Chapter Twenty-Seven

                                    

                                          
"The happy people are failures because they are on such good terms with themselves they don't give a damn."
-Agatha Christie

Hate.
Hate hate hate and blood and turmoil and hate hate hate. And blood and hate and FUCKING BLOOD AND TURMOIL AND HATE.
That tingling whisper returned.
Kill him. Just kill him and it'll be over. Kill him.
FUCKING KILL HIM.
It would be so easy.
But then what about her family; because if he was really telling the truth, they would have to fall to his mercy. Jackie and Pete and Tony. Gosh, she hadn't seen them in so long, she sometimes wondered if they were all just pieces of fiction, manufactured by her brain to keep her calm. Within the pillars of her mind, they were depicted as such lonely and distant figures; and she'd come to terms with the fact that she won't ever see them again.
She missed Jackie so much.
The reality of it was, trusting people bloody sucked. To believe that she'd been led adrift, again, manipulated into thinking that he might be a good guy. And she had no one to blame but herself. Over and over again she had fallen into his trap; the charade of loss amidst a winding path, lured astray by phantom whispers.
Gods, she was so stupid.
Rose felt a slithering tremble in her mouth, her teeth clacked ever so slightly, as she gazed upon the man. She didn't know if it was out of fear or rage or pain. All she knew was that her blood rushed through her veins; and was ready to act if necessary. 
Would it be so wrong to kill him?
But Mum and Dad. No. She couldn't. Tony still had a life to lead. How old was he now? Five? Six? Maybe ten?
"I'm telling you." she breathed. "I don't have the Catalyst anymore."
She was strapped, once again by Anthony, down to a bed. The irony of it...
"I'll be the judge of that." he smirked and grabbed a scalpel. "Just like old times, yeah?"
"Haven't we been through enough?" she tried to stall. 
"You know what's funny?" he raised a brow and stared at her. "The day you died. I was so incredibly confused when I came down to your room and you were gone. I thought you must have escaped somehow. But no, you completely vanished." he tilted his head. "All this time I spent searching for you, I kind of missed you."
"Wh-"
"No, scratch that." he waved a hand. "What I meant to say is, I missed this. You, strapped to a bed; me, playing with you as I wish."
"You missed being a monster?" she grimaced.
"All in the name of science, Miss Tyler." he grinned.
"Fuck you." she spat at him.
Anthony groaned as he wiped the saliva off his cheek. Without hesitation, he smacked her face, bursting one lip open. And then he'd gently run his thumb over her wound, collecting blood and raising it to his mouth, where he'd taste her essence.
"You're sick." she said in a low tone. 
"I'm a genius."
"No." she shook her head. "You're sick. You're a complete psychopath."