Body Tox (The Bodies duet #1)

Chapter 20

T his man was such an annoying little mystery. I stared down at the way he was splayed on the altar. Damn, he was a gorgeous bad boy, too.

He was breathing even and slow, that tattooed chest rising and falling. His head had a bruise on it, and there was a little blood sliding over his eyebrow.

“Oopsi.” I cringed, walking over and dabbing the blood away and then sticking his shirt under his neck for support.

Even a monster needed comfort.

I didn’t know how long I would be gone, and at least this way, he wouldn’t wake up with a muscle spasm on top of his headache. I realized I cared for the man I was torturing, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.

I pulled my phone out of my robe pocket, punched in a sloppy message, and hit send before I could back out of it. The response was instant, and the ding noise from the phone made me jump. The warped sounds on the other end of the line created a sentence.

Unknown: Bench at Earthquake Park.

Earthquake Park was on the other side of the city. It had been closed down years ago for becoming ‘unstable.’ That meant stragglers wouldn’t be mosying around with flashlights like the usual parks. I didn’t like the odds of leaving my mark here for long, but I needed information.

“Sleep tight, Pretty Boy,” I said, flipping off the lamp and leaving him in the darkness of the night. The only light overhead was from the moon and stars.

Walking out into the freezing night air made me shiver instantly. Pulling up the Ubby Ride app, I punched in a rider pick-up spot a few feet from the church and waited by the curb. It was some punk kid with his car smelling so much like weed that it was enough to get me high just by sitting in the car.

I inhaled deeply, enjoying the buzz.

“‘Sup holy ‘dawg’?” he drawled.

His surfer-boy appearance did not match Alaska at all. Was he from the lower forty-eight or something?

“You from around here?” I couldn’t help but ask. Mindless chatter was better than silence.

“Nah. my pops is, but I’m visiting from the one and only Sun City.”

I wracked my brain for any information on the states below me. I really only knew Alaska. I was born here, raised by a multitude of nannies and paid-off teachers, and had worked here since then and that shit with…him. Fuck, I would probably die here.

I thought about my past. The painful scars that covered my mind…I usually kept hidden so well, almost as much as the scars on my body.

At this point, I’d lost count of how many were from him or my own hands. He was the first man I’d allowed into my heart and the last.

Cali was always there for me, holding me close when the tears would cease to stop flowing. That monster hadn’t deserved my tears. He didn’t deserve to break me. And yet, even to this day, the thought of being alone with him made my palms sweaty and my heart race.

Echo, You thought you ran from me, but just remember I am letting you go. When I want to have you back, I will. I own you.

His words echoed in my head, his threat always hanging over my soul like a gauntlet. It had been three years—three years of running, three years of surviving, three years of getting stronger.

When he found me again, I would be ready, and I would kill him. I was weak back then, and that cost me my freedom.

Blood for blood.

“Florida, dude. You don’t have to think that hard. You need a drink or something?”

I shook my head from my thoughts. Catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, I realized why Florida said what he had. My breathing was unsteady, and my face was as pale as a ghost.

“Yeah…” I said, trying to laugh it off. “AK could use some of that sunshine.”

The man chortled the kind of laugh you’d expect from a moron who says dog like ‘dawwhhhg’ and blasted Bon Jovi on the radio the rest of the trip.

He didn’t speak after that, and I looked out the window, trapped in the past of my mind.

When we arrived at the park, I threw some cash in the passenger seat and jumped out. There was no need for a goodbye.

A cell phone was sitting on the park bench, the light on the screen glowing green. The phones were burner phones and only ever served the purpose of one conversation. I picked it up and dialed the only number listed. The warped vocals that switched from feminine to masculine AI were always eerie and staticky.

“Code name?” the voices said.

I sighed, annoyed. “Codename, Wraith.”

“Hello, Echo. What information do you seek?”

I cleared my throat. “Information on Asher Ballard.”

“Asher Ballard…” The voices filtered through the databases, the whirring warped tones glitching as the systems searched. “Target marked for execution. Executor assigned…Codename Wraith.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing for once that this computer response bullshit would be human. If it was human, they certainly knew how to be annoying as shit.

“Information on Asher Ballard’s life.” I corrected. “Reason for execution order.” There was silence, static, and more flipping through vocal tones.

