Echoes (Dance with My Demons #2)

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Damon

"Well?" I ask, looking up as Grey enters my room. "How did it go?"

I know where he's been. He didn't ask for permission—though even if he had and I said no, I know he still would have done it anyway.

"Arthur was sniffing around," he grunts.

My eyes narrow at his worked-up physique. She's gotten to him— again .

"Don't make me regret this," I warn him, folding my arms. "I told you it was best not to be involved directly."

Grey straightens up, looking at me with a blank expression. "It's under control."

"Is it?" I ask, amused. "Because every time you speak to her, you're a fucking mess."

Anger flashes across his face but you know what they say—when you find where it hurts, you keep pushing.

I lift an eyebrow, noticing his silence. "I told her that she would have no contact with you. Still, I let you both speak privately because I knew it was what you wanted. I trusted that you would remain in control. However, I'm starting to see I've made a mistake."

He shakes his head. "Right now, she is a direct link to Arthur. As a pivotal member of Cirque des Morts , I need to be able to interact with everyone."

I laugh. "Grey, be real for a second. This has nothing to do with the society. You just don't want me to be Avery's point of contact."

"And why would that bother me?"

"Because you think I'll break your fragile, little toy."

We enter into a stare-off, until Grey finally relents, shrugging. "She's not mine, Damon."

"But do you want her to be?"

I see his jaw harden. "Are you asking me that as my leader… or as my best friend?"

"Does the answer change depending on the question?" I ask.

Grey doesn't respond straight away, but I already know it does. And therein lies the problem.

"As your leader," I start. "You know how I feel. She is an imposition and a fucking liability." He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand, silencing him. "But as your best friend, your brother… it pains me to see you like this."

"But your answer is still the same," he says knowingly. "You don't like her. You've made that clear."

"I don't like anyone. I hate everyone equally," I shrug. "However, all I can do is advise you to really think about what you are doing. If you make dumb decisions, that's on you."

Grey snorts. "But only from the best friend perspective."

"This is where it is a little… murky. Because while I could overlook things, it still raises the issue of her compliance. She's unstable, Grey. And with our situation, our worlds are one. If she fucks up your personal life, it directly affects my business. Therefore, I will be forced to take action."

"It doesn't matter anyway," he sighs. "I'm not getting involved."

I scoff in disgust. "Because of Ashwood? Do you honestly think you can't take him?"

He looks at me with a small smirk, fire returning to his eyes. "You know I fucking could."

"But you don't want to because it will hurt her," I taunt. "Well, I'm not sure what else to tell you, Grey. You have a decision to make."

"Are you ready to tell me about the deal?" he asks.

A laugh escapes my throat. "Deflecting? Soon," I confirm. "At the moment, I have a matter to deal with tomorrow. And you and I have pressing issues to discuss."

Grey pounces on my bed, spreading out. "Such as?"

"I've been told the Lilydale board has made a decision. The guards anticipate the new arrival within the next day or two."

"Fun," he drawls out, bored. "Want me to welcome them?"

"I think I might do it personally this time. I need to determine how to place him."

It's time to rearrange the grouping system, but I won't be able to finish it until I meet the new patient. It's obvious that the staff do everything for a reason—so, whomever has been chosen to take Hallman's place will have some significance about them. I just need to figure out what makes them special.

"And Capello?" Grey asks.

"She will need to be dealt with in due course. Once she's stabilized we can continue our investigation."

He nods. "Do you think she'll tell us how she got the staff card?"

"Possibly. But I'm more interested in knowing whether or not she had anything to do with the second staff card being placed on Avery."

Grey pauses. "Do you think she did? Capello was quite upset at the time. Unless she's one hell of an actress, I'd say she was too busy with the news of Hallman's death. There was only a short window where someone could have gotten to Avery in the chaos."

"Surprisingly, no. I don't think Capello had anything to do with it. But perhaps she knows something about it."

"Does she know that Hallman was murdered? Or does she still think he—?" He drags his thumb across his neck.

I shrug, not giving a shit. "You're welcome to find out. I did promise you a venting system. Just try not to push her too far."

Grey snorts. "That's not fair."

"Did you speak to Christopher and Markel today?" I ask, ignoring him.

He nods, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a few pieces of scribbled notes. "Good luck deciphering Markel's handwriting. It's a disaster. As for Christopher—he promptly locked me out of his office."

"Of course he did," I roll my eyes. "Dramatic flare is his style. I'll speak to him myself. I'd love to see him try to lock me out."

Grey laughs warmly. "As powerful as you are, Deadman, I don't think Christopher will open up to you."

"He'll have no choice," I respond casually. "Besides, I'm better at mind games than he is. All that money and education still can't beat me."

"I believe it."

While Christopher is slightly older than me, he didn't pursue the art of mind control early on. He spent too many years flaunting his wealth and getting his dick sucked. Myself on the other hand, my family used to joke that I came out of the womb arguing. By the time I was in elementary school, I'd already learned to switch my emotions off. I knew how to read people—teachers included.

