Snare (Delirious book 1) (39 page)

Providence, Rhode Island – June 2
nd
, 2013, sundown

The more at ease I feel in his home, the more awkward it gets.

It’s strange, being okay with what he does. Needing something so violent, so bad. It isn’t in my nature, and yet I can’t think of being anywhere other than in his house right now. Even though I am alone, I have no desire to run. This foolishness of letting my heart be the boss of me is going to be my downfall someday.

In between flipping the page of my book, I check the clock on the wall. It’s already been three hours since Sebastian left. I wonder what he’s doing there, at the library in the meeting room. I’m always curious to find out what he’s got going on up there, but I’m not allowed to join him. Ever. He made that quite clear to me when I tried to go with him last time.

After he got some phone call in the library, he quickly brought me home and went straight back. He was in such a hurry. The unnerved look on his face and his erratic movements were so unlike him. Something must be wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me. So now I’m here, waiting in his home until he comes back.

When I notice a peculiar book lying on his desk, something inside me switches on. The innate need to pull myself back to reality. It almost feels like I’m being called, encouraged by the voice in my head to investigate.

My instinct is usually right on these things, and it tells me to pick it up, so I do. Flipping through the pages, I come across a scene that makes me stop. I read the passage in my head over and over again. A man jerks himself off in the library while a woman watches. My eyes carefully scan the words, my lips quivering as I read the exact same words Sebastian spoke to me. This book describes precisely what happened to me.

In shock, I drop the book on the floor.

A pin button that was stuck in between rolls out. It’s the pin button he always wears.

He normally never leaves this pin button home. Never.

Something’s wrong.

Shaking, I pick up the book and the pin button. The triangle and circle with the G in it always puzzled me, but now even more. From the moment I saw him wearing it, I recognized it, but I still don’t know where from. An urge to search for clues sparks in my head. I can’t ignore this buzzing feeling, so I make my way to his personal office, the one he doesn’t allow me to enter. Against the rules or not, I still go inside.

Swallowing, I turn on the light and take in the room. There are rows and rows of books and a desk at the end, facing the window. With careful steps, I tread toward it and sit down on a chair. I try not to touch anything as I put the book down on the desk and inspect the button. It’s so peculiar; I wonder what it means. I start up his computer. There is a screen that asks for a password. It takes me fifteen minutes to fill in a bunch of random things I know about him, but none of them work. His name, his surname, a bunch of titles of the books lying around here. Nothing.

Sighing, I gaze at an object that’s next to his monitor, some sort of artwork in the form of an apple. I take a chance and type in ‘apple’. It works, strangely.

I open a browser and search for the pin button.

‘Circle with triangle inside.’

The first link that pops up shocks me so much I almost fall off my chair.

‘Occult illuminati symbol.’

My heart is racing, but I can’t stop myself from investigating further. Clutching the cashmere sweater Sebastian bought for me, I read the text on the website.

The triangle within a circle is an occult symbol for the illuminati, dating back to ancient civilizations. There is often an ‘all-seeing eye’ portrayed inside the triangle, which represents the ability to ‘see’ everything. The symbol is also commonly associated with the freemasons.

I sit back in my chair and absorb everything. Jesus. I’ve heard of the illuminati and freemasons before, but I’d never really given it a lot of thought. Now that I’m holding an item in my hand that looks exactly like the descriptions, I’m a bit startled. It sure is far-fetched, but damn, what does it mean? It can’t be real … This has to be some sort of joke.

Before I have a chance to read on, something pops up onto the screen. A program saying a connection has been made to whatever device is attached to the computer. I bend sideways and gaze at the computer. On top is the camera Sebastian gave me.

With furrowed brows, I click on the program and let the files open. Pictures of me appear. The ones he took when he suspended me from the ceiling, fucking me with toys and the like. I still get a hot flash every time I think about it.

Hotness quickly turns to ice as I click through the pictures.

Horrific snapshots of a girl being beaten. Prodded with guns and knives. Cut and bruised. Her body being used like a rag doll. Men who touch her, rip her shirt apart. Tears form in my eyes as I see the pictures flash in front of me, each one worse than the one before. The girl is used and abused, in more ways than one, and it’s all on camera.

My breath falters.

This girl … it’s Ashley.

I can’t breathe.

This camera isn’t new. It was mine all along.

Accompanying song:
“Bad Moon Rising” by Mourning Ritual

Providence, Rhode Island – June 2
nd
, 2013, sundown

No matter how much you prepare for the day that someone betrays you, you’re never fully prepared. All along, I’ve been deceived. The one person I thought I could trust turns out the be the one to ruin me.

He was right when he said he was a monster.

I jump up so fast, the chair falls to the ground. Before I can turn around and run, a hand shoots up from behind and places a cloth over my mouth.

“Looks like I came home too late. I told you to trust me, Miss Carrigan … You should’ve known better.”

A pungent smell enters my nose as I cough and inhale the stuff I know will put me out. I struggle in his arms, kicking and shoving as hard as I can. I fight to remain conscious, but it’s no use. The last thing I hear is his voice … whispers in the darkness …

“Time to realize the fairytale you created for yourself won’t hold up against the harsh truth.”

And then everything goes to black.

Train Station, Rhode Island – June 2
nd
, 2013, night

Leaving my button at home wasn’t supposed to happen, but I was in a hurry and having left it in my book the night before, I completely forgot about it. Of course, her curiosity led her to my computer … although I didn’t think she’d figure out my password, she’d have found the camera anyway. I shouldn’t have left it there, but I was too caught up in the demands of the club. I’ve been waiting for this day, but it came too soon, too quickly. I was not prepared, and yet I know there is no stopping it now. The cards are falling, and she will hate me forever.

She was at the peak of her rehabilitation, her trust for me growing with the day while she was falling for me. And I, in turn, was falling for her. It wasn’t supposed to happen, yet it did. This, however …
this
was supposed to happen. Except I wasn’t anticipating it would be so soon that I would have to say goodbye. Now the moment has arrived, and I’m not so sure it’s what I truly want anymore.

However, what I want is unimportant. What must be done must be done.

There is no luck. No right. No forgiveness.

Now she finally sees the truth.

The heinous, wretched truth that is me.

Her lifeless body hangs limp in my hands as I drag her and a heavy bag into the passenger car of the train. I paid off the train station to close off for today and had them prepare a train for us alone. I’m not surprised they agreed on such a short notice. After all, there’s nothing money can’t buy with the exception of two things: love and someone to clean up the mess left behind.

The person in charge of the cleaning always runs to the authorities, which is futile, or they end up killing themselves.

It’s a never-ending cycle, so now I’m the one left to do it all.

I throw my heavy bag on the couch opposite to where we’re going to sit. As I place her on the couch, she starts opening her eyes, so I slide her to the window and sit down beside her. The chloroform will wear off soon. It’s only a matter of seconds before she opens her mouth, and when she does, I’m listening with ears like those of a wolf.

“Slept well?”

“You …” she mumbles.

“Me?”

“You gave me that camera … it was mine.”

“Yes, it was.”

She tries to sit up straight, but her body isn’t yet used to the heaviness. “Where are we?” she says as she gazes out the window. Trees and houses pass us quicker as the train increases its pace.

“In the vehicle you despise the most.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “No …”

“Yes, it’s time to face your fears.”

“No!” she screams, jumping up from her seat, trying to flee and get away from me. I grab her by the waist and hold onto her while she thrashes in my arms, desperate to get out. I press her against my body and sink my teeth into her shoulder. She cries out in pain, thrusting her head back to hurt me, but I dodge it in time.