Virulent (Folie a Deux 1)

We walk through the street an hour later, hand in hand. People that pass us by smile, some offering a nod, but none of them know that we’re more than just your average couple, and that’s why I love living in a city. Nobody can judge us. To them, we’re just girlfriend and boyfriend.

Pike leads me down the road, closing in on the old abandoned warehouse that sits at the edge of the city. It’s looming shadow casts over us as we near it. I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but when Pike told me to bring Gigi, I had a feeling we’re in for a lot of fun today.

We enter the open space, Pike tugging me through the emptiness. When we reach a small door, he kicks it open with his boot. Inside, there are tables that look old and rusted. The space was used for manufacturing material and the machines are still there. Barren and lonely, they sit in the dank space with no one to use them any more.

“This place,” Pike announces, “used to be a hub of creativity. My mother worked here before she married my dad. Before she got so fucking rich she never needed to come back here.” He makes his way to one of the machines and chucks the backpack onto the table, pulling out objects and setting them on the in front of him.

“And you brought me here because?” I’m confused now, but Pike spins on his heel, holding up a small powerpack battery and some material.

“To make you something pretty.” He winks, the silver of his piercing glinting at me playfully. His mouth quirks into a grin, happiness shining in his eyes. I watch as he plugs the small machine in.

He goes to work, pulling and tugging on the material and I’m in awe. I’ve never seen Pike do anything like this, but it makes me smile to see him so excited.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue,” he utters, focused on the project in front of him.

“You know I don’t need all that, Daddy,” I tell him, strolling through the abandoned space while he busies himself.

“Oh, trust me when I say, you’ll need what’s coming.” His cryptic words cause me to frown, but he doesn’t look at me. He merely smiles as he works on the material. He cuts, pins, and sews as if he’d done it all his life.

“Patrick?” Another voice comes from the doorway we entered a few moments ago. A voice I recognize all too well. My feet don’t want to move when the man I haven’t seen in almost twelve years strolls into the space. My father’s eldest brother, older than Pike’s dad, is the one man who stood by. Even though he’s a cop, he didn’t do anything when they took me into the room every day and made me cry.

“Waylon,” Pike says as he rises to look at the man. “You know Molls.”

The old man turns to me, his eyes wide with confusion.

“You’re still with her?” He sneers, and I know he’s not happy about the fact that I’m here.

“Of course,” Pike grins. He pulls out his smokes. Lighting one, he drags in a long inhale before he blows out the white plume of smoke. “You see, Waylon,” Pike says and I’m certain shit is about to go down. “Molly here, she’s my girl. Now, Tobias is an asshole because he didn’t help Molly when she needed it most. You know,” he says, strolling closer to my uncle. “A brother should be there for his little sister.”

Pike finally reaches our uncle. Rearing back, he punches him deep in the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs in a whoosh. When Uncle Waylon rises to his full height, Pike raises his hands and grips his cheeks. The old man wheezes as he attempts to catch his breath.

“What are you doing, Patrick?”

“I’m doing what her brother should’ve done. It’s taken me a long while to figure it out, to see how broken my sweet Molls is, and then I found it.”

“Pike, what are you doing?” I question, racing forward with my heart thudding wildly at his words. He found it. Oh god, did he find my hidden letter?

When I turned eighteen, I wrote a letter to Pike. I told him everything that had happened. All the dark, all the pain, everything. I kept it hidden for all these years. I never wanted him to find it.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” Pike smirks, “I’ve got you.” He shoves the old man against the wall, holding him by the neck. He takes another long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke into the old man’s face. Uncle Waylon is old, he’s frail, and the way Pike is gripping his throat, I’m sure his lungs are going to give out soon.