He turned his face away from her as if ashamed before standing and lifting her into his arms. “Let’s get you home and warmed up, you silly, petulant little girl.”

***

Readying the bath for Elsa, Victor dipped his fingers under the running water while she undressed. As she folded her clothes and placed them neatly on the counter, he caught a glimpse of the welted scars. He had been doing his best all day to suppress the emotions he was feeling about having been the one to put them there, but seeing them again made him face the ugly truth of his actions.

A question lingered: why hadn’t she brought up the scars earlier? Lashed out at him? Despite his threats, why had she agreed to play his game when he had scarred her even after promising he would never leave irreparable damage? Were his secrets so enticing that she would put all that aside just to learn them? It made no sense, but nothing Elsa ever did was based on logic. Emotions were the gasoline to her fire and she allowed them to control her life.

Seated on the ledge of the tub, he reached out and took a hold of her wrist to pull her to him, but she resisted. Unyielding, he tugged her close and hugged her waist, resting his ear against her breast, listening to the sound of her heart. It was the very one that used to beat only for him. Even if only for a brief time, it had belonged to him.

But he dismissed it – pushed her away out of fear of being made to feel the one emotion he didn’t want again and hurting her in return. What a fucking pathetic thing to do to someone. He had hurt her anyway and far worse than he ever could have imagined.

Easing her down into his lap, he crept his hands up her spine and between her shoulder blades, causing her to wince and try to escape his cradling arms. He wouldn’t allow it. He had to feel them to know they were real. When his fingers skimmed the first one, a gasp escaped her mouth and she pressed her arms against his chest, but still, he refused to let her go.

“I did this,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I did this,” repeated but without emphasis.

“No,” she gritted her teeth. “Mr. Black did.”

He clenched his lids together tightly at the sound of her voice. He was Mr. Black. Fucking hell. Why couldn’t she just accept that?

As if sensing his building frustration, she stood and slipped into the tub, letting the soapy water cover her body. The water sloshed all around her and the only sound in the room was of the running water, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

He needed space; time to process everything that had happened and what he had agreed to. Leaving her alone in the bathroom, he retreated to his office to pen his thoughts in his personal journal.

What have I agreed to? Where was Mr. Black when I needed him? I say we are one and the same, but the fact is that we are not. Elsa has forced me to accept that. Goddamn her. God bless her. God… there is no God. Only harsh reality. Stark truth. Cruelty all around. Ugliness within. Can I go through with what she is asking of me? Do I have a fucking choice? She sees through my lies – through me. She WILL leave me if I don’t play by her rules. She proved that tonight. When she ran, my brain went blank and I reacted just as impetuously as she did by seeking her out and giving in to her demands.

Hotheaded and irrational, she doesn’t give a shit about the consequences she will face by refusing to play my game. And where does that leave me other than with no choice but to punish her? I’m so close to breaking down her resistance. It’s within reach. I can feel it, but still, there is that piece of her that she won’t give up. Her heart. And why the hell do I care? I know Mr. Black doesn’t. He doesn’t need her heart in order to enjoy the game, so why the fuck do I?

I must remind myself that the game has only begun. It’s only been a few days even though it seems like many and there is plenty of time to see things through.

She’s drawn her line in the sand and insists on the truth. So be it. If it’s the hideous truth she wants, then she’ll get it and we’ll see just how strong she is when she learns the true depravity of a mother’s hatred for her own son. We’ll see just how resilient she is when she learns the lengths to which people will go to crush someone’s spirit and devour their soul. We’ll see if her own spirit can remain intact when everything is said and done. I only hope it can and I pray to a God I don’t believe in, that her light remains a bright torch to guide the dark path ahead of us.

7: Before Darkness

Victor stood outside the Virginia State Penitentiary with the arctic wind blasting against him. It had been a long, difficult year since last facing Anthony. As he walked briskly toward the entrance, his stomach roiled and his head throbbed with an impending migraine. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he had last seen Elsa and given her permission to write out a list of questions. Every hour since that time, he had dreaded his decision, knowing that he would have to answer to her, truthfully, in order to keep her.

As he handed over his ID and badge to the guard, his mind wandered to his own list of rules he had made for her, as well as the mental list of how he wanted to push her limits and break her down. As always, Mr. Black’s imagination was spinning its web and Elsa would be ensnared before long.

Even though it had been over a year since last being at the Virginia Pen, other than a few different faces – nothing had changed. It was still dreary, slightly dirty, and cold. In the interview room, he draped his trench coat over the back of the metal chair and laid out the file he had brought with him – the one with the falsified records of Chapter Nine.

His heart thumped madly in his chest as he waited to see the old familiar face of the serial killer whom he detested more than anyone. Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one other person he hated just as much – himself. Although it was practically one and the same if he wanted to get technical about it.

What a cruel fucking irony his life had become.

He hated his mother too, though not quite as much. At least she had an excuse, albeit a pathetic one, for her cruelty – alcoholism. He, on the other hand, had a tainted bloodline to blame for his behavior and sadism.

Just like the murderer he was about to face.

A solid ten minutes later, Anthony Bruce came into the room, exuding the same overconfidence and smugness that Mr. Black had adopted over the years.

“Well lookie who’s decided to grace me with his fuckin’ presence.”

Anthony’s contemptuous statement raked over Victor. He took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to appear unaffected.

“I can only guess why your Royal Faggotness decided to show his face around here,” Anthony continued. “You want to know about that killer that’s making me look like a motherfuckin’ rock star, don’t you?”

Jesus H. Christ, he hated Anthony. Just like Nathan Fucking Duncan, he didn’t know when the hell to shut his Goddamn wordhole.

Barely able to contain his rage and the urge to rip Anthony’s tongue from his mouth and strangle him with it, Victor flexed his fingers in an attempt to release the tension building in him. “Are you done?” he grumbled under his breath.

“I’m just gettin’ started, Agent Cocksucker.”

His temper flared and he stood as he glared down at Anthony. “You’ve got a lot of nerve name calling considering you’re the one in prison, taking it up the ass and being forced to be someone else’s bitch.”

He had hoped to strike a hard blow to the sociopath’s ego, but all that happened was a sinister smile curved Anthony’s lips upward.

“It’s good to see you too, Son,” the old man chuckled, making Victor cringe at the reminder of their connection. “And for the record, I don’t take it up the ass, I only give it. Just like you.”