“Asher Ballard…Gravestone number two-three-seven, Plot-B, location…St. Margarette.”

I cursed. Why was this man considered dead? Was the man I had the real Asher Ballard? Was it a twin? A fake?

I thought about his story with the foster sibling having committed suicide.

“Give me information on orphanages listed within one hundred miles.”

Static…pause…

“Orphanage Evangeline was built in 1812 and houses twenty-three children currently. Outsourced to foster homes in the immediate area of…Anchorage.”

I thought about Evangeline Orphanage. It wasn’t far from the park. The voice changed, the eerie robot sounds disappearing and leaving a dial tone.

An agent came online.

“Echo, have you completed the mission? Do you need a cleaner?”

Things were not adding up. I took a deep breath. “Mission underway. I am looking for the target.”

The lie fell smoothly from my tongue, but the feeling of unease rose with that jack-shit information I just got.

“Confirmed. Goodbye.”

The phone made a popping sound, and the light screen flashed with a spark and smoke. I sighed, realizing I wasn’t getting any other information tonight. Chucking the smoldering phone into the trash bin, I walked to the swings, sitting down and swaying with my thoughts.

Why would I be targeting a dead man?

The only reason someone faked their death was if they were running…or maybe I was missing something.

The answers lay on that altar slab, but retrieving them was a whole different story. My mark clearly had experienced torture before, so there was no way his past had been an adventure in smooth sailing. He’d been alone throughout his childhood, and maybe if I went to the orphanage, I would get some information.

Either way, there wasn’t much else to do tonight. I sighed, my hands feeling unwelcomingly empty without my dagger.

I didn’t want to go back to my prison, aka home, but it was necessary for my toys. I hoped that my father wasn’t there. If he was, getting more blood on my hands was possible.

Thirty minutes later, I stood at the doors of my home, a pang filtering through my cold heart. The towering mansion felt even more empty and lonely than usual. I went around back, not giving a damn if the cameras showed me stalking around.

It was right to get my shit back.

I saw the ivy linking around the cracked concrete of the wall and figured out just how my ‘bodyguard’ must have constantly found a way into my house.

Pulling myself up on the foliage and tumbling into the bathroom on the far side of the hallway from my room, I picked myself up and dusted off the robe. I half wanted to run into a staff member, giving them a proper scare of their lives in the creepy ass nun robe I borrowed from the church.

No one was milling about the halls, and as I expected, the hallway was immaculate, the picture and door replaced like nothing ever happened.

I opened my room to find…nothing. My possessions, my clothes, and even my kiln were all gone. It was like I’d never existed in this space. The room was now set up like a library, and shelves were placed to hide the marks on the walls.

There were books with absolutely zero purpose stuffed inside the mahogany shelving units. The closet was sealed shut, with some type of fresh putty and paint over the seams of the opening.

Anger flooded my body.

He thought to erase me.

Pretend like I never existed, and because his company virtually killed me along with my mother the day she died, I didn’t exist on paper or otherwise.

Hot tears blurred my vision, falling down my cheeks as I threw books off the shelf and yanked the binding of the leather hardback off the yellowing pages. I used the pointed end of a book cover to saw through the seam line inside my closet.

White dust was flying in my face and making me even angrier, but I kept opening the line until finally, the paint and fresh putty crap cracked, and my closet was able to open.

Inside were boxes. My clothes…everything I owned was shoved against the wall.

I threw off the ugly ass robe that was now covered in wall dust and ripped open one of the boxes. I grabbed my jacket, a bra, panties, and a long-sleeved sweater with some jeans.

After getting dressed and feeling somewhat like myself again, I walked to the back, opening boxes and dumping them out to search for my fucking jewelry box. Every single box was opened, but my jewelry box wasn’t in any of them.

Sliding down the wall and sighing in frustration, I thought about where that old fucking asshole would put it. Beside myself with anger, I left my old room and made my way through the familiar hallways to my father’s room.

I heard a couple of guards chattering in the corridor, and I ducked behind Harry in the plant room. He wouldn’t mind that I was here.

“I am glad that woman is gone,” the guard said to his colleague.

The other forced a laugh and spoke after a minute’s hesitation.

“I guess. I mean, she kind of scared me—everyone she was assigned to disappeared. I still don’t know where Freddy is. He hasn’t answered any of my calls since September.”

