Page 41 of Lethal (Wellard Asylum #1)

I observe Cecelia carefully as she shatters, her mind devolving rapidly from the implosion of reality, forcing its way into her paranoia, and the delusional world she has created, since killing her cousin, Caterina, months ago.

I’ve allowed her to roam freely through the institution for weeks, so I could conduct my research unobstructed, allowing her to fall deeper and deeper into her insanity.

One of my men has always kept a close eye on her, and cleaned up the messes she made along the way, like with Sullivan.

It was lucky that Jason had been tailing her; Sullivan never should have gotten that close to her.

The bastard almost ruined my work in progress.

Who knows how another rape would have impacted her mental state?

As I watched her on the screen, I was enthralled by the sheer power of her derangement.

She truly believed that the Norwood twins were present with her in that padded room.

She was beautiful in her self-gratification, savagery, and psychosis.

The strength she held within herself, as she brutally murdered a man who meant her harm, and then took her satisfaction from him, was astounding.

I truly believed that she would be my greatest achievement, a mind so malleable, that it could be swayed to think anything I desired.

Did I help feed her deadly delusions along the way, of course, but most of the work came right from her own mind.

I allowed her to believe that I was the one who hurt her cousin, Cecelia.

I encouraged her need for revenge, nourished it with bread crumbs of what was actually happening, and continued to push her forward off a precipice.

Do I care that her mind will be utterly broken, now that I’m forcing her to face reality?

No, of course not, it’s all in the name of science.

Everything I learn from Cecelia Vaughan, I can apply masterfully to my next patient, until I achieve perfection.

“Were they ever real or...” Her voice cracks, and I hate that weakness I now see within her.

Everything in me wants to hurt her, to force her back into the monster I know is just lying under the top layer of her skin.

That is the one I want, not this pathetic, blubbering version.

I lean forward, grasping her chin, and meet her eyes.

“They were always real, but not in the sense your fragile, broken mind believes. They never loved you, Cecelia, they were never yours.”

Pleasure fills every available inch inside my malevolent body, at the pained and devastated expression that immediately crosses her face, as my words hit home.

I’m almost done playing with Cecelia Vaughan, just a few more bloody slices, to force her to bleed out while I watch, and take note of what hurts her the most.

“What? No, I... I... please, just tell me the truth.” I watch as she continues to stare into the corner intently, as if she were seeing one of those despicable heathens now in their corporeal form.

“Do you see them, Cecelia? Are they here with us?” I question softly, needing to hear her answer.

“Yes,” the word is whispered with fear.

“Tell me what they’re saying to you, Cecelia,” I demand, nodding to Henry to loosen his grasp on her, and undo the straps confining her in the chair.

I want to see what she does, will she try to run to them?

Will her delusions tell her to fight us?

I almost hope they do, that way I can inflict even more pain on her, and document the moment her heart finally ceases to beat.

She’s so enthralled by her vision, that she doesn’t even notice Henry removing her straitjacket.

For a moment, she just sits there completely lost, a broken doll, like she’s always claimed Wren Norwood called her.

A part of me almost feels sorry for her; she’s been handed a difficult life.

Everyone who was supposed to protect her failed miserably.

This was a cause of nurture, causing the demise of nature.

All the abuse, and betrayal, that Cecelia Vaughan has had to endure in her short life, broke her fragile mind, leaving her in this state where I could easily influence her.

While I was not the one to introduce the images of the twins to her, I did have a hand in suggesting it to her cousin, Doctor Caterina Vaughan, as a tool to help her engage with an almost catatonic Cecelia, when she first arrived here in Wellard.

I supplied Caterina with all the images, videos, and files that she shared with Cecelia, of the notorious Carnevil Twins.

Then, I sat back and documented the fallout, when both became obsessed with them, but in very different ways.

Caterina’s obsession was more with the fact that it pulled Cecelia back from the edge, at least for a little while.

Her guilt, at turning her cousin in for her violent crime, and having her placed in Wellard, ate at her like a festering wound.

Both women began to romanticize the twin serial killers into something that they had never been.

I remember Bash and Wren Norwood’s time in Wellard Asylum; both were unhinged individuals, with no sense of remorse.

They were vicious, violent predators, who enjoyed the chase, and demise, of their prey.

I knew there was no point in even attempting to rehabilitate them, so instead, I used my time with them to focus on their unique brotherly bond, and manipulated it, along with their lust for one of my female doctors, so that I could achieve an outcome that could be useful to my research.

“They... they are telling me that they were always real, but how can that be?” Cecelia questions. “They say not to trust you, that you’re lying, and just want to hurt me.”

“They’re right, I won’t deny that I have lied to you, and that hurting you is part of my research, but you see, Cecelia, I believe that I’ve now gone as far as I can with you, there’s only one more piece of you I need to break, to complete your transformation, and document it for my research.”

I release her chin, her tears now coating my skin, repulsing me.

“Look back through your memories, Cecelia, you will find the truth of my words.” I move away and grab the files that once belonged to the Norwood twins, the ones that Caterina used, to introduce their storyline to Cecelia.

I pull out the photograph that I know will hurt her, like a blade embedding into her fragile heart.

“This is who they loved, Cecelia. Not you, it was never you. Her name was Doctor Margaret Fergus, and she was their psychiatrist when they were incarcerated here in Wellard, more than twenty years ago, before you were ever born.”

“Twenty... years ago?” She utters so softly that I almost miss the words. Her hands squeeze into tight fists in her lap, but I can tell it’s done subconsciously. She hasn’t even realized that we’ve freed her yet. Interesting, time to push a little harder.

I flip through more still images of the three of them together, sessions in her office, her in their rooms when it was improper, even a photograph of the three of them together having sex.

Every image seems to stab Cecelia further, and her lips tremble, but she doesn’t dare look away.

“You see, Cecelia, Bash fell deeply in love with Margaret, so much so that he feared Wren would hurt her, with his constant jealousy, and need to be the only one that Bash cared for.”