Cruel (A Necrosis of the Mind Duet 1)

Confusion settles in the hard creases of her forehead. She still hasn’t made the connection.

“Alex, I’m sorry for what happened to your sister, but whatever you have planned…there has to be someone better, more interesting than me for your purpose.”

“Blakely, let’s not insult each other with mind games and tactics. I know how good you are at reading people and influencing them. That won’t happen here. I’ll answer any question that you have, but please don’t tire yourself or me with pointless arguments.”

The soft expression masking her face dissolves. “You abducted me. Chained me to a fucking gurney”—she snaps her wrists against the restraints—“and you’re actually using the word please? Like this is some social experiment for your fucking lab geeks and I’m a willing participant? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“I will be civil with you,” I say, my tone level. “I only require you to be the same.”

Her features harden. “I’m going to tear your face off.”

There she is, the monster beneath the facade. “I’m sure you would,” I say, as I walk toward the curtain. “But you won’t be given the chance.”

And to think, just hours earlier I was doubting myself. Questioning my commitment to the project, my choice in selecting Blakely. That one moment between us at my apartment, right before we left, I was on the verge of abandoning it all.

There had been opportunities prior to that where I could have subdued her. We didn’t need to go through the whole farce of the Ericson revenge job. But I had doubts, I had reservations, and I wasn’t sure until that final moment that she was the right choice.

“You know,” I say, as I collect the syringe and glass vial of general anesthetic from the metal tray, “there was a second where I was second-guessing my decision about you. A moment of hesitancy, a bout of conscience, if you will.”

“So what changed your mind? My charming personality?”

A flat smile lines my face. “No matter how focused one is on their goal, the human condition dictates that we should wrestle with the choice to cause another human being harm.” I draw closer to her, so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “And then you admitted that you didn’t care what happen to the hooker, that she was collateral damage. Expendable was the word you used.”

I use the needle tip to touch the tender part of her hand, and she jerks away. “In that moment, I knew I didn’t have a choice,” I continue, meeting her eyes again. “You are the perfect subject.”

“Everyone has a choice,” she says, jaw set tight.

“That may be so, but you also had a choice to protect her.” I insert the needle into the vial and fill the syringe. “Instead, true to your nature, you found her expendable. A means to your end. Her life was of no consequence.”

“And yet, did you stick around to help Maybelline, Alex?”

My shoulders tense. “I never entered the penthouse. I used a recorded track from the MMA fight. I removed the background noise and played it for you while you waited to be lured to the park.”

Her lips twist into a smirk. “That’s not what I asked.”

A morsel of shame settles in the pit of my stomach. “Whereas you were negligent with her life in pursuit of money, my aim is for the greater good—”

“Sure. I get the point.” She looks at the needle. Her concern is on herself again.

Holding the syringe aloft, I wait, reveling in the knowledge that soon Blakely will know exactly what it is to feel shame. An emotion I have battled with every failed experiment. How much will that change her?

“This is for the greater good, I assure you. We’re going to make history together.” I check the time on my pocket watch to note the hour before we begin.

The ticking is loud in the chamber, echoing all around me. I wonder if Blakely hears it. As I draw closer to her, the delicate scent of her perfume invades my senses, and the temptation to lean in to her, to touch her soft skin, is a vicious taunt.

With a deep inhalation, I take in the last trace of her and harden my resolve. Her perfume will fade soon, subsequently releasing me from its spell.

“Alex, wait. None of this makes sense. You can’t do this.”

The ticking grows louder. “We’ve already wasted too much time. Precious hours and days lost to the identification process. Thirty-five years, Blakely. That may not be enough.” An approximation of how much time I have to develop a cure. I can’t stop the countdown in my head.

That’s also another factor as to why I chose her. She’s young. H

ealthy. Strong. She can endure the procedure.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She yanks her ankle against the leather cuff uselessly.

I allow myself one moment of weakness and touch her hair, feathering my fingers through the soft strands to drag them away from her face. “You’re sick, Blakely, and I’m going to cure you.”