Page 43 of Kill for a Kiss

I let out uneven, bitter breaths. Reach into my pocket. Pull the lighter free. And throw it into the stacked packets. The flame flares to life. Small at first, then steady and merciless.

As I watch the fire grow, I remember her. Elle’s eyes catching mine through the mask. So this fire—all of these kills, all of this destruction—is for Elle. For the girl who still doesn’t know what’s been stolen from her. Because ofmeand my fucking mistakes, stacking up like a wall between us. She’s stuck on the other side, paying for my dumb fumbles.

Fire races across the piles of drugs. It devours paper, plastic, and flesh, as the flames spread. Heat sears my mask. But I don’t move. Just like the lab, I want to witness the first few moments.

Soon, I’ll take Elle back, then there’ll be nothing left for Clo to cling to. When I’ve seen enough, I walk through the smoke, each step echoing the promise I made in the dark. Elle ismineto protect. I’m going to get her.

10

Elle

Five nights ago

The hours bleed, one into another. It feels as if time doesn’t pass here. Instead, it stretches. It folds. It blinks in and out.

I try to remember yesterday. Or the day before. Or the one before that. But it’s all become mist I can’t quite grasp.

I know my name is Elle. I know this mansion is mine to walk through, as Clo’s honored guest. I know I’m here recovering. From a fall, they say. By the coast. I recall certain parts—the beam of sunlight blinding me and the taste of bittersweet wine.

Often, Clo brings me tea and soft-spoken reassurances, as well as these little white pills that help me mend. They keep the ache from clawing up my spine, and keep the tremors from threading through my limbs. I take them, even when I can’t remember if I did already. They keep everything quiet, like a lullaby that hushes the parts of me that still want to scream.

And then there’s Stan, who’s always nearby. He slides into my world like he’s always belonged there. His laughter warms up the rooms I didn’t know had gone cold. He’s easy to be around.Stan’s handsome in a way that demands attention. And he’s built as something solid, something meant to be leaned on. But his gray eyes in particular remind me of—

I blink, losing my train of thought. When I close my eyes, I see red behind my eyelids. Feel the whisper of wind through vines. Taste salt in the air, as if a storm’s coming. But when I open my eyes and see Stan beside me, I only smell burnt sugar on him, like honey in tea that’s too hot.

“Hey, Elle.” His sweet voice pulls me back. He’s smiling, with his hand out. My fingers slip into his automatically. My skin tingles where we touch.

He talks like he always has, filling the spaces I can’t seem to hold on to. I laugh at the right moments. I nod when I’m supposed to. But my heart clenches when he leans too close. A voice buried deep in me wails in protest.

Clo watches from across this room, wherever we are. I can’t remember, but it must be in the mansion. I don’t recall ever leaving it in the past however while. Clo’s teacup is poised, her smile soft. “Sweet girl,” she says, walking closer to us. “You’re doing so well…slowing down.”

The words settle strangely against my chest. Still, I sip the tea she offers. The bitter taste clings to the back of my throat. A pill follows, slipping past my tongue.

Didn’t I already take one earlier? I can’t tell. The world blurs. Lights stretch. Walls seem further away. Sound curves like smoke. There are so many mirrors in this room of white, all pristine, sterile, yet it seems unnatural.

I keep my eyes down, watching how Stan’s fingers twitch slightly in my hold. My long hair covers my peripherals. I don’t want to see my reflection in the mirrors surrounding this room. I don’t recognize who’s looking back at me.

Stan leans in, interrupting my thoughts. He does that, makes me stop overthinking. His voice wraps around me. “You and me, Elle. Perfect.”

His fingers skim the inside of my wrist, sending a ripple through me. I blink up at him. He repeats what he said, and his words feel like I’ve heard it before. But I can’t remember why that matters.

***

I’ve lost track of the days now.

I think I used to care about that—keeping dates straight, knowing what came before and what comes next. But lately, I feel calm simply sipping tea, sitting in warm rooms with Clo’s voice and Stan’s laughter.

The Song-Smith estate breathes, and I breathe with it. That’s the only way I can explain it, the way time slips through my fingers, the way my own thoughts feel stretched, drawn thin.

I try to remember where I’m supposed to be. Try to think of what I was just doing. But the teacup reaches my lips again. The tea is warm and bitter. But I’ve grown used to the taste. It doesn’t surprise me anymore. Though, the thought that follows does. I don’t remember anything before this house, before Clo’s voice, or Stan’s grin, or the feel of soft sheets beneath me in a room I don’t remember being brought to. The memory of anything before here, beforethem, slips away like steam from the rim of my teacup.

And then I blink. The cup is gone. I frown. My fingers are empty, and the warmth that had been resting in my palms is no longer there.

I look up. I’m not where I was. Stan sits across from me, but I don’t remember getting here. I don’t know wherehereis.

My brows knit together as I stare at him, trying to place the moment.

Stan usually smiles, effortlessly inviting, casually confident. But right now, Stanisn’t. My heart falters. I can hear myself gasp, but I don’t feel it. I stare at Stan with my widening eyes. He’s just watching me while scarily still. In his stillness, I see something unsettling, something empty. His gray eyes stare right into me, unmoving and blank. And I wonderis that what I look like too?