Chapter 165: Chapter 165 - The Horror of A Promise
The convulsion snapped her body forward so hard the chair legs scraped across the floor.
Her back arched. Every muscle in her arms and legs locked at once. The rope bit deeper into her wrists as her hands curled into fists she could not open. Pain tore through her in violent waves. Her teeth slammed together. Her lungs fought for air that would not come fast enough.
"Iyisha—"
Malcolm’s voice cut through the room.
Another seizure hit before she could even look at him.
Her head jerked violently to the side. Her jaw clamped down so hard her teeth ground together and the pressure shot into her temples. Her vision blurred, the room smearing into gray shapes as the convulsion tore through her again.
Then suddenly the pain vanished.
All at once.
Her body slumped back against the chair and the violent trembling stopped as if someone had flipped a switch inside her.
For a moment she could not understand what had changed.
Then she realized something was missing.
Her chest did not rise.
She waited for the next breath.
Nothing happened.
Her lungs remained still.
A distant ringing filled her ears as the world tilted softly around her, the edges of her vision growing dim and hazy while the air in her throat slowly ran out.
The next breath never came.
Her heart had been hammering wildly inside her ribs seconds ago.
Now there was only silence.
Nothing.
The realization reached her through the fog.
This was it.
Her eyes drifted across the room.
Malcolm stood only a few steps away. His shoulders were rigid and his head was slightly lowered like he already knew what was happening and could not bear to watch it finish.
Through the blur she saw his face turn just enough for their eyes to meet.
Tears slipped quietly down the sides of her vision.
She wanted to tell him something.
Her lips parted, but the strength to speak was already gone.
The room darkened around the edges.
Her gaze stayed on him as long as it could.
Goodbye.
The thought formed quietly in the fading space of her mind.
Then the darkness took her.
All at once.
Her body dropped against the back of the chair and everything disappeared.
For a moment there was nothing.
Then awareness crawled back.
Her eyes opened slowly and the room swam into view, blurred and distant, the shapes of the walls and the floor sliding back into place while her mind struggled to follow them. The ropes were still tight around her wrists. The chair pressed hard against her spine.
Relief flooded through her the moment she saw them.
She wasn’t dead.
Not yet.
Marybeth was crouched in the far corner with the gun clutched in both hands, her shoulders drawn tight and her face pale as she stared at the chair like she expected it to move.
Malcolm stood a few feet away near the wall.
His head was turned away from her.
One hand pressed against his mouth and nose while his shoulders rose once in a slow, controlled breath like he was forcing himself not to look.
Malcolm.
Iyisha tried to say his name.
Her lips parted and her throat pushed air upward, but the sound that came out was dry and wrong, a broken scrape instead of a word.
At the same moment something else happened.
Her fingers curled against the rope.
Her jaw shifted.
Her teeth ground together with a soft click that echoed strangely in her skull.
A strange pressure built along her gums and her tongue slid across her teeth without her meaning to, tracing them slowly as if her mouth were testing them.
Then saliva flooded under her tongue so suddenly it spilled between her lips.
Her heart had been hammering so hard during the seizures she had thought it would tear itself apart.
Now there was nothing there.
Only a deep, hollow quiet inside her chest.
The realization crept in slowly, heavy and unreal.
She was dead.
But she was still here.
She tried to stop her hands as the rope creaked under the tightening of her wrists, the muscles in her forearms pulling and twisting while she tried to force them still.
Nothing listened.
The chair legs scraped loudly across the floor as her shoulders pulled toward the source of it.
Toward Malcolm.
Her teeth slammed together with a sharp crack and her mouth opened again immediately after, wider this time, her tongue pressing forward while more saliva spilled down her chin.
Inside her mind she tried to stop it.
She tried to pull herself back.
Her body kept leaning forward.
Her jaw snapped shut again.
Then opened.
No.
The word exploded inside her mind.
No no no no—
She tried to clamp her mouth shut.
Her jaw ignored her.
Her teeth snapped together again with a sharp crack and then opened wider than before. Her neck strained forward. Her shoulders dragged against the rope.
The hunger roared through her skull.
It wasn’t in her stomach.
It burned in her jaw.
