No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

I ache all over. I ache in ways I haven’t in a long time. Not since the days of my self-imposed trainings that pushed me to my limit, hardened my resolve. But even then, I never broke. Eli hasn’t broken me now either.

After my punishment, I gather myself in the darkness of the tabernacle and hobble back across the lawn to the cloister and my private quarters. All under a pitch-black sky with no moon to speak of to light my way. And then, I collapse into bed, succumbing to my own weakness, my body crying out to be released from waking and pain and torment.

Now, I’m awake and the reality of what happened, what awaits, crashes over me like a wave of ice water. I force myself to sit upright, to take in the dim darkness of the room around me. My room. My small, clean, blank space.

It’s sparse, neatly kept with nothing more or less than I need. A bed, a dresser, a closet full of black. I stumble to the adjoining bathroom and begin to dig in the medicine cabinet. The strongest pain killer I have is acetaminophen. I take four. My head is pounding and my chest aches every time I breathe from the cracked ribs, no doubt. I glance down at my left hand. My middle, ring and little finger jut at a strange, impossible angle, broken as well. I should go to the hospital. I’m not going to.

I withdraw some bandages and splints from under the sink. The perks of my line of work—I’m usually well-stocked in the essentials for aftercare of wounds. These won’t be the first broken fingers I’ve splinted at home. But remembering what happened last night, remembering Eli’s boots crushing them underfoot, makes me cringe in irritation.

I’m going to kill him.

But first, I have to make this right. Two days. I have two days. And I’ve already slept away about eight hours of that time, according to the clock on my nightstand. Foolish. Weak. My time is running out to correct what I’ve done, the mistake I made.

I glance quickly in the mirror to confirm my lip is still swollen and split, blood staining my chin from where Eli’s blow struck. I wet a clean cloth from under the sink and wipe the blood from my face. Nothing to do about the swelling. It will go down soon enough, but to hide the redness, I dab a bit of makeup on the spot, a pale, full coverage foundation that makes it almost impossible to see the damage I’ve taken. The rest of the marks, on my arms and legs and torso, will be easily covered by my usual clothing.

And the pain? Well. The pain I’ll ignore. As I always do.

I need to talk to Hollow. Again, a quick glance in the mirror confirms I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. The jacket and jeans from when I faced Father’s punishment. When I met Hollow. Realization settles in my foggy mind. Shaky fingers dip into my jacket pocket to withdraw the card Hollow placed within.

“ For when you want to talk,” he’d said, as though he’d known I’d somehow need a way to contact him. That I’d be punished for my foolhardy actions and come crawling back. I swallow, my eyes scanning the front of the playing card, a phone number scrawled over the Joker, a phone number I assume to belong to Hollow.

I ponder my options. I could meet him at Club Orpheus. However, judging by my less than warm reception from my last visit, the club is now an unfriendly place for me. It’s now fully under Hollow’s command.

No, I need to get him away from there. Arrange a meeting somewhere secluded and anonymous. I might be able to persuade him to meet me at a motel for a rendezvous. To apologize for my careless display earlier with the presentation of my body and all the pleasures it can offer.

Only we’ll never get that far. I’ll kill him long before he can uncover the cuts and bruises from my recent punishment. And then I’ll take back to Father the proof of my allegiance in the form of Hollow’s death.

But all that means talking to him. Spending time alone with him when he sets me so on edge.

“Fuck,” I grit out, digging in my pants pocket to withdraw my phone. I collapsed and fell asleep so quickly after getting back last night, I didn’t think to charge it and the battery flashes desperately at me, nearing the end of its life. I tap in Hollow’s number and wait with bated breath as the line rings against my ear. Two rings and then a click before Hollow’s lilting, playful voice whispers in my ear.

“Hello, Kill.”

I start, suddenly more than uneasy.

“Hollow. How did you—”

“I had a feeling. A good one. I’m so very glad you took me up on my offer to chat. It’s good to hear your voice.” His nonchalance, his teasing, playful tone, makes me grit my teeth. He’s a wolf in sheep's clothing, a master puppeteer and he thinks he has me fooled. He has no idea what he’s cost me.

