Page 91 of Delirium
Her eyes flashed at me as soon as I made the first contact, as if I pulled her from the trance she needed to do this, but I wasn’t going to stop her.
“I’m new.” He lied straight to our faces. “Completely new. I don’t know anything.”
“Oh dear.” Ophelia chuckled, straightening up and standing right next to me. “He’s new, Stormy,” she said, looking at me. “That means we can’t kill him, right?”
I loved the twinkle in her eye, the game she was playing… Hell, I loved every single thing about her.
“He’s an innocent bystander,” I added. “We surely can’t kill him now. Look at him,” I murmured, both of us turning toward the man. “He’s just a poor little man.”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know anything. You can let me go and I won’t tell a soul.”
“Are you sure?” Ophelia asked, crouching down. “You won’t tell them that the big, bad Ophelia Aster had you in her chokehold?”
His eyes widened as she trailed her finger over his abdomen, to his thigh where the gunshot wound still bled, slowly draining him of life.
“You won’t tell them I wanted to kill you, sever all your limbs and feed them to my dog?”
“N-no.” He shook his head. “I won’t tell them. I won’t tell them anything.”
“Really?” she exclaimed, turning to me. “Did you hear that, Stormy? He won’t tell a soul.”
“I know,” I added, looking at the man. “He will never tell.”
“That’s right. I will never tell. I’ll disappear. I’ll… What the fuck?” he screamed just as Ophelia’s knife lodged itself in his other thigh, the handle sticking out from his leg. “Why?” he screamed, his voice reverberating through the room, mixed with Ophelia’s laughter and my soft chuckles.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, his bloodshot eyes traveling from her to me, trying to understand what just happened.
“That,” Ophelia said, turning the knife to this side then the other. “That was for not telling me your name.” She grinned. “And this,” she added as she wrapped her hand around his neck, squeezing, her thumb pressing against his pulse point. “This is for lying to me, you stupid fuckface.”
“I-I do-n’t… I… H-elp,” he choked, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, his body convulsing, trying to catch his breath.
Ophelia leaned down, pressing her entire weight on him, choking him until he came close to passing out, and then let go, stepping back.
“You thought you could fuck with us and live to see another day?” she asked, venom dripping from her lips, the pure anger she kept locked inside, escaping from her body. “You thought,” she slammed down on the knife in his leg, “that I would let you go!”
“Please—”
“Tell me your fucking name!” Ophelia roared, shaking the fucking ground of the house. The dark red color of his blood dripped down his leg onto the floor, creating a puddle around him.
“Simon,” he breathed out. “My name is Simon.”
“Simon,” Ophelia murmured, tasting his name on her lips, damning him for an eternity. “Who sent you Simon?”
“I don’t—”
“Who?” She took another knife and pressed it to his chest, tearing through his shirt. “Fucking.” The blade cut through the shirt. “Sent.” It pressed down on his pale skin. “You!” The first droplets of blood ran down his abdomen, mixed with the dark hair leading into his pants.
The chair shook along with him, his panic almost a palpable thing, enveloping us in its embrace.
“I don’t know her name,” he finally said. “I don’t know who she is.”
“But it is a her?” Ophelia asked, calmer than before, dragging the blade over his chest, leaving angry red marks and broken skin. “Tell me!” she screamed when he kept quiet. “Tell me, Simon, or I swear to God—”
“Yes!” he yelled out. “I don’t know her name, I’ve never met her before, but she came with an older man to our compound.”
“Which is where?” I asked before Ophelia could beat me to it. “Where is your compound?”
“Portland,” he murmured. “We’re stationed in Portland.” He took a second as if he was mulling something over. “She is too.”
