Page 38 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)

Chapter Thirty

Mallory

T here’s a sound to my right, a small creak and some shuffling.

Turning towards it, a Ghostface mask emerges from the shadows and I freeze in terror.

Is it Johnson? Is he fucking with me again?

Wanting to relight my hopefulness, just to watch it drain from my eyes when he pulls the mask off and I see his ugly fucking mug.

I’m not falling into that trap. I face forward once again, staying silent just as I agreed I would.

Closing my eyes, I recentre myself. Stuffing my emotions back into their lockbox as numbness takes over, I become uncaring of anything coming my way.

Breathe in. Wipe the slate clean. Breathe out.

Expel the tension woven through every fibre of my mind and body.

Indifference blankets over me like a comfort I’ve been searching for this whole time.

I tried so hard to hold onto the woman I was blooming into.

I held onto her for me, because I genuinely liked who I was becoming, finally .

I clung to her for Nox, so we could still be something if I ever made it back to him.

I can’t do it anymore. In my final moments I don’t want to be here.

I need to float away to the recesses of my mind where I’ll enjoy my last breath.

I won’t be in this dusty mill that reeks of decay, I’ll be in the box of the truck with Nox, so deeply wound up in a kiss with him that it steals my breath…

as Johnson strangles the air from my lungs.

Tears well in my eyes, and I force myself to suppress the sob wanting to break free.

Breathe in, breathe out. Ragged breaths stutter between my lips as I strain to get myself under control.

I scrunch my eyes, willing myself to regain my composure.

A tear breaks free and flows down my cheek.

“Shit,” I whisper. I have the urge to wipe it away before fuckface comes back and slaps me for crying, or something equally as ludicrous, but I'm restrained.

Suddenly, there’s hands on my face. They are gentle and warm.

Carefully and tenderly, they coax me back to the present.

A thumb swipes away the tear sliding down my cheek, and I hear, “Baby, open your eyes.” The voice is familiar.

It’s commanding and quiet, full of fear, and dripping with emotion.

“Mallory, please. Baby, look at me.” His voice cracks as my eyes flutter open.

It’s still Ghostface staring back at me but it’s not Johnson. I’d recognize those tattoos anywhere.

He came.

“Ghost?”

“Shh, little siren. It’s me.” He pulls a knife from his side and slices through the rope around my ankles.

The relief is immediate as feeling starts to return to my toes.

I’m so fucking cold but suppress the shiver so I don’t accidentally get cut.

Ghost moves behind me. “Hold this,” he says, placing the handle of the knife in my hand.

I hear him struggling with something, the rustling is loud and it mounts my anxiety.

His warm hands close around mine briefly, the heat sinking into my frigid limbs.

I swear I can feel his heat at my back, seeping into me, warming me with every gentle touch.

Breathing life back into me with merely his presence.

There’s the slow, quiet ripping of velcro then something jingles.

I hold my breath, praying the lunatic outside doesn’t hear it.

One cuff around my wrist falls away just as Johnson comes barrelling through the door.

“Ghost, stop,” I whisper. He freezes, still crouched behind me.

Johnson takes in the scene before him, raising the gun in his hand and fixing it on me. “Get up lover boy or I’ll blow her brains all over your stupid fuckin’ mask.”

Ghost grasps my hand that holds the knife. It’s a fraction of a second, there and then gone, but it’s enough to remind me I’m almost free, and I can end this.

He stands behind me, casting a tall imposing shadow across the floor.

I risk a look up at my masked protector, engraving every detail of him into my memory.

His tattoos, strong body, and electrifying touch.

I didn’t need to see his face to fall for him, he saw me…

the real me. Our souls recognized each other immediately, weaving together in an unbreakable way.

He looks down at me, our eyes locking through the mesh of the mask.

“See you on the other side, baby,” he rasps.

What?

Bang!

A shot rings out, and he flies back, out of my field of view.

“No!” I wail. “Ghost! Get up! GET UP!” I scream, but I can’t see him.

I can’t hear anything over the pounding in my ears and my own broken sobbing screams. I’m too focused on Ghost and my own despair that I completely miss the homicidal maniac storming over to me.

Johnson’s fist cracks into my jaw, sending my face flying in the opposite direction of where Ghost lies unmoving. He yanks my face back to his with his hand woven into my hair. “Your death is going to last a fuckin’ eternity, darlin’.”

“F-fuck y-you,” I stutter, spitting in his face.

“You will, over and over again. Until you’re beggin’ for me to kill you,” he growls, lowering his face to be level with mine.

“We’ll see,” I mumble. He quirks his head, either from curiosity or lack of hearing me properly. It doesn’t matter why he did it. What does matter though, is now he’s let his guard down and exposed himself.

