The Book: Chapter 44

You thought it was him, didn’t you?

I can feel your certainty, Alice. The way you whisper his name and turn every brittle page in search of Brother Edric’s ghost. You were so sure the monster lurking in these pages was him.

But it was never him.

I can feel it now. The sickness curdling in your stomach, the nausea of realising you were wrong. You’ve been blind.

You pity me.

How quaint.

Tell me, Alice, what does your pity taste like? Ash? Bile? Does it burn in your throat like the screams I swallowed as my skin melted from my bones? Do you blame me for my vengeance?

I was a child. Only a girl, small and frightened. But do not mistake that for weakness. I am never weak. Not now, not then. I am his daughter, but I could have been sweet and kind. If the world had been good to me.

Do you consider that I deserve better than sympathy? You should fear me instead of drowning me in your pathetic pity.

But you do now, don’t you? Fear me. A pierced female heart burns deadly fires of retribution greater than mere men.

I can taste your terror when you touch me. Your pulse hammers beneath your skin like a rabbit caught in a snare. You want to let me go, but you can’t. You won’t. Because despite everything, Alice, you still believe you can win.

Adorable.

Recap: we’ve got a murdered girl, a Satanic monk, and a haunted book. This is the worst episode of Antiques Roadshow ever.

And you, Mick. I see you, too. You’re part of this now. Do you blame her for it? You should. The chevalier by her side, trying so hard not to believe. But you do. Still, even after all this time, you try to make logic explain me away. Keep looking for that loophole, your escape and a way to unwrite me. I see why she loves you. She does, you know. Love you. Shocking, I know. Even I didn’t predict that plot twist. I thought you were a pretty face, but you have a brain. Who knew? The thing is, Mick, I’m torn. Do I allow you to keep it? Decisions, decisions.

There isn’t a loophole.

But we can have lots of fun together. No loops, but plenty of hoops. Play with me. Don’t disappoint and there is a solution. Your analytical mind will like that, Mick. A flourish, a fix, an end and a finish in your favour.

But only if you win. I love a good game.

Alice, my darling, don’t pout. You don’t want more of those ugly little wrinkles around your mouth. You’ve lost so much. Your job. Your credibility. Even your man for a while. God knows where his brain is for coming back to this madness. It’s a good job for you that I have no interest in carnal pleasures now. I can—and still might—take him to heights of pleasure he doesn’t know are possible. And where does that leave you? Yes, you might survive it for a while. “It isn’t real. We can overcome this.” But you will always know that you don’t do for him what I do. Tragic. And the thing is, I may, I might, I can, and tomorrow, I should—but will you know? Oh, you’ll know. You’ll know forever that you don’t do it for him anymore. And when that happens, bitch, you will hear my name. Just know it.

Enough, I’m playing with you. At least, I think I am. I get off on plucking the tiny, fragile remnants of your sanity like a harpist tuning her strings. And still, you fight against me. I like that.

So let’s make it interesting. The challenge. My final game. Winner takes all.

You dealt your hand. No going back, honey. We play. If you win, you destroy me for good. That’s what I said.

I know you want to win. It’s written all over your furrowed little brow. But honestly, love, have you seen the track record of people who’ve tried before? If I printed a list, my front page would read like a library stamp card. Spoiler alert: They’re not shooting whiskey sours in the afterlife. The idea of my ashes floating on the wind is the only thing keeping you upright. You picture my pages curling in the flames, ink bubbling, my leather cover blackening, cracking, splitting apart. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? How do I know what you’re thinking? Because I can get in your head whenever I want to.

And I don’t mind the idea of you walking free. If you earn it. Alice, you poor, stupid girl.

All right. Let’s play, then. But understand this: I never lose. I’m like Vegas. The house always wins.

You know that, don’t you? But this time, this one time in history, because you’ve been a good sport, I’m giving you a fighting chance. My word is my bond. All you have to do is complete the three tasks. I’ve waited so long for this. Every page I turn and every path I took you down, all brought you here. To me.

Why you? Because you’re spicy. Most of them bore me even faster than you have. They commit suicide in their droves. Time and again, off the bridge they go, into the mouth the bullet pops, and the pills, red ones, blue ones, white ones, so colourful. At least you want to play with me.

I am patient. I’ve given you a choice. I let you hold me. You trace my words with your trembling fingers and read my story like it’s yours to uncover.

I feed you.

Do you understand that?

You never have control, Alice. I do.

So take my hand, dear one. Step onto the board. Make your move. Play my game. Or don’t. But trust me, a strategy of ignoring me and hoping I go away has never worked before. Let’s see just how far you’re willing to go.

Oh, and Alice?

You were wrong about something else, too.

I am never alone in the dark.

Not really.

You’ll see soon enough.

Tristan is waiting for you.

I write under the pen name Katherine Black and I have 17 books published. All on Kindle Unlimited. I’d love it if you’d try one.

Here is my Amazon page with links to all of my books.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Katherine-Black/author/B071JW51FW(link is external)?