Page 5 of Fear No Hell

Calliope

At the unexpected voice, I whirl around, arm raised, prepared to slash first, ask questions later, only to come to a screeching halt when I see the man behind me. His appearance is as unexpected as his voice was.

Instead of one of Arthur’s terrified, stuffy cronies, it’s a tall man—so tall he towers over me—in worn jeans and a cable-knit sweater with multiple fraying patches that speak to long-term use rather than design.

His short, dark hair curls at the edges with strands falling messily onto his forehead over thin-framed glasses and a confused look on his angular face.

The bemused twist of his mouth has a dimple popping in his right cheek.

He’s not scared, which as I glance around at the sea of brutalized bodies surrounding us realize would have been a valid response. Just intrigued.

Something about him is familiar. My arm wavers uncertainly in the air at I try to place him. I know I would recognize this man if I had seen him before.

“Hey,” he says, one hand raised. “It’s okay. You don’t have anything to be afraid of with me.”

His gaze tracks over my body before locking on my face. Behind his glasses, warm hazel eyes that I recognize but can’t place grow wide.

“Holy shit,” the man breathes. “I knew it.”

My arm drops to my side at the rumbling voice emerging from his mouth. It’s calm and controlled. Soothing. So different from Arthur’s nasally tones. “Who are you?” I ask.

“I fucking knew it,” he shouts suddenly, startling me, sending me scrambling back over Arthur’s prone body, unconscious on the living room floor.

Odd that a loud sound like that would spook me after everything I’ve done tonight.

“No, no.” Reaching out a hand, he lowers himself, folding his tall body into itself. “Nothing to be scared of. I got excited, that’s all.”

I blink at him, taking in his modified stance. Has he made himself smaller, forced himself to take up less space, so… I won't be scared? “Who are you?” I repeat. I can’t tear my gaze away from his eyes. I know those eyes…

“I’m Sam.” A gentle smile spreads across his face.

“Sam? Like…”

“Yeah, like Arthur’s son, Sam.” He shoots a bitter glare at his father before focusing back on me. “And I think we’ve met before.”

Standing over a sea of corpses, I have a sudden flashback to that day 18 years ago and a small boy backlit by grainy, yellow bulbs before vanishing down the stairs. “I saw you fall… They took you away. But you never came back. I thought you were dead.”

“No.” A small chuckle emerges from his lips. “Nope, my mom left him and got full custody of me after he shoved me down the stairs.” He lifts his right pant leg, revealing a prosthetic limb starting just beneath his knee. “I lost my leg but not my life.”

All I can do is stare at him, this child—no, this man, I correct myself, because there’s nothing childlike about Sam now—who tried to save me and was grievously injured because of it.

“I tried to come back to get you.” His voice is urgent like he needs me to believe him.

“I—you did?”

“Of course I did—" A threadbare whimper from the floor cuts off the rest of whatever he’s about to say, and he glances us around with a raised eyebrow. “So, um… what happened here?”

“I escaped the attic. When I got down here and saw him celebrating… ”

Sam’s already nodding in understanding, even though I can’t finish the sentence.

A quick look around the room reveals the overwhelming extent of my brutality.

Limbs are cast about the room; there’s even a severed head sitting next to a shattered vase on the baby grand piano in the corner of the room.

Lakes of blood cover most of the polished wooden floor.

How… I don’t even remember doing most of this.

Besides me, Sam, and the unconscious Arthur, there’s no one left alive in this place that I can see.

I left no one alive here. A curious sense of satisfaction unfurls in my chest. I may not remember doing this, but I don’t regret it, especially now that I’m free. Free for the first time in 38 years.

A groan rises from the body on the floor at our feet. Not completely free, I guess. Arthur’s still alive.

The claws that receded into nails elongate once more.

I’m prepared to defend myself and the man standing silently across from me.

No matter how badly I want to punish Arthur for what he did to me or how little I know about Sam, if he tries to harm either one of us, I’ll dismember him right now without blinking.

“Do you want to stay here?”

I’m shaking my head before the sentence is fully out of his mouth.

“I would rather die than stay here.” I’m not being melodramatic.

I think it might actually kill me to stay here for one more second, much less one more night.