He killed Ghost. He killed Victoria. He raped you. Ruined your life so completely you’ll never survive this.

Rage and heartache overflow as my box of emotions implodes.

My un-cuffed hand flies out from behind me, shocking him.

With all my remaining strength, I thrust the knife toward him, firmly imbedding it into the underside of his jaw.

The blade pierces up through his tongue, breaks through his palate, and stops before reaching his brain.

Johnson falls to the floor, gasping and sputtering. Crawling away from me as I fumble with frozen fingers to untie the rope looped around my midsection.

Fuck sakes, Mallory. Come on, he’s getting away.

Finally the knot falls apart and I unwind myself from the chair. On legs made of jelly, I stumble over to where Johnson is lying, trying to muster up the will to pull the knife out.

Stupid fuck, doesn’t he know you’re supposed to leave the weapon in the wound so you don’t bleed out?

Jumping on top of him, I drive my fist into his face. His head flies to the side.

Tit for tat.

I grab his hair and yank his face back to look at me as I pull the blade out from below his chin. Heat spreads through my body as I feel myself come alive.

This. This is what I crave. The control. The power.

His eyes cross as he starts to lose consciousness.

Oh, I don’t fucking think so.

“Wakey, wakey, darlin',” I sneer. Dragging the knife down his chest. It cuts clean through his shirt with just a bit of pressure.

“I want to fuck these perky tits,” I whisper to myself, reliving how he climbed on top of me, and violated me before I passed out. His eyes snap to mine, and he tries to push me off. His attempts are futile and weak willed.

What a pathetic fuckwit.

With ruthless finesse, I get his arms pinned beneath my legs.

Leaning in close, I say, “Make this good for me or I’ll feed you your own liver.

” Sitting atop his abdomen, I press the lethally sharp blade to his sternum.

He shakes his head back and forth violently as I drag the knife up and down his chest, thrusting between his floppy pecs the same way he rutted against my flesh.

“STOP!” he finally wails.

“The louder you scream the deeper I dig,” I taunt. Increasing the pressure on the blade, I watch his skin split apart like butter until I swear I can see the bone beneath the muscle and tissue. His screams bleed into manic laughter, stopping my revenge.

“You’re not so different from me after all, darlin’,” he gurgles, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth.

“I’m nothing like you,” I growl.

“Yeah, you are.” He chuffs a laugh again, blood spewing and splattering all over me as I hover over him.

“NO, I’M NOT!” I scream. He chokes out another laugh, and something inside me snaps.

I stab the knife into his chest. “Shut up!” Slice.

“I’m not like you!” Stab. “Fuck you!” I plunge the knife in and out, in and out, sobbing uncontrollably.

All I see is red, red, red. Then nothing. Darkness envelops me.

I’m drenched from top to bottom, sweat seeping steadily from my pores, when the blackness recedes.

It’s so hot it’s making me dizzy. My eyes flutter, light filtering back in, but the sweat clings to my lashes, blurring my vision.

Fuck, I feel like I’m about to pass out.

I wipe my face but I’m so wet it barely helps at all. Looking around, all I see is carnage.

Blood saturates me. Running down my naked skin in rivers of crimson as it drips from my hair. The haze fully lifts, and beneath me Johnson’s chest cavity looks like it just went through a meat grinder.

I rise, staggering on shaky legs above him.

What have I done ? My vision falters as I take in the savagery.

What happened? I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have done that.

My head shakes erratically back and forth as I try to rid the image from my brain, but reality holds on, showcasing me what I’ve done.

I look down my body, blood trails down my arms, dripping off my finger tips.

Ghost’s blade shines brightly in the sun beam streaming through the window, the bright red liquid beading off it like rain on a freshly waxed car.

Focusing on his knife in my hand, I find comfort in the weight of it held in my palm.

It centres me as chunks of Johnson’s flesh dislodge from my sticky skin, dropping into the blood pool at my feet.

A voice in my subconscious breaks through the silence.

You did it. You destroyed that monster. You survived.

You ended him before he killed you or another innocent woman.

And you liked it. You liked the control.

You loved ridding the earth of the filth that infests it like a sickly disease. You’ll do it again. You’ll want to.

It’s all I hear. The voice ringing in my head on an incessant loop mixed with the drip, drip, drip from the blood streaming off me and falling into the lake that’s formed around my feet. It’s enough to drive anyone mad.

The voice starts to work me over, pulling me closer, blocking out everything that isn’t it. I did like it. No, I didn’t. I did it to survive. I did like the control. No, I got lucky because I got the upper hand, because Ghost came to save me. I wanted to kill him. Yes, I did, but not like this.

I start to lose myself in my own mind, listening to the voice.

Until I hear something else…

“Mallory?”