“Hollow. About last night…”

“Mmmhmm,” he hums indulgently. “What about it?”

“I wanted to apologize. I got carried away. I shouldn’t have acted so impulsively.”

He chuckles. “I think I rather liked it actually.”

“Would you allow me to make it up to you?”

“How so?” he purrs.

I swallow, bracing myself for the impact. For the possibility of rejection. Of failure. But if he says no, I’ll find another way. I have to. “I’d like to meet you somewhere. Private. Somewhere just the two of us.”

Silence, then I can hear his soft laughter. “Where did you have in mind?”

“There’s a motel near the interstate. About a mile south of Route 6. The Virgin. Have you heard of it?”

He practically simpers over the line. “How fitting .” I can hear the smile in his voice. “When?”

The sooner the better. To put this all behind us. “Tonight.”

“So eager. And why is that? What’s changed your mind?”

I cringe. Better I make up something now, some lie to convince him, then to cause him any unnecessary suspicion. “I was just thinking about what you said. About how little I truly know. You’re right. I do have my doubts. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“Experiencing some disillusionment, are we?”

“That’s why I want to make it up to you. I’ve had some time to think and I…I’d like to prove to you that I can be a worthy ally.”

“Wasn’t it you who said we’re enemies now? And now here you are asking to be my ally? What a fun little tip of the scales.”

“You knew about the dreams,” I blurt and realize in a moment of horror that those words escaped my lips unbidden. A true product of my desire to understand. Selfish . I bite my lip so hard it splits again. Blood trickles down my chin and I move to brush it away with my sleeve.

“The dreams,” he hums in response.

“How did you know about them?”

“Perhaps I’d dreamed of you as well,” he purrs.

I feel suddenly woozy. Almost knocked from my feet. I don’t know why those words affect me the way they do—perhaps it’s merely the residuals of my treatment at Eli’s hands. But I’m unsteady and feel myself fall back against the wall behind me for support. I swallow. I can use this. I can use this feeling, this strange connection to my advantage. “What did you dream?”

“A pyre in the woods. A dance. You dancing with me. So beautiful and free. That’s what you dreamed as well, wasn’t it?”

I picture it. The dream. The trees. The heat of that fire and his presence. Hollow’s presence. The way he looked at me. The way he looks at me every time we’re close. “Yes,” I whisper.

“I hope you’ll dance with me again.”

Back to reality, damn it. Back to the moment at hand. “Come to the motel. I’ll dance with you all night long.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Ten o’clock. The Virgin.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hang up, my heart pounding. My head is clouded and fuzzy, my body still aching and wracked with tremors of pain. Am I prepared for what’s to come? Will I be able to do what needs to be done when even speaking with Hollow makes me weak in the knees?

I have to be. For Father, I have to be.

I steel myself and head to my closet to change.

It’s nine thirty and I’ve secured a room in The Virgin. It’s quaint and orderly but with a faint odor of piss and mildew that permeates the air. There are stains on the carpet that seem to have sat too long to be removed and I’m sure the floral comforter has only been washed once or twice in the totality of its existence.

I’ve taken the time to survey the property to ensure there are no other occupants nearby, no one to hear the commotion we’re likely to cause. I’ve paid the tired-looking receptionist at the front desk to keep all others out of our line of the strip. Hollow is sure to put up a fight. Especially if his body has been trained to withstand and outlast poisons and sedatives. This will take force. More than I typically like to use. But I’ll do what I need to do.

Though what I need right now is a cigarette.

It’s still early so I step outside and look out into the empty parking lot. The Virgin is one of those old, rundown strip motels, with single-story wings that stretch out in opposite directions, poorly lit and mostly abandoned save for the occasional trucker or long-distance traveler using it as a last-minute stop for the night. We won’t be disturbed and we won’t be discovered. The few cars that pass in the night keep going toward the interstate. No one stops. No one pulls in.

I light my cigarette, annoyed at the splints that make doing so more difficult than usual, and breathe it in, trying to calm my nerves. I never get nervous like this.

