blobs. A blob in the shape of my brother—actually, I’m assuming it’s my brother—stares at the far left side of the room, and the room, from what I can tell, is sorta big. Well, bigger than I expected a basement would be in this house. Course it could just be black on black on black makes it look universe big. Funny, I suppose it should make everything feel smaller, more claustrophobic.
I don’t have time for claustrophobic.
Truthfully, I don’t have time for whatever game or plan or brilliant excuse for a moral compass my brother thinks he’s doing right now. I take a very long, very deep breath and cough up a big spitball that is probably filled with hundreds-of-years-old dirt and worm carcasses. Eww… I spit it on the floor. Thankful, for once, that I can’t actually see.
There are some other big black blobs in the room. I think whoever owns the house uses this room for like a garage or something. There are some things hanging from the ceiling on chains. I guess they are chains. I guess they are tools. I guess this dude is a carpenter or mechanic or tinkering scientist and not a psycho serial killer. They’d all have chains on their ceiling.
And on walls…
To chain people up.
The cold of the steel against my wrists is very evident right at this moment. “Uh, Lucien.”
“Yeah?”
“What kind of a house is this?” I pull on my chains, making them rattle, making my point very clear.
“Relax. I put the chains on the walls. It’s just like a gardening basement or something.”
“Ah.” I lean my head back against the cool concrete blocks that I’ve grown to hate. “That makes everything so much better.”
“Hart, just… would you listen to me?” Lucien turns the light on again, blinding me… again. I’ll kill him.
Kill him dead.
Kill him again.
“Would you stop doing that?” There are other words I want to use, like son of a bitch, bastard, jerk, and all other kinds of unkind words that I don’t say because I don’t. Maybe Lucien has earned a little bit of a right for payback. Maybe.
Maybe this isn’t the best time, but he’s earned it. Slightly.
Jackass.
“Oh, stop your bellyaching. You’re lucky I just drugged you.”
“Yeah, I feel incredibly lucky.” I blink about a thousand times to try to see. Finally, slowly, I can. The light is so bright I’m sure I’ll get a migraine, but in the scheme of things, a migraine isn’t the worst thing that can happen.
“You should. Seth wanted me to hit you over the head with a mallet. I thought this was more humane.” Lucien smirks.
I smirk back because he’s my brother, and it sort of comes out before I can stop it. “Well, then. In that case, thanks for drugging me.”
“Anytime.”
Lucien is fiddling with something in his hands. I can’t tell what it is, but it reminds me of when we were kids. When he got nervous about anything—and let’s face it, that was most days—he would get something and start fidgeting with it. They’d probably diagnose him with something now. A nervous disorder or something we didn’t actually have back in the day, or at least we didn’t try to call it anything. It was just Lucien playing with a stick.
Lucien’s Stick Syndrome.
Yeah, that’s not going to catch on.
I clear my throat, trying to make it sound the least bit like a dude in his twenties, and look in the general direction of the way-too-bright lamp and my brother’s legs. It’s all I can see of him. His legs. He’s sitting in a chair, wooden by the look of it. I can’t see anything else. I don’t guess it matters if I can or not.
“So what’s the plan? You gonna keep me in here until the world ends? Brother bonding until the end of time?”
“And whose fault will it be if the world does end? Huh, Jessup ?”
Jackass.
“That’s wonderful, Lucien. It does so much good to play the blame game. Especially now. No, no, the world is ending, and I’m the only person in the world with a connection to Gracen, and you
I don’t have time for claustrophobic.
Truthfully, I don’t have time for whatever game or plan or brilliant excuse for a moral compass my brother thinks he’s doing right now. I take a very long, very deep breath and cough up a big spitball that is probably filled with hundreds-of-years-old dirt and worm carcasses. Eww… I spit it on the floor. Thankful, for once, that I can’t actually see.
There are some other big black blobs in the room. I think whoever owns the house uses this room for like a garage or something. There are some things hanging from the ceiling on chains. I guess they are chains. I guess they are tools. I guess this dude is a carpenter or mechanic or tinkering scientist and not a psycho serial killer. They’d all have chains on their ceiling.
And on walls…
To chain people up.
The cold of the steel against my wrists is very evident right at this moment. “Uh, Lucien.”
“Yeah?”
“What kind of a house is this?” I pull on my chains, making them rattle, making my point very clear.
“Relax. I put the chains on the walls. It’s just like a gardening basement or something.”
“Ah.” I lean my head back against the cool concrete blocks that I’ve grown to hate. “That makes everything so much better.”
“Hart, just… would you listen to me?” Lucien turns the light on again, blinding me… again. I’ll kill him.
Kill him dead.
Kill him again.
“Would you stop doing that?” There are other words I want to use, like son of a bitch, bastard, jerk, and all other kinds of unkind words that I don’t say because I don’t. Maybe Lucien has earned a little bit of a right for payback. Maybe.
Maybe this isn’t the best time, but he’s earned it. Slightly.
Jackass.
“Oh, stop your bellyaching. You’re lucky I just drugged you.”
“Yeah, I feel incredibly lucky.” I blink about a thousand times to try to see. Finally, slowly, I can. The light is so bright I’m sure I’ll get a migraine, but in the scheme of things, a migraine isn’t the worst thing that can happen.
“You should. Seth wanted me to hit you over the head with a mallet. I thought this was more humane.” Lucien smirks.
I smirk back because he’s my brother, and it sort of comes out before I can stop it. “Well, then. In that case, thanks for drugging me.”
“Anytime.”
Lucien is fiddling with something in his hands. I can’t tell what it is, but it reminds me of when we were kids. When he got nervous about anything—and let’s face it, that was most days—he would get something and start fidgeting with it. They’d probably diagnose him with something now. A nervous disorder or something we didn’t actually have back in the day, or at least we didn’t try to call it anything. It was just Lucien playing with a stick.
Lucien’s Stick Syndrome.
Yeah, that’s not going to catch on.
I clear my throat, trying to make it sound the least bit like a dude in his twenties, and look in the general direction of the way-too-bright lamp and my brother’s legs. It’s all I can see of him. His legs. He’s sitting in a chair, wooden by the look of it. I can’t see anything else. I don’t guess it matters if I can or not.
“So what’s the plan? You gonna keep me in here until the world ends? Brother bonding until the end of time?”
“And whose fault will it be if the world does end? Huh, Jessup ?”
Jackass.
“That’s wonderful, Lucien. It does so much good to play the blame game. Especially now. No, no, the world is ending, and I’m the only person in the world with a connection to Gracen, and you
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