Page 9 of Noctis

Caligo

I see you, new person, with your blond curls, sapphire-blue eyes, and deliciously plump lips.

I didn’t enjoy watching you kiss him. I didn’t like his hands on you or the way you clung to him as though you wanted him to stay. My anger rose with every step as I followed him to his car, imagining tearing him into a million tiny pieces. I even worked out exactly how I’d do it. Do you want to hear my plan? I’ll tell you anyway.

Legs first, so he wouldn’t be able to run.

Then his arms, so he couldn’t fight back. Not that it would matter if he did. I’m far stronger than he will ever be.

Only then would I reach into his rib cage, curl my fingers around his heart, and watch his expression as he realized I truly held his life in my hands.

Do you think he would have begged? I think he would have. He looked like the begging sort. I’d draw it out, savoring his panic while I tightened my grip a little at a time. Not enough to kill him. Not yet.

Then, when I was ready, I’d rip his heart straight out of his chest. I’d hold it up for him so he could see what it looked like before the light went out in his eyes.

How long can a human survive without a heart? Not long, I imagine. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t touch him. I wanted to, but I didn’t.

I’m in control. I’m not a monster. A monster would have given in to those urges, whereas I swallowed mine and let him go, even after he sat in the car and made that phone call.

“What phone call?” I hear you asking.

Well, that would be telling. You don’t know me yet, so you have no reason to believe me, but Tyler Bennett is not the man you think he is.

If you knew what I know, perhaps you’d want me to tear out his heart.

I’ll ask you one day, Rowan Hayes, and you can tell me.

One day soon.

Patience.

Chapter Four

Rowan

Dr. Handsome’s name was Logan Collins. I knew that because he’d just shown me into his office, introduced himself, and informed me he was the clinician in charge of my care. That had been the extent of our conversation. For the next couple of minutes, he silently studied a file with my name on it while I resisted the urge to ask whether he’d ever encountered the concept of preparing for a meeting before it started. Still, it wasn’t like I had anywhere better to be.

I’d met some of my fellow—what was I supposed to call them? Inmates? Comrades? Probably patients, although the word left a bitter taste in my mouth—over breakfast, and on the whole, they’d seemed relatively normal. There’d been no histrionics over the cereal and nobody trying to do a line of salt. As someone who’d watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest more than once, it had been slightly disappointing. Even Laura sat quietly, sipping her coffee with a thoughtful expression that bore no resemblance to the terrified woman from the previous day.

With Dr. Collins' attention fixed on the file, I took the opportunity to study him in return. For entertainment only, I assessed his potential as a romantic prospect. What Tyler didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He was older than me—mid-thirties, if I had to guess—but that wasn’t a problem. Tyler was thirty-two to my twenty-six. There was no wedding ring or pale band on his finger to suggest he’d removed one for work.

His dark hair curled around his ears, and his eyes were blue. A slight bump on his nose suggested he’d broken it a time or two. Maybe he’d played rugby. He had the broad shoulders for it. The slight imperfection enhanced his looks rather than detracting from them. He’d draped his white coat over the back of his chair instead of wearing it, as if he preferred to meet patients as a person rather than hide behind his job title. He had a stethoscope around his neck, though. Perhaps if I feigned a medical emergency, I could get a once-over from him. Maybe even mouth-to-mouth.

He finally looked up and offered me a smile. “Have you settled in okay, Rowan?”

The deliberate use of my name was presumably to build trust. At least, that was my reading of the situation. I shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Is your room okay? If there are any problems, you can let us know, and we’ll do our best to fix them.”

I bet they didn’t say that to people in an NHS facility. It raised the question of how Tyler was paying for my stay. He had money, but nowhere near as much as I did. Perhaps he wasn’t paying, and I’d get the bill, which would really be the icing on the cake. Not only had Tyler tricked me into coming here, but I might have to finance my own incarceration.

“What kind of problems?” I asked.

The question seemed to throw Logan—he’d insisted I call him by his first name—for a moment. “Like… a light that doesn’t work. A shower that doesn’t—”

“Shower?” I suggested.