Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
"You little bitch," he hisses, one hand moving to cover my mouth. Something covering his palm smells of chemicals, something sweet and heavy that makes my head swim instantly. Chloroform. Oh God.
I bite down hard on his hand, tasting blood. He curses but keeps the cloth pressed to my face. I hold my breath as long as I can, thrashing wildly, but eventually my lungs burn for air.
The familiar sensation starts at the base of my skull—a lightness, a disconnection.
No, not now. I need to stay present, I need to fight—
I try to remember the techniques Dr. Resnick taught me. Grounding. Breathing. Staying in the body. But the chemicals and the panic are too strong.
The switch is coming, unstoppable as the tide. Darkness edges my vision, the kitchen ceiling spinning above me as the man's grip tightens.
My last coherent thought is of Domhnall—his smile this morning as he kissed me goodbye, his promise to be home early tomorrow. Will he walk in to find me gone? Will he know how to look for me? Will he blame himself?
The last thing I hear is the attacker's voice, low and clinical, "You and the Librarian can't just disappear like that right after you've fucked us over."
Then nothing.
TWENTY-TWO
RED
I blink my eyes open to the world. But unlike other new beings, I am unable to breathe or wail my first breath.
That's because a large man is sitting on my chest.
Choking me out.
Spots dance before my eyes as his hands tighten around my throat. I process this situation with perfect clarity. No panic. No fear. Just analysis.
I am small. He is large. He will kill me soon.
It makes me see red.
Red like his blood. Blood that deserves to be on the outside of his body, not the inside.
I remain perfectly calm as I lift my arms from where they lay lifeless on the floor. I can see from the satisfaction on his ugly face that he thinks he's doing such a good job of killing me. No need to alert him just yet.
Only when I am ready do I move quickly.
I jab without hesitation, without mercy. Long, lacquered red fingernails into his squishy eyeballs.
He screams, but I do not stop.
I push harder.
I'm ruthless until the squish of eyeballs gives way to the spongy brain tissue beneath. Physics. Anatomy. These are simple truths.
He falls on top of me but slightly to the side. His weight is substantial but irrelevant. I have to use my hips and one knee to heave him off me, and then I scramble to my feet.
I blink, feeling his blood dripping down my cheeks as I look down at the large, dead man on the lovely hardwood of the foyer. I experience no disgust. No horror. Just assessment.
I smile.
But then I frown. He's quite a mess.
The other one... Anna. She won't like such a mess in her pretty house. I can feel her presence, dormant now, but she'll return eventually. They always do.
I've seen bodies disposed of, from inside the others' heads. We've seen so many things in the not-so-nice places we've been.
It's why I exist, after all. To handle the things they can't.
I grab paper towels from the counter and swipe my face to clear some of the blood off. Not that I suppose it will matter. I glance back at the man and sigh.
This will get very bloody before it's all done with.
I open and close cabinets, looking for what I'll need. My movements are methodical, practiced, though these hands have never performed these tasks before. But I know how. I've always known.
Ah! An electric meat carver. That might work. I pull it out, then frown, examining it critically. It won't get through bone effectively before burning out the motor. Inefficient.
I sift through our collective memories, calculating and precise, before remembering: the garage. Concrete floors would really be a much more suitable surface for this job. And even though Domhnall isn't the kind of man who does his own carpentry, I bet he's still got some power tools around here. Maybe even a good dolly suitable for moving around bodies.
I smile again, heading for the elevator leading to the garage. As I step inside, I catch my reflection in the polished metal doors. Blood splatter across my face. Hair disheveled. Eyes cold and unfamiliar even to me. I straighten my posture. Tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
As my father used to tell me, all you need for any job is the right tools.
In the garage, the fluorescent lights flicker on automatically. The concrete floor is pristine, swept clean. Domhnall may not be a handyman, but he likes order. I can work with order.
I locate a tool chest against one wall. Inside are hammers, wrenches, and pliers. Not ideal, but workable. Then I spot it—a chainsaw. Perfect. I lift it, testing its weight. A bit unwieldy for someone my size but manageable. I check the fuel level. Half-tank. Sufficient.