Breathe in, Killian. Let the smoke fill your mouth, drift down your throat and into your lungs. Let it consume you, calm you, lull you into a brief sense of peace. Soon this will all be over. Soon, you’ll be back in Father’s good graces. His good boy again.

That’s all I want. All of it will be worth it.

I survey my surroundings one more time, peering up at the darkened night sky. Stars twinkle down at me like fireflies, and I trace their formations with my eyes. Ursa Major and Minor, Orion’s Belt, Scorpius, Pegasus. I don’t know how or when I first learned their names or how to recognize them. But they’re so clear to me. I’ve always been able to look up and identify them, appreciate their beauty. Even if only for the briefest of moments.

I sigh, taking one last long drag of my cigarette, before snuffing it out on the concrete at my feet. Time to go back inside. Hollow will be here soon and if he’s anything like me, he’ll be early. Though perhaps he’s nothing like me and I’ll be waiting for half the night. Or perhaps he’ll decline to show at all. I realize in startling clarity that I know nothing about this man, not even his last name.

And yet.

I turn back toward my room, fiddling with the key card inside my pocket. As I press it against the lock and hear the click and whir of the gears unlocking, I make out something strange from behind the curtain of the window just to my right. A flickering of movement. My pulse quickens and I begin to ready myself for attack when the door opens for me and I find myself staring up at Hollow himself.

I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. “How the fuck did you get in there?”

His golden eyes twinkle mischievously. “Magic.”

Putting a hand on his chest, I shove him inside and allow the door to slam behind us. “I’m serious. How did you get past me? Is there a back entrance?”

I glare at him but he only smiles. “Perhaps I just slipped by your defenses when you allowed them to fall. While you were gazing so adoringly at the stars.”

“Not possible,” I snap. And it isn’t. I’d have seen him approach. Or at least heard the key card against the door. There has to be a back way inside. Or an entrance from some hidden side room. Did he come in through an open window? I move past him and begin to scour the space for any other possibilities. For any way he might have entered without my notice.

All the while, he watches me, a smirk pulling at his wide mouth. He observes me with potent fascination as if finding my paranoia amusing. I ignore him, intent instead on ensuring nothing is out of place, that no one can see us or hear us. That no one else is inside the motel room to assist or prevent what’s about to happen.

But there’s nothing. No open windows. Nothing unlocked from the inside. No doorways that lead to other rooms or to any exterior spaces. There’s no way Hollow could have gotten inside. Yet somehow, he did.

I turn back to see him lounging languidly, lean body stretched against the back wall. Watching me with wide, amused eyes. “Satisfied?” he asks. I see his eyes dart to my splinted fingers and I shove them behind my back. He blinks but doesn’t mention my injuries. Though I sense he’s taking inventory, compartmentalizing and cataloguing all my weaknesses to use at his later discretion.

“How did you do it?” I stalk closer to him, feeling the air tense at our proximity.

“I told you. Magic.”

“I don’t believe in magic.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

I invade his space so we’re almost chest to chest. He’s backed against the wall but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable. On the contrary, he seems to welcome my intrusion, his body open and inviting.

“Is that a serious question?”

“What if I told you that the answer to all your questions is the same? Magic.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And yet you invited me here. So. Here we are. And you said you wanted to dance.”

And all of a sudden, all my thoughts are muddied again. He’s here so I can kill him. To fulfill Father’s wishes. But, I want more. I want to know. To understand. Something inside me feels like it’s latched into place. A new part of me that I don’t understand and can’t control.

“You raided one of Father’s warehouses,” I say without meaning to.

He nods. “I did.”

“You killed his men.”

Again, he nods. “Men who deserved death.”

“Who decided that? You?”

“Justice demanded it.”

“Justice. Justice demanded you take what isn’t yours and kill men who did nothing to you?”

For a moment, he goes absolutely still, his eyes darkening dangerously. “Is that what you truly believe, Killian?”

I stall a moment, my mind whirring. “Of course it is.”

“You believe everything Father tells you, do you?”

“Whatever you’re insinuating, it means nothing to me.”

