It’s different for everyone.
That one, blissfully high moment of utter and complete satisfaction, of achievement. It’s a sweet glimpse of heaven. A split-second where demons depart and the gates inch open, granting us a limited view of something holy.
We have reached the top of the mountain. We have conquered. We reap our reward.
Ah, that reward doesn’t come freely. There’s a price.
Fear.
Fear governs our life—that soul-sickening dread of loss. Once we’ve obtained our perfection, anxiety creeps in like the demonic force it is to steal our light.
The truth is a nice dash of salt in a fresh, cavernous wound.
Once we’ve tasted the sweetest perfection, savoring it on our tongue, everything that follows can only be bland by comparison. Or worse; a sickly sour. Quickly becoming a rotten bitterness that roils our stomach.
The higher we reach, the further we descend immediately afterward. A crushing low.
A torrid pit of hell awaits us at the bottom.
Maybe that’s where London and I made our first mistake. Believing we could bottle our perfect piece of heaven. Immortalize it. Exist only for each other.
Maybe we still can.
My ears pick up the low thump of bass as I walk past the Blue Clover. I pull my jacket hood over my head, dodging a drunken, laughing group. Getting back to Maine was harder this time. Before, the authorities assumed I wouldn’t return—now they’re expecting me.
Luckily, Agent Nelson left me a trail of breadcrumbs. This is where he wants me. Which means he has leverage. He has her.
Let him take me.
London’s haunting words have set my course since I escaped the Rockland jailhouse. This is her design, and as she’s the dominant force, I’ve conceded to her request. Though it wasn’t easy; I caught up to Nelson twice, and both times I waited. And watched.
No one can run forever.
There are only two certainties for men like us. You’re either caught or killed.
But unlike Nelson, I have an anomaly—a beautiful dark angel who defies convention.
I notice the shiny lock on the warehouse door. It hangs open, an invitation. There’s no stealthy entrance on my part as I slide the door open. Nelson wants me here, London wants me here…so here I am.
Let the games begin.
I walk inside, and as soon as I see her, my heart lurches. It only ever beats for her.
Suspended above the garage on a hydraulic car lift, London floats there like the angel she is—a vision.
Her mouth and eyes are covered, but she can hear me. She’s been stripped of her clothes—her flesh on display, all except for her thin bra and panties. Wire ropes project from her wrists and waist….holding her aloft…like a beautifully disturbed marionette.
The cables are anchored around the lift’s arms—the yellow steel beams that support an automobile—and she dangles from just below. The cables flow above the lift, stretched taut above like piano strings, and fold over a second lift bar to drop down like rain. But instead of raindrops, padlocked weights dangle from the cables.
I tear my gaze away momentarily to study the mechanism. Within seconds, I’ve calculated the system.
The lift is set on a timer. Lowering her every minute. The countdown will end with London submerged in an 8ft shipping container.
It’s beautiful, really.
The trap London and I began to design that first night here, now complete, realized to its full potential. A trap I could truly appreciate, if not for Nelson’s fingerprints all over it, corroding it.
“I thought to myself,” Nelson’s voice sounds out, “it’s unfortunate that you’ve never