“I don’t want to be in this house. I don’t ever want to come back here.

In fact, I would happily torch this place simply to purge it from this world if I could.

” The words pour from my mouth, uncontrolled, almost manic in their rapidity.

Sam’s gaze flicks to the black claws gracing my hands before darting back to my face. Not a hint of fear rests on his chiseled features. “Do you have a safe place to go?”

I think back to my home of years past: Mount Helikon.

Buried in the Boeotian region of Green, it’s a stunning place constantly scented with the salty brine of the Ionian Sea.

A mountain paradise standing so tall it felt like my family lived among the clouds themselves.

It may be beautiful, but it hasn’t been my home since my sisters and mother abandoned me to Arthur all those years ago.

There’s nothing left for me there now. “No.”

Sam’s next question is barely audible over Arthur’s groans, which are increasing in volume. “Do you want to come home with me?”

Go to his house? My heart speeds up in alarm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I doubt he’ll imprison me like Arthur did, but what do I know?

If Arthur hadn’t captured me the way he had, I might not have thought he would hurt me either; he was an author beloved by many who had no idea how horrible he actually was.

Just because Sam helped me once when he was a child doesn’t mean he isn’t a danger to me now.

“I won’t make you stay. Scout’s honor.” He lifts his right hand, holding his pinky down with his thumb with the three central fingers upright.

When I squint at him, he laughs and drops his hand.

“Okay, so I wasn’t in the scouts. It just sounded better than telling you I’m not anything like that fucker lying over there.

” He jerks his chin pointedly towards Arthur.

“I don’t know what exactly he did to you all these years, but I can guess based on what I saw when I was a kid.

I promise you, though, I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let anybody else touch you in a way you don’t want ever again. ”

And maybe I’m an idealistic fool—maybe I’m an idiot—but those caramel-colored eyes, so serious and sincere, make me believe him. So, with a jerky nod, I accept his offer. “I have some conditions.”

Sam gestures for me to continue. “What are they?”

“I won’t get in your car. You can drive along beside me to show me the way.”

“I would agree to that, but my house isn’t close enough for you to walk—”

“For the last four decades, I’ve been held in that suite with only enough slack in my chain to go to the restroom and walk around the bed.

I want to stretch my legs; I want to run and never stop moving.

I don’t really care how long a walk it is to your house.

I’ll walk that and more if it means I’m not bound to that bed anymore. ”

His skin paling to the color of cottage cheese, Sam repeats hoarsely, “Four decades? He kept you up there for four fucking decades?” At my nod, he kicks his father in the ribs, snarling, “You.” Kick.

“Piece.” Kick. “Of shit.” One final kick before he tilts his head back up to look at me.

“Okay, you walk beside the car. I’ll drive next to you. What else?”

“If I stay with you—and that’s a big if—I sleep in a room without an external lock.”

He agrees immediately. “Anything else?”

“Can we take him with us?” I gesture at Arthur.

“You want to bring him?” Sam blinks at me in surprise when I nod again. “I’m not saying no, but why?”

“I want him to know what it’s like to be locked in a room and scared for your life at whatever may walk through the door next.”

“So you want to set up a dungeon in my house.” His tone goes flat, giving nothing away.

Although I know this one is nonnegotiable for me, I can’t help but wonder if his concern with this particular condition is because of what I'm proposing… or because of someone he has at home. His significant other may not like him coming into the house with a random woman in tow, especially one who’s intending to string up his father and torture him.

An unexpected irritation flares deep inside me at the thought of him being with someone else.

I rub at my chest in an attempt to dismiss it.

Feeling possessive over this man is beyond stupid. I don't know him at all.

“Yes.” I’m proud of myself when I answer because I sound confident. Commanding. Only a little bit crazy.

“Is this only psychological torture? Or you planning something a bit more gruesome?”

“Yes.” My gaze is unflinching. He can either accept this—accept me and what I need to do—or I’ll leave and figure something else out.

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a second, the fingers on his right hand tapping against his jean-clad thigh in thought. “Okay. Yeah, okay, I can help you with that.” Bending down, he wraps his arms around Arthur’s middle and lifts him over his shoulder with ease. “That everything?”