Christopher might think he's intelligent, and while he is, he had to learn the skills from somewhere. And it sure wasn't that so-called prestigious university. No—I know he was obsessed with monitoring me. It's probably why he got into psychiatry in the first place—I was his first ever test subject.

It's just a punch to the gut that he chose to come here of all places. Any chance to try to have one up on me. Still… I don't care if he has staff power. That means absolutely nothing. In the real world, power is demanded, just like respect is earned. I've done both. No matter what he says or does, he will never have power over me. He will never control me.

And that extends to Cirque des Morts .

My Circus of the Dead.

That's what we are here—dead.

Dead to society, dead inside. And sometimes, like Hallman, actually dead.

I'm their fucking leader. And the best thing about us?

You can't fight death. It's inevitable.

Now, I just need to figure out what to do with Grey. I may have been wrong with my initial observation. This whole mess with Avery is rocking the boat. I thought if I kept them apart, it would be easier for him. Apparently, I was wrong.

Every time he has anything to do with her, he's a loose cannon—destroying everything in his path. But with her… he's a nuclear weapon.

Except, she had to go and fuck everything up. We could have made this work, but she dragged Ashwood into the mix. Now, I'm stuck trying to control a rogue missile while dealing with Arthur's bullshit.

But, all that aside, Grey is one of the only people I genuinely tolerate. I care about him, which is more than I can say about most other people.

I know there's a fine line here. We cross it all the time. But now, I have to decide whether or not I can allow such calamity into my business. Not just for the sake of keeping things calm, but also for the sake of Grey. He's never doubted me—never crossed me. And despite my feelings about Avery, I perhaps owe it to him to pull back on the reins.

For some clusterfuck of a reason, he cares about her.

It's bad—I know it, he knows it. But still, he wants her. And I can't have him distracted, stalking after her just to catch a glimpse or start a fight.

Maybe I need to kill Ashwood. Or at the very least, remove him from the equation.

Something tells me that would also backfire. It would create a ripple effect—anything I do to Avery, will in turn set Grey off… which leads right back to my original problem.

There's only one real solution here.

And I fucking hate it.

"Christopher," I greet coldly. "So generous of you to make time for me."

He looks up from his desk, a bored expression on his face. He hides his surprise well, but I can see it in his eyes.

Connor had taken the liability of providing me with the good doctor's schedule for the day—a small window of no sessions providing the perfect opportunity for a quick visit.

After sleeping on it, I decided it was time for a little family reunion. Especially since he had declined my gift of Grey yesterday.

"Damon," he responds. "Always a displeasure. Are you here for your first session perhaps?"

I laugh darkly, giving Connor a small nod. He shuts the door behind me, giving us privacy. "Sure—we can call it that. Bill it however you like. I'm sure you would love to finally understand how my mind works. Sadly, I don't think you'll achieve that in today's session."

He tilts his chair back, folding his arms. "Why don't we skip the bullshit? I assume your little lap dog reported back to you yesterday."

"He was quite disheartened that someone in your profession would turn him away. Isn't it your job here to support all the patients?" I shoot back, sitting down across from him.

Christopher raises an eyebrow. "Your friend is quite special. His file almost needs its own cabinet, yet, we all know the information in there is largely fabricated. Mr. Hawthorne is very good at portraying whatever he needs to be."

"You sound disappointed. Tell me—have you actually managed to cure anyone? Or is that not your prerogative?"

"Some people don't want to be cured, Damon. You're the prime example of that."

I laugh under my breath. "And what exactly do I need curing from, Christopher? Please enlighten me."

He stands up from his chair, walking over to the filing cabinet. I watch carefully as he unlocks it with his key, rummaging around until he pulls out a file. My own name on the top of the manila folder brings a smirk to my face.

Christopher throws the file into my lap before heading back to his chair. "You tell me. You seem to know everything."

I casually place my file on the ground without opening it. I already know what's in there—including Christopher's notes and the old psychiatrist's dribble.

These so-called professionals are great at making observations, but at the end of the day, they are just that. People perceive the world in different shades of color. Psychiatrists are instructed to look at the black and grays, picking them apart until something comes undone. I've never given any of them the luxury of that. So at best, their observations are just personal opinions.

Meaning… absolute bullshit .

"I just wanted you to know that I'm aware of what you are doing behind the scenes," I say coolly to him. "And I think you'll be surprised to find that there are repercussions."

He laughs, finally breaking character. "Is this about Ms. White's file again? The staff are already aware of your involvement and poor attempt to steal personal information."

I throw him a smirk, standing up. I step onto my file, showing him just how much regard I have for his pathetic excuse of a job.

"It's not, actually. But I do believe you'll understand what I mean soon. Any minute now, in fact."

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I turn around, heading to the door without elaborating. I swing it open, pleased that Connor is nowhere to be seen just like I had ordered. Glancing over my shoulder at Christopher, I give him a final parting gift.

"If you need a shoulder to cry on when it happens… perhaps call a real psychiatrist."