Page 27 of Noctis

The admission tasted bitter. It was also painfully ironic, given that right then I would have traded almost anything for a drink. Or drugs. Anything that dulled the pain. Which probably proved how reliant I’d become on them. Perhaps I needed to find better ways of coping with things, even if my primary motivation was proving Tyler wrong.

“What about your mother’s death?” Logan asked carefully. “You might find talking about it beneficial.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

He nodded. “Then we would be happy to have you stay with us for a few more days.”

After he left, I retrieved the phone from beneath my pillow. For a moment, I considered keeping it, but that would be unfair to the nurse and impractical, when it had probably locked anyway and I didn’t have a charger.

Instead, I returned to the common room and, when no one was watching, slid it beneath the same chair, leaving one end visible.

Either the nurse would retrace her steps and find it, or another patient would hand it in. I just hoped she didn’t check the call history.

Chapter Ten

Caligo

So now you know the truth. The people who were supposed to protect you have been lying and conspiring behind your back.

I didn’t enjoy seeing how much it hurt you.

The good news is that you don’t need them.

Anyone willing to hurt you doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

In fact, they don’t deserve to breathe at all.

But we’ll get to that.

The doctor’s arrival interrupted our conversation. He’s always poking his nose into things that don’t concern him, that one. He did the same thing with Laura.

I wanted to comfort you, my pretty Rowan. I wanted to lay a hand on your shoulder, the way I’ve seen humans do when someone is in pain.

It hurts that you don’t want me to touch you.

But don’t worry. I have a plan—something that will ease you into the inevitability of what we’ll eventually become to each other. I’ve seen the way you look at the doctor. You’re attracted to his pleasant face and bland facade, and I intend to use that attraction as a stepping stone.

Ah, there you are, Doctor, all tucked up in bed. What do you dream about, I wonder? Your patients? Your admirable dedication to saving them from themselves?

Do you ever dream of me?

I know your dirty little secret. No matter how often you’ve assured your patients that I’m nothing more than a hallucination, some part of you has always known I’m real.

Because you’ve seen me.

Not directly, of course. I never liked you enough for that.

Only out of the corner of your eye.

You’ve seen me in the forest, on those rare occasions when you deign to join the patient walks so you can tell your friends at the pub that you’re a man of the people. As if that changes the fact that you consider every patient here beneath you.

You’ve glimpsed me in your office, where I sometimes brush against the edges of your vision for sport, and at the end of the corridor, where you tell yourself you’re merely tired.

Never here, though.

I’ve never visited your private rooms before. You weren’t nearly interesting enough. And now, as I take in the lack of photographs, dreary decor, and appalling taste in literature, I know my judgment was correct.

But tonight, I have a special job for you.