I smiled at the fond memory of good ole Freddy. He made a beautiful addition to my mask.

“I honestly think she deserved worse than that old antique castle can do to her.”

Antique castle? Did he mean the church?

“Yeah, man, but her father fucking sold her soul to the devil. You know what they do there, right?”

Sold my soul to the devil…

“I don’t know Greg. Good fucking riddance to that hot psycho, is all I am saying. I’m glad she’s taken care of. Let’s get a snack while the old fuck sleeps. I can’t hear myself think with that sleep apnea machine. Melanie is gonna kick my ass if I keep falling asleep after these all-nighters…”

I ignored the rest of the chatter and followed the trail of the men, watching them walk down the stairs and out of earshot.

Trying to ignore the conversation or what the fuck it even meant, I snuck farther down the hallway. A security guard was snoring in a chair by my father’s door, and I snorted, saluting the dumb fuck on my way inside the room.

The snores and noise from the fan on the machine filled the room. My father was asleep in his big ass bed, not a worry in the world now that his incorrigible daughter was ‘taken care of.’

I jumped onto the bed, the jolting motion making him snort and readjust his position. Standing over the man who pretended to raise me all those years, I leaned down and smacked him square across the face. He jolted upright, coming face to face with me.

“Morning, Daddy.”

His eyes grew wide, adjusting to the darkness.

“E-Ech—” I slapped my hand over his blubbering mouth.

“Look, save the apology speech. I don’t care. I only want my fucking jewelry box.”

He composed his features and cleared his throat.

“Th-that was my wife’s.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

He was never a husband to her. My mother and I were left alone while he controlled his robots and built the firm of drones he had today. There weren’t birthday parties or love notes left. The only time I saw my father was when he was walking out the door.

“Your wife? The one that was brutally raped and murdered under your nose?”

He looked like I slapped him again, and it felt good to see him hurt.

“My jewelry box.” I continued. “Where is it?”

His eyes darted to the corner of the room, and I smiled, patting him on the cheek and hopping off the bed. Sure enough, my mother’s beautiful jewelry box was shoved in the back corner with a cloth draped over it.

“For the record,” I said softly, picking up the one thing in this world I cared about, opening the wood and hearing the ballerina sing her song and dance to the familiar tune.

“I am sorry I couldn’t be her.”

The man on the bed sat in silence, his apnea machine making the hiss sound every second or so.

“No one can be Arabella. She is unattainable.” he said, his anger audible in his voice.

He blamed me for her death.

“No,” I said. “I don’t mean my mother.”

Now he looked confused, searching his bed for something.

“I am sorry I couldn’t be Eira. The perfect daughter you wanted.”

It was a choice now—a choice for him to move on.

If he chose to betray me, his sleep apnea machine sitting on his bedstand was quite flammable. The pistol he hid under his pillow, if used, would kick off like a match. Of course, he wouldn’t make the choice to move on, but I could, by knowing I at least tried.

“Bye, Daddy.” I blew him a kiss, feeling a brief moment of sadness.

I knew what his intentions were before he even did it. I turned around and walked back to the door. The gun was pointed at my back. His shaky hands were visible in the mirror hanging on the door.

His threats made my tears fall more freely.

“You took my Arabella from me!” he shrieked, his voice wavering. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you!

I kept my hand on the door, my silence the only response I could give.

“You were supposed to die. Not her,” he continued to yell. “I hired those men to kill you. Not her.”

There it was.

The answer I always knew but wasn’t strong enough to accept. The memory of that night flashed through my mind. The laughter and the smashing of a window started one of the worst nights of my life.

“Crash!”

My eyes widened, and the chip bag in my hand froze with the glass-shattering noise from the other room.

I ran into the pantry, closed the door, and slid down by the back wall. I could see through the shuttered blinds, the lights from the kitchen lighting me up in stripes. My breathing was so fast, my heart beating faster than I had ever felt.

I heard male voices that I didn’t recognize.

“Can we just grab the bitch already? I am hungry.” someone said.

“C’mon, man. We got paid a fuck ton, we can’t mess this shit up.”

A gruff laugh sounded from the other side of the pantry door, and I could see three men covered in black walk around the corner into the kitchen, swinging baseball bats.

“Where would the princess be anyway? This place is fucking huge.”