“Because you don’t remember, do you? The Drug is a nasty little minx. It does more than just send men into sublime stupors. It also makes them forget. And you, dearest, have forgotten everything.”

I swallow hard, my mouth going suddenly drier than a desert. “Forgotten what? What are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you ask your little brother?”

Abe. Abe. Last night, I tried to call him. He didn’t answer. Panic threatens to overtake me. “Don’t talk about my brother.”

“Have I hit a nerve?”

No, I need to remember my purpose, why I’m here. I can’t let him distract me more than he already has.

Forcing back the emotion that’s welled in my throat, I shake my head. “No, I…that’s just not why I’m here. I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Not curious?” He clicks his tongue playfully, his lips quirking upwards.

“No,” I sidle ever closer. We’re touching now, chest to chest, breathing each other’s air. “I told you I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier but you’re difficult .”

He chuckles softly. “So I’ve been told.”

I reach out and take his hand, leading him toward the bed. Then, forcefully, I shove him down upon it. His legs part instinctively as he looks up at me with a hunger in his eyes. “So,” he breathes, his smile never faltering. “Apologize,”

I begin to unfasten the belt at my waist. An easy weapon with which to strike, but he doesn't seem to notice, his gaze soft and unsuspicious. “I’d like to be your ally, Hollow. I think you’re a dangerous man. More dangerous than you look.”

“Is that a compliment?” he grins and I nod.

“I like dangerous men.”

“So do I.”

I drop my belt nearby as I then unbutton the top button of my tight black jeans. Just as I did with Sebastian, I reveal a hint of lace below a patch of smooth pale skin. Then, I slide Hollow’s parted thighs to sit astride him and peer down at his handsome face.

There are laughter lines, fine but visible, at the corners of his eyes. They’re overshadowed by the tattoo that sits below them, so much so that I barely noticed them before. Even so, I’m intrigued by those lines, signs of a life filled with laughter. Or at least amusement. Fun. Finding some happiness even in spite of circumstances.

“Like what you see?” he whispers and I realize that I do. I shouldn’t, but I do like looking at him. Staring into those golden eyes alight like molten sunshine, filled with lively fire. He’s enchanting and I could so easily lose myself to his magic.

Gingerly, he raises a hand and caresses my bottom lip, examining it between his thumb and forefinger. “Got in a bit of a scrap, did we? This wasn’t from our last meeting. Neither were those splinted fingers.”

“I…fell.”

He shakes his head, eying me with a knowing look, a look that seems to see into my very soul. “You didn’t.”

To avoid falling headfirst into him, I put my nose into the crook of his neck and nuzzle the smooth, delicate skin there. I press my lips to it, open my mouth and allow my tongue to trail over the juncture, feeling his breath hitch beneath me. As I do so, as I feel him relax into me, I lean down and begin to retrieve the knife I’ve hidden in my boot. No more thinking, no more feeling. All I need to do is plunge the weapon into his heart, or slit his throat. And it will all be over.

I falter as he says, “So that’s it then? Finally ready to reveal the real reason for our rendezvous?”

I only have time to blink as with an almost imperceptible speed, he lurches to the side and yanks the knife from my grasp, throwing it across the room out of reach. Then, before I can respond or withdraw, he flips our positions, shoving my back to the mattress. Both of my wrists are under his fists, pinned above my head as he settles over my hips. “Did you really think I had no idea of your true intentions?”

“You misunderstand,” I hiss, but he only smiles.

“I think I understand perfectly well.” As he transfers hold of both my wrists, his other arm explores my chest, lifting my shirt and exposing the deep purple and green bruises that mar my stomach and chest.

“More than a scrap,” he says, his voice low. There’s something in his eyes now as he takes in the full extent of my wounds. Something strange. Is it anger?

I use his momentary distraction to wrench my arms free from his grasp. I shove him backward and he laughs as he falls, tumbling off the bed to land roughly on his ass. As he hits, I lunge to the right, urging myself toward the knife, despite my protesting ribs, my straining breath.

He grasps my ankle and I fall to the ground, hitting my knee hard against the carpet. As my breath is knocked out of me and my chest heaves, I grit my teeth and kick, hitting some part of him and shoving him back. Again, he laughs out loud.