Her mouth flooded again and her tongue dragged across her teeth while her body leaned toward the living warmth across the room.
Toward Malcolm.
Inside her head she screamed.
Stop.
STOP.
Her muscles did not listen.
Her jaw snapped again.
She tried to scream Malcolm’s name.
Her throat forced out a low wet sound that barely resembled a voice.
Panic ripped through her.
Do it.
The words hammered through her mind as her body strained forward again.
Kill me.
Her teeth snapped again.
Kill me now.
Her body jerked violently against the rope.
KILL ME—
Her mind fractured under the terror of it. The chair scraped across the floor as her shoulders pulled forward again and her jaw opened wide enough that pain shot through her temples.
Something inside her snapped.
The screaming in her head dissolved into raw noise as panic flooded every corner of her mind. Her thoughts scattered, breaking apart under the horror of feeling her own body hunt while she sat trapped inside it.
Then everything collapsed.
The strength drained out of her thoughts all at once. The panic vanished as if someone had cut the wire feeding it. Her vision dimmed and the world slipped sideways while her awareness began to sink.
Darkness rushed up and swallowed her.
But the body did not stop.
Sound dragged her back.
Voices.
Her vision opened again.
God. No.
Marybeth was no longer in the corner.
She was standing now.
The gun was raised in both hands and pointed directly at the chair.
"Malcolm," she said, her voice tight with fear. "You need to do it."
Malcolm stood a few feet away beside the wall.
His back was half turned toward her.
His shoulders were rigid, one hand braced against the wall like he was holding himself upright.
"She’s gone," Marybeth said.
Inside her mind the words screamed loud enough to break her skull.
Yes.
Do it.
Shoot.
Her throat forced air upward again.
Only a rough broken scrape escaped her mouth.
Marybeth’s grip tightened on the gun.
"Malcolm," she said again. "Kill her."
Yes.
Her mind clung to the words desperately.
Please.
Her vision began to dim. The edges of the room darkened slowly while Malcolm and Marybeth blurred together in the fading light. The strength drained from her thoughts and the panic that had been tearing through her mind softened into something distant and hollow.
Thank God.
The darkness closed in and she welcomed it.
Then everything disappeared.
—
Something slammed through her body.
Awareness snapped back without warning. The room lurched violently into focus as her body thrashed against the chair, the ropes groaning under the sudden strain.
Her teeth snapped together with a sharp crack.
Then opened.
Saliva spilled down her chin as her head jerked forward again, her jaw pulling toward the warm shape standing in front of her.
Malcolm.
Marybeth was gone.
Only him.
He stood a few steps away, completely still.
A pistol hung heavy in his hand.
The black metal caught the dim light, the gold etching along the slide glinting faintly as his fingers tightened around the grip.
The gun they had found together.
She had never remembered its name, no matter how many times Malcolm had told her what it was called.
Her chest ached for him.
She had never seen him like this.
His shoulders were rigid. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle worked beneath his skin. His eyes were fixed on her while her body jerked forward again, teeth snapping toward him as the hunger drove it.
She wanted to speak.
It’s okay.
It’s alright.
It’s what I want.
But the only sound that scraped from her throat was a broken rasp while her body strained against the rope, her mouth opening wide as her teeth snapped uselessly through the air between them.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
Slowly he raised the gun.
His arm lifted until the barrel lined up with her head.
Her temple.
Her body lunged again, teeth snapping toward him.
He didn’t step back.
He stepped closer.
The cold circle of the barrel stopped inches from her skin.
Malcolm looked straight into her eyes.
"A promise is a promise," he muttered.
His voice was rough.
Pained.
Yes.
What a horrible promise it was.
His jaw tightened harder as his second hand came up to steady the gun, gripping it like he was forcing his own hands to obey him. The metal trembled slightly between his fingers.
Her body thrashed again.
Her teeth snapped toward him.
He held the gun there for one long second.
Two.
Then suddenly he turned away.
The gun lowered as his shoulders sagged.
"I’m sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I can’t kill you."
Oh Malcolm.
The thought drifted through her mind with a quiet ache.
Then the door burst open.
Marybeth rushed inside, breathing hard as she grabbed the frame.
"Someone is coming."
