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might hurl his chair across the room.

“Sit down, Asher.”

His lip curled. “Or what? You’ll lecture me some more?” For someone who had never spoken to me in the four months we had known each other, he certainly filled it all up in two days.

He froze for a fraction of a second, his shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. I could see the war raging in his eyes—pride battling restraint, fury battling logic.

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you done grandstanding, or should I let you keep stomping around a bit? Maybe throw in a dramatic exit for good measure?”

He growled. Like a chained animal. He was. But he couldn’t break character now.

“Fuck you.”

“Sit. Down. Or I’ll make you sit.” I pointed to the orderlies just behind the door, waiting for my cue.

Shoulders stiff, he lowered himself back into the chair.

“There. Was that so hard?” I asked, lacing my tone with mock sweetness.

“Don’t push me,” he muttered, glaring at me.

“Push you? Oh, Asher, if I were pushing you, you’d know it.”