I’m almost there, only a few inches from reaching the knife, when he’s on me again, his slightly greater weight over my shoulders, his muscular arms wrapping around my chest to pull me back. He breathes into my neck as I struggle, his breath hot but not entirely unpleasant. “Get off me,” I snarl.

“And stop all this fun we’re having? I don’t think so.”

I slam my head back and it connects with his nose, making a sickening cracking sound. He hisses and drops me. I don’t waste time. The knife is in my hands in moments, unbroken fingers wrapped around its hilt, but when I whirl around to shove it into his waiting flesh, he’s already moved away.

He stands against the wall to the bathroom, observing me, smiling still, though those curled lips are painted with blood. “We match now,” he says with a chuckle.

I lunge at him, aiming the knife right at his heart. He catches it in his hands, allowing the blade to run through his fingers so more blood spills between us. We struggle then, me attempting to plunge it into his chest, him propelling it steadily away from his body.

Our eyes connect and he lets go, moving out of the way just in time for the force of my propulsion to slam me hard into the wall. I gasp, feeling the full weight of my previous injuries, my damaged ribs screaming in pain. Then, as I struggle to right myself, he puts two bleeding hands on the back of my neck and a course of electric shock runs through me, downing me to my knees. I begin to shake, still feeling the aftereffects of the current even as he backs away. I can’t move to react quickly enough as he wrenches the knife from my hands and shoves it into his belt loop.

“How?” I gasp, staring up at him with watery eyes. If he had some kind of stun gun or taser, I would have seen it. Was it hidden in his sleeve? I never saw him grab it. But my body feels weak as though I’ve been electrocuted. How did he do it?

He bends down to peer at me, bloody lips pulling into a sneer, something like a smile but more venomous, more full of rage. “I told you already. Magic.”

I shake my head, attempting to clear it of the fog that’s settled heavy like a cloud. But he grabs my collar and hoists me up as though I’ve no more weight than a ragdoll, and shoves me hard against the wall. The wind is knocked out of me again and I wheeze, my hands grappling with his, attempting to wrench them from my shirt. He’s so strong. And whatever he did to me, whatever static charge he sent through me, has made my limbs feel unsteady and numb.

With one hand, he roves my chest, the length of my torso, fingers dipping beneath my still open waistband, not enough to touch my skin, but just enough to serve as a warning. He’s strong. Stronger than me. He has the upper hand with me in my current state. And we both know it. “What should I do with you now? Should I do as Eli did? Beat you within an inch of your life? I wonder if you’d let me like you did him?”

I struggle and grit my teeth, my mind churning and burning with the warning danger, danger, danger. How did he know? How did he know?

“Or should I do as you did to Gavin? As you’ve done to countless others? Slit your throat and leave you to bleed out on the floor?” His eyes glint with a sheen of madness. Some strange potency I haven’t seen before, making the gold burn like hot embers, the pupils expanding to fill those shimmering irises.

“You’ve killed before,” I snarl, my voice tight with the strain as his grip tightens, stealing my air. “You admitted it.”

“But not on his orders,” Hollow hisses. “Not on anyone’s orders.” He glares at me with something like hatred. It’s a completely different expression than any of the other’s he’s worn in my presence. And it terrifies me.

“Let go of—”

His open hand slides over the front of my pants to caress my cock through the fabric. He holds it in a punishing grip, squeezing so pain flares hot in my lower belly. “Or what if I did what he did to you? What he’s allowed so many others to do to you? Over and over again? And then pump you full of the Drug to numb you to it? To make you forget. Hmm?”

“What?” I whisper, panic flaring at the edges of my vision. I feel I might be sick. There’s something shoving its way into the fringes of my memories. Something I desperately want to avoid. “What the hell are you talking about? What who did to me?”

“You really can’t imagine?” The hand that cupped my balls now travels to my temple, tapping fervently. “The memory is there. But hidden. Repressed. Then again, most trauma usually is.”

