Page 3 of Lethal (Wellard Asylum #1)

What? I try my best not to react, giving the outward appearance of being unperturbed, while inside, my pulse races, and I hear my heartbeat inside my ears.

The fact that I was wearing a blue blouse today, and he noticed and mentioned it, causes a sense of pleasure to rise within me.

Disgusting, you’re enjoying what a mentally ill man thinks of you.

Have you no shame? Instead of immediately replying to his comment, my fingers tighten on the pen as I move it across the page, making a small mark in my notebook.

Not a note of any kind, just something to attempt to break the brief connection between us, and silence the doubts in my own head.

My hand needs somewhere to go, to disguise the trembling, when the silence and my nerves stretch thin.

“Are the voices quieter, or more demanding, this week, Wren?” My breath gets trapped in my throat as I wait to see if he’ll answer, as I sneak a peek at his stoic brother from below my lashes.

I can’t read the expression on his face.

Is he just as surprised that Wren is willingly speaking to me?

Somehow, I doubt it. Red flags are waving before me, and not the kind that I enjoy in my book boyfriends, the ones accompanied by the sound of a warning blare, like in the Purge movies.

“They don’t like being ignored, or being drowned,” he says, tilting his dark head slightly, like a curious animal, and licking his ravaged lips.

Fuck, I would like to be his lips right now.

Battered, abused, and being tasted by him.

“But they’re quieter when you talk. They like the sound of your soft voice. ”

Breathe, Caterina. I sense a shift in the air around us, a creeping tension that is beginning to spread, almost as if all the air is being siphoned out of the room, one breath at a time.

Wren’s lips lift into a full-fledged smile, showing me his perfectly straight, white teeth, and it’s so disarming that I feel my own lips parting.

Electricity surges between us, and I realize, once he glances at his brother, that a trap is being set.

Only the trap isn’t only his, they’re playing with me.

“Why do you think that is?” I inquire, guessing the direction of his answer, and attempting to hide my sudden irritation.

Fucking asshole, let’s see if you still play games with me if I throw you in isolation.

I tighten my other hand until my sharp nails bite into my palm, and the hint of pain pushes back my instant rage.

“They don’t trust you. They tell me that you want to use and hurt us, just like everyone else.

” He pauses, his head twitching side to side on his corded, tattooed neck.

The vicious, distorted clown that’s inked on its surface, taunting me with its gaping mouth, and sharp, wicked teeth.

J ust like him, a killer clown that enjoys death and mayhem.

“But I’m trying to trust you, pretty porcelain dolly. ”

The way Wren uses his words, without any hesitation, and with a straight face, makes my stomach tighten.

Not in fear, no, in recognition of the fact that this is all a game to him.

There is something treacherous and insidious inside Wren.

I have seen this before. I’ve studied it in other serial killers.

I’ve dissected it, wanting to prove to myself that my curiosity is based on science, and my profession, rather than the truth, that I’m thrilled by it, crave it more and more, and even perhaps love that tempting darkness.

“Do you trust me , Doctor?“ he asks with amusement and a wink, leaning forward just a little too far, until his handcuffs clank against the metal armrests he’s chained to. The sound is a reminder of where we are, and what is at stake here. I meet his gaze with a practiced calm that, inwardly, I don’t feel, but in my mind, a different conversation is happening.

One where I’m weighing each of his words, and every minute movement he’s making.

Not even if you were taking your last breath, asshole. Not until I discover all your secrets, and what you’ve hidden, and even then, there’s no chance.

“I trust the work we’re doing together, Wren.

I want to help you and your brother,” I reply, deflecting, and keeping the professional mask I wear in place.

The one that doesn’t show him, or Bash, how much they’ve gotten under my skin.

It is a mediocre truth, and a lie, in one perfect sentence.

Something any doctor who wanted to help their patient would say.

My glance moves to Bash, trying to ascertain his thoughts on his brother speaking to me.

Bash’s eyes seem to peer into my soul, right into the darkness that lies there, dormant, and just waiting for a chance to rise.

Come to me, they call, endeavoring to tempt me.

Yet, he gives nothing away, and never interjects, allowing Wren to do the talking. Interesting.

Wren chuckles under his breath. “That’s not an answer.

She’s a liar, yes, my pretty porcelain doll is a liar.

Her tongue would look so lovely filleted open, and cooked over a fire, wouldn’t it, Bash?

Maybe we could cook it with some of those wild carrots, no, some steak sauce, yes, sauce would be tasty.

“ He smacks his lips grotesquely, and his arms tighten against the restraints, yanking on them forcefully until they dig into his skin, leaving awful red marks, as he becomes more and more agitated. He plants his rubber-soled slip-on shoes on the tiled ground, the strength in his muscular legs clearly defined through the cheap cotton of his Wellard-provided pants, as he strains to rise from the confining seat with a growl. “My pretty, my dolly, I want to eat! I’m so hungry, dolly.”

“Wren, please take a few breaths, and bring yourself back to a calm state,” I request, uttering the words for the sake of saying them, but knowing they’ll have no effect on him.

The truth is, I don’t want them to. I desire to see how far I can push him.

I need to see how he will react. A part of me hungers to witness the violence that he and Bash have yet to show me.