One of the guys opened the fridge, grabbed the milk carton, and drank from the top.

“Beats me. Probably snoozing in her perfect satin sheets.”

They were mocking my family.

I stepped backward, my body knocking against a shelf, and a can of beans fell to the ground.

Oh my god.

There was a silence, and the guys looked at each other.

“Think the princess needed a late-night snack?” one of them whispered, and my heart beat faster.

They were walking toward the pantry. Their bats scraped on the tile ground with an awful sound.

I was going to die.

They were going to paint this cupboard with my brains.

I started to cry, my tears blinding me, the light from outside getting darker and darker.

“Stop!” I heard the shout from across the kitchen, glass shattering near the group’s head.

A bottle. Someone threw a bottle.

The wine was seeping under the door, turning my nightgown crimson-purple.

“Ohhh, looky here. The queen made an appearance!” one said, singing and skipping around.

No…

I could see my mother, shaking like a leaf, waving around another wine bottle in her hand, her white nightgown shining from the open window and the moonlight from outside.

“Mom…” I whispered. My heart sank.

The men walked over to my mother, grabbing the bottle from her hands and laughing at her struggle.

“Stay away!” she hollered. “Do you hear me? Do not come over here. No matter what, stay right there.”

I didn’t understand. The men were already beside her, grabbing her arms, legs, and hair.

She was talking…to me.

I sank back onto the shelf, and the sounds of laughter and my mother crying kept going on and on.

They were hurting her, carving into her skin with remnants of the broken bottle that she’d thrown at them. Her blood was coming underneath the door, blending into the wine and my tears.

I covered my ears, trying to block out their grunting.

The slapping sounds continued long after my mother stopped making any noise. Her white nightgown was red with her blood. Her body was violated in every way possible with every single one of their hands.

I thought the sounds would never stop, and I waited for them to find me, waiting to die the same way. Her eyes were open. Her lifeless stare was focused over at where I’d been hiding like she had known all along that I was in the pantry.

A gunshot rang out, and the sound caused a shuffling of noise as one of the men in black dropped to the ground. I held back a scream, slapping my hands over my mouth and hiding deeper in the pantry. The men scattered.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The deep masculine voice was coming from the staircase.

It was my father.

“How could you do this?” he yelled, dropping to his knees beside my mother, holding her lifeless, desecrated body in his hands.

The men scrambled backward from my father.

“Sir! Please. We ? —”

Bang!

Another body dropped to the floor.

“You don’t know what you have done!” he cried, lifting my mother into his arms higher, trying to fix her ripped clothing.

“Not her!”

Boom.

A final shot and a final body dropped.

The blood was pooling so much that I felt like I would drown.

I sat inside the pantry, watching my mother’s blood leak underneath the door, and listened to my father’s anguished cries.

“Not her. Not my Arabella. Not her.”

I did drown that night. I was never the same. Watching my mother be brutally violated and murdered killed me, too.

I had sat in that closet, frozen for the entire night.

Only the staff member found me the following morning. There was a funeral service, and my father’s company had set it up for my mother and me. My father told me it was best to keep me a secret from the world so I would be safe.

But now I knew.

My father kept me a prisoner all this time because I was supposed to die that night.

Based on his orders.

“I’m correcting the wrong that happened all that time ago. I’m sorry, child. Goodbye, Eira.”

I didn’t turn my back, not once.

I stomached my father’s scream as his gun exploded in his hand. The heat of the fast-growing fire spread, consuming the room. As I exited, the guard looked right through me like I didn’t exist, running past me to extinguish the flames.

I slowly moved down the hallway, my jewelry box in hand. The multitude of screaming staff members running past me ignored me, trying to get to safety from the burning rooms.

I kept going down the staircase, the sound of more rooms succumbing to the heart of the fire. The heat was making me sweat. Even the door was hot to the touch as I left the fabricated home I was raised in. I barricaded the exit, listening to the staff inside.

The staff had blinded themselves to the abuse I’d endured, so they deserved to be locked in there, too.

Putting my hand to the door as the sounds quieted, I said, “Goodbye…Eira.”

As I walked away, the lights from the neighboring homes turned on, and the sirens in the distance sounded. On the hill, I felt the vibrations of the concert of explosions. The night sky lit up with the flames. I was prepared to walk away. He made this decision and would now live eternally in the fire he started.