Wretched (Never After Series)(69)
“Yep,” I reply, pouring water into a small metal bowl as well as some of the raw opium I’ve recently finished extracting.
“What are you doing?” She hovers over the table to try and get a better look. “You should be explaining things, right? How am I supposed to learn otherwise.”
I smile at her. “Just getting things set up so I can show you how they work.”
“Oh. Okay.” She lifts a brow. “You’re being weird.”
“You know,” I say, taking the container and placing it over the Bunsen burner, slowly turning up the heat. “I want to apologize to you, Dorothy. I was out of line the other day. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Her eyes narrow.
I laugh, watching the opium melt into liquid form. “Something you said that night on the boat really stuck with me.”
“Really?” Her tone is disbelieving.
“Really,” I repeat, removing the liquid from the burner and grabbing the needle at my side. “You said that maybe if I dove in after Nessa’s shoes, they’d take me home to her. And in that moment, I was tempted, because nothing’s ever felt like home to me the way Nessa did.”
“I did us all a favor.” She scoffs. “Nessa was a bitch.”
I throw back my head and laugh. It’s high pitched and tense, and even to my ears, it sounds piercing.
Dorothy’s eyes widen. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “That’s what they say.”
Drawing back the plunger, I suck up the liquid opium, then hold the needle up to the light and flick the side, getting rid of air bubbles. “Wanna see?” I ask, holding it out to her.
She leans in. “Hm. Fascinating.”
“Anyway,” I continue. “I thought about how silly it would be for me to do that… to let you win. Even if it was my greatest heart’s desire to be with Nessa.”
I meander around the table, the needle at my side. Her eyes are flicking to it and then to me and she backs up a step.
“So the next time I ache for something I love? I’m not going out of my own backyard.” The toes of my shoes press against the tips of hers. “And I’d really, really, love to see you die.”
Bringing up the needle, I jab it into her neck, sticking the plunger so the opium pours into her bloodstream.
Her eyes frow round, her mouth dropping on a scream as she flails. I reach up, delight swimming through my veins as I cock back my fist and swing it forward, punching her right in the face until she drops to the ground.
Pain spreads through my knuckles and I shake out my hand, grabbing her stupid bouncy brown ponytail, the way I’ve dreamed of doing for years, ripping it from her scalp as I drag her over to the table. She’s crying and flailing, but I’ve got a good grip, and I turn around, enjoying the way her blood is pouring from her nose and staining her baby-blue top. I kick her in the side, then press my heel on top of her, sinking all of my weight until the satisfying pop of skin pushes my boot through. She screams again, her hands coming up to dig into my leg and I reach over quickly, picking up the zip ties I placed there just for this occasion.
As the opium starts to rush through her veins, she slackens.
“That’s right,” I coo, brushing the back of my hand down her face and then tying her wrists together before moving to her ankles. “Go to sleep for a bit, sweet sister. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything fun for another couple hours.”
“What’s another couple hours?” she mumbles, her eyes growing hazy.
I smile. “That’s how much longer you have to live.”
Sighing, I brush my hair back from my face, allowing the adrenaline to fill me up until I’m ready to burst. This has been a long time coming.
Gripping her once again by the hair, I pull harshly, feeling the give of roots as I drag her out of the back room and through the aisles until I make it all the way up to where I’ve set the stage for the show. I drop her limp body down while I give my arms a rest. It’s poetic, having her unconscious and about to die here in my field of poppies.
My feet are aching, sweat drips down my face and my clothes stick to my skin, but I don’t mind the exertion. I’ve attached a special hook to the end of one of the mobile halide lights, and I pull her underneath it, grunting as I lift her arms up and slip the hook beneath her zip tie. Then I walk over to where I control the height, and press a button, raising her up, up, up.
There’s a fifty-gallon black plastic barrel I roll into place beneath her feet, and I grin when she moans, her head lolling from side to side. Walking to the far wall, I roll the protective gear up my arms, and place the mask on my face, then pick up the Teflon bottles filled with hydrofluoric acid and head back to the barrel, humming to myself as I fill it up.
When it’s done, I move to the side, strip off the gear, and send a text to my dad, telling him it’s an emergency and I need his help. Then, I grab my Desert Eagle and sit down on the ground, crossing my legs and closing my eyes with my palms up and open.
Now we wait.
It takes thirty minutes for my father to arrive. I know because I counted every single one. I hear the beeping of the security system, so I open my lids, jumping up and heading toward the button that controls the height of the light Dorothy’s attached to. The greenhouse door opens, and I smile, soaking in the sight of my father as he takes in the scene.