The violence each of their victims had endured, before succumbing to death.

The same one that lives inside of you, isn’t that right, Cat?

“I like your voice,” he interrupts suddenly, his body deflating as he sits back on the chair, and once again begins to rub his forefinger with his thumb.

I quickly make a note for myself, never truly taking my eyes off of him.

“When I close my eyes, it’s like you’re inside my head.

The only thing missing is that your voice isn’t screaming, or crying. ”

I tap my pen once against my notebook, then again and again. Tap, tap, tap. Each tap causes a tick to jump in Wren’s jaw, and his fingers to dig into the armrest of the chair. “Why am I not screaming or crying in your head, Wren?” Tap, tap, tap.

The move is so sudden that I don’t even have a chance to jerk in my seat.

Bash yanks hard against the handcuffs, and the whole chair makes a groaning metallic sound.

Panic fills me, and I quickly lunge out of my chair and move behind it, dropping my notebook and pen in the process.

My heart beats like a herd of stallions stampeding inside of me, and a rush of adrenaline slams into me.

My eyes glance at the pen, and then back toward the man, snapping his teeth at me, and looking like a feral animal ready to attack me.

Fuck, I have just given them a weapon to use against me.

“Because we haven’t torn you apart, bitch, but when we do, you’ll scream , you’ll cry , you’ll beg , and then you’ll sing for us,“ Bash grits through his teeth, his voice changing with a lilt, as he pulls against the cuffs so harshly, that blood trickles down his wrist to his hand, from the damage they are causing to his skin.

“I want to fuck her pretty mouth, Bash! I want to cover myself in all of her red blood, while filling her skull with my cum,” Wren whines, and one glance at his crotch area shows me how aroused he is, at the mere thought of hurting me. Fuck.

Wren keeps talking about his dreams, and depraved, horrific things he wants to do to me, about how I would taste and smell, covered in his semen.

He mumbles over and over to himself, until his words become more incoherent.

He thrashes restlessly in his chair, his head moving back and forth on his neck, yet his brother remains unaffected by his tantrum.

I watch Wren from the corner of my eye, but most of my focus is on Bash, since, of the two, he is the one I’m betting is the real danger.

“You should be more careful, Doctor. You never know how a patient is going to respond to your questions,” Bash’s voice dips into that dark, velvet tone I’m sure he reserves just for me.

The one that knows too much, and sees right through my doctor’s facade.

The one that shows me that he’s in complete control the whole time, and is just humoring me.

It reminds me of my purpose at Wellard, and brings up an image of someone else.

Someone now long gone and buried. Someone who was terrified, and called out to me for help.

Someone I should have saved, but failed miserably.

“I think we’re done for today,” I reply, leaning forward and pressing the button, and taking a further step backward, slowly.

Deliberately. My eyes are glued to Bash’s without flinching.

I’m not afraid of you, I scream silently, but my lips never move, and he doesn’t break the connection.

It’s a war of wills, to see who will shatter first, and I know it won’t be me.

I’m stronger than you think, monster, you can’t hurt me.

The four orderlies rush into the room, the steel door banging roughly against the aged wall.

Two of them approach Wren, who is now laughing maniacally.

He doesn’t stop moving, as they roughly seize his shoulders, one of them attaching a barbaric metal collar around his neck, and the other strapping thick metal cuffs to his legs, and connecting them to a thick chain around his waist. The orderlies work together, securing his arms now behind his back to the chain, and forcing him from the seat.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, Doctor. You and that pretty tongue, we’ll have a feast together. ”

Bash doesn’t even attempt to struggle against his orderlies, as they attach his chains, and he is quickly shoved out the door, without a backward glance in my direction.

I move away from the chair now and to the room’s door, my hand securely on the doorknob, and my heart frantically beating in my chest. I feel the drips of cold sweat trailing down my back, and I itch to swipe at them, but I refuse to show that they’ve affected me.

Just as they’re dragging Wren out the door, he turns his head and whisper-shouts to me, “ Ring around your silence… A pocket full of screams… we’re coming for you, dolly... you’re already ours to eat. ”

Once I can no longer see either of them in the gray-painted hallway, I close my door, releasing the pent-up breath that is tightening my chest, and making breathing difficult.

My hands tremble, as I lift them to my face and hair, trying to reassure myself that I’m fine.

That, despite the theatrics, nothing had truly happened.

“Cat, please come and save me! They’re hurting me, Cat, please!” A female voice whispers in my mind, causing my body to tremble, and pain to lance my chest.

That was close, closer than the others had ever gotten.

Fuck. My notebook catches my eye on the floor, its pages open and forgotten.

I move toward it, bending down to pick it up, and my peripheral vision catches the red drops of blood, now forgotten on the side of Wren’s chair.

My fingers reach out and touch it, rubbing it between my digits, before I slip them inside of my mouth, licking off the rich coppery taste.

I’m going to find the truth in them, all their secrets, the ones they’ve never told to anyone.

Even if I have to dig through every inch of their madness to get there.

Even if I have to become part of it. I need their answers to use as leverage, to find the truth of what happened here all those months ago.

My eyes land on the words I wrote on the page, before I lost control of the situation.

Self-Aware. Lying. Games.