Page 46 of Voyeur
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a man’s deep, gravel voice says from somewhere in the shadows.
“Who the fuck are you? Do you know who I am? You’re fucked!” I shout, veins rising to the surface of my neck as rage flies from me without thinking. I don’t know whoheis, either. For all I know, a gun is trained on me. The thought sobers me as I try to maintain what decorum I can.
A chuckle meets my ears, stroking them and striking me with an off-putting chill.
“Of course. I know who you are, Emery Stanner. Why else would you be chained down? Monsters need cages. Although I haven’t built yours yet, I will. The chains will do until then,” he says, voice bouncing off the concrete walls of the warehouse in such a way I can’t pinpoint where he is.
He knows.
It’s the only thought radiating through me. He knows what I’ve done. What I truly am. My time walking this earth as a free man—a monster among men—has ended, as it should.
I hang my head.
“Ahh, so you know why you’re here, then. Good. It spares me the begging; the whining,” he says. The telltale scrape of a blade being sharpened tickles my ears.
Words choke in my throat. He doesn’t truly know me, then. Because as I hear him sharpen his weapon of choice, words of pleading are begging me to shout them. Begging me to throw myself at this man’s merciful side to spare us.
How can he know?
No one knows.
“Now,” he says, stepping out of the shadows, “tell me, how did you get that scar, hmm?”
He’s tall, built, and something about him makes me stop breathing momentarily. Me not knowing him is the first racing thought through my brain. I’ve never met this man in my life, nor have I seen him before. How could someone I don’t know, know so much about me?
“My scar?” I ask, stalling as I rack my brain for an answer. Because even though I know it’s from that night at Westpoint House, I don’t remember how I’d gotten it. That memory hadn’t come yet.
“Mmm, you’re not deaf or dumb. So don’t give me that act. How did you get the scar Emery?”
Twirling a blade with his right hand, the tip digs into his left forearm. It’s all I can do not to shudder at the sight. No pain shows on his features, and it unnerves me. I deal with men like him to fix my issues, but never had I thought I’d find myself on the other side. A victim of my own making.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” I admit, and he pauses twirling and looks me over. His head cocks as he assesses something, thoughts pass his eyes as clear as day before he resumes twirling the blade.
“What did you do to my Carina, hmm?” he asks, and my stomach cinches as my breathing halts.
“Carina?” I breathe.
How does he know?
“Yes, Carina. Why is it that she’s given me your name for vengeance, hmm? You must’ve done something simply awful,” he says, sheathing his blade and leaning over me. Coffee-scented breath wafts pasts my nose, but it’s his demeanor that teeters me toward the edge.
He’s killed, and I know he has. I can feel it in the vibrations rippling around his body. It’s as palpable as heat waves floating above asphalt in the dead of summer, almost visible. He’s killed, and I’m going to be his next notch on his blade handle.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I hurt her I think.”
There’s no need to lie to him. I’m chained to a fucking metal chair God only knows where. I need to keep him engaged so that Conner has time to find me.
“I think you know, even if that filthy mind of yours has hidden it from you. But don’t you worry, we’re going to find out what you did.”
“Why?” I ask stupidly. “Why not kill me?”
He stands up, dropping his hands into his pockets. “Because men like you aren’t who they are on their own, are you? You’ve an army at your disposal. Even as a teenager you would have. Killing you doesn’t solve the problem. Everyone who helped you get away with what you did will die along with you. But first, we’ll unlock those memories, won’t we?”
He moves through the shadows, coming back with a cart. The wheel squeaks every other turn as he moves it toward me. Electric paddles tell me it’s a machine I’ve only seen on television, used to bring people back from the dead when they’ve coded in a hospital.
Tugging against my chains, I fight to loosen them to get away.
He’s fucking insane!