Again, the electric current shoots through Hollow’s fingertips into my skin, but this time, it burrows into my mind. I cry out at the pain and then… memories consume me.

A flickering of images flash through my consciousness. I see faces I recognize, faces I don’t. One stands out above all others. Father’s. He’s staring at me, watching, always watching. I’m on the ground, on my knees, as a man approaches. He fiddles with his belt buckle, begins to undo his pants while Father stares coldly.

“ Open your mouth, Killian,” Father’s voice resounds in my memories. I feel tears fill my eyes as I do as he commands.

Another image replaces this one. I’m on my stomach, on a mattress, being thrust forward as a body slumps over top of me, a thick cock forcing its way inside of me. I cry out, unprepared, my body so much smaller than it is now. Too small. From across the room, I meet Father’s aloof gaze with desperate, pleading eyes.

“ Quiet, Killian. Be a good boy and you’ll get a treat afterward.”

And for the briefest of moments, I think of Abe. Abe. I’m doing this to protect Abe.

Another flash. Another memory. We’re alone again. I stand before Father, shaking. Begging.

“ Please, Father. Ask if he’ll take me instead. Abe isn’t ready. He’s not ready. Please let me go in his place.” I hear my own voice resounding in my mind. My own voice, but softer, higher. A voice that hasn’t broken. A child’s voice.

And suddenly, I’m thrust back to the present and into Hollow’s arms. He lets me go and I fall to my knees, waves of nausea overwhelming me. My arms are shaking, barely holding me up. Goosebumps have broken out all over my skin and beads of sweat drip down my brow.

It’s not real. It’s not real . He’s done something to me. Made me see things that aren’t true somehow and I hate him for it.

A surge of adrenaline consumes me and I wrench the knife from Hollow’s belt. As I grip it in hand and whirl back around, it meets Hollow’s chest without interference, plunging in deep right where his heart should be.

Our eyes meet. And in those golden orbs, I see sadness. I freeze as he clasps my hand, the one holding the submerged knife. “I’m sorry the truth hurt you, Kill.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper before twisting the blade. He chokes and stumbles forward, more blood staining his already painted lips. “That wasn’t the truth. Whatever the fuck you made me see, it wasn’t the truth.”

I think it’s over then. He’s bleeding on my blade and soon, he’ll die from his wounds. I’ll never have to think of Hollow ever again, never have to recall those horrific images he implanted in my brain, however he did it. Already, they’re beginning to fade from my recollection.

I yank backward, pulling the knife forcefully from his chest. But to my surprise, rather than slumping further and succumbing to his wound, Hollow raises his head and looks at me. He wipes the blood from his lips and straightens, observing me coolly, without any hint of mortal pain.

“Perhaps you simply don’t want to hear it from me. Perhaps you should ask your sweet Abraham instead.”

My stomach twists as yet one more image presents itself in my mind. Abe. Abe as a child, so little, so innocent. He’s standing on his own inside some sort of shopping mall, looking through a glass storefront into a toy store where all manner of childlike wonders whir and gyrate. And suddenly, he looks up, eyes connecting with mine and smiles. Approaches. And the memory flickers and fades.

I don’t have any recollection of this moment. I don’t remember ever being in this setting. The toy store, the shopping mall. None of it is familiar. And yet, it pulls at something deep within me and aches. I feel such tremendous shame and sadness. I waver on my feet as the manufactured memory fades and Hollow’s eyes bore into me once more.

Then I realize. The gouge in his chest. I can see through the hole in his shirt. It’s gone. Healed as though it never happened. I blink, my head filled with mush. I need to get out of here. To get away from Hollow.

And in that moment, I don’t care about Father. About redeeming myself to him. All I care about is clearing my head, getting as far away from this motel and this man as I possibly can.

I stagger backward, hands shaking, stomach clenching and unclenching. Shaking my head, I back up warily, eyes on Hollow as I stumble toward the door to the outside, to where Delilah awaits.

“Finished, are we?” Hollow asks. “But I’m still very much alive.”

I don’t care. I don’t care. I need to find Abe.

I’m out the door without looking back. And just as I reach Delilah, I throw up all over the pavement.