𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 || Karl Heisenberg

Chapter Three: New Playmate

ÉSME woke up with a splitting headache as if her skull had been cracked open for the world to poke and prod at. She gripped the crown of her head tightly, expecting her brains to spew out, but it was only the sensation that made it seem that way. Dazed, she sat up, trying to discern her surroundings. A clinking sound drew her attention downward. A rusted cuff and chain were attached to her ankle, leading to the wall made of laid stone. Ésme found herself abandoned on the floor, with a bucket nearby and a partially shattered mirror in the corner. The room was dim, illuminated only by a faint light from a nearby furnace.

"What the hell?" she muttered aloud. Ésme searched her memory for answers, her brows furrowing in confusion until it clicked – she had lost the game. That sick and twisted game. A sinking feeling filled her chest as memories flooded back, and panic rose within her.

As she recalled the events leading up to her blackout, panic surged, and she attempted to stand up. Instantly regretting it, pain flared in her ankle, and Ésme whimpered as she fell back onto the stone floor. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she quickly stifled them. There was no time for tears now.

Surveying her situation, Ésme noticed a few things she hadn't been fully aware of before. Despite her confinement, she wasn't completely neglected. Her palm was wrapped in proper bandages, secured by a decent-sized safety pin. Shedding her father's coat, she assessed the damage to her bicep. A bandage covered it, and even the small scratch on her collarbone was attended to with medical gauze, though the sleeve of her blouse had been torn off completely. With a wince, Ésme began to unwrap the dressings on her upper arm, feeling like a mummy – a sensation that wouldn't surprise her given the day she had endured. Removing the last bandage, her eyes widened. The gash was inflamed, but it had been sewn shut with black thread. Despite the possibility of infection, at least it was no longer causing her to bleed out. Ésme's trembling fingertips reached out to touch the sloppy seams that held her skin together, unable to resist the urge. Even if it stung.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Lord Heisenberg's voice made Ésme jump as she spun around to see him in the doorway. "Sorry about the stitching. I'm not as skilled as my sister when it comes to a needle and thread."

Ésme couldn't wrap her head around it. How could he switch from a murderous frenzy to a seemingly charming man, as if he hadn't been chasing her with a hammer just hours earlier? She fixed him with a glare that could kill, but he seemed unfazed. He was more than just a man; he was something else entirely. A horrible beast.

Heisenberg let out a low whistle. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." He casually leaned against the wall, as if chaining someone against their will was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Screw you," Ésme growled, her anger palpable.

Heisenberg almost laughed. "That's gotta be the nastiest look any woman has ever given me." He reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled something out. "Blood loss makes you dehydrated." He tossed her a bottle of water. Ésme caught it, eyeing him suspiciously before opening it and sniffing the liquid inside.

"Why would I poison you after I used medical supplies on you?" Heisenberg raised an eyebrow. "Not my style anyway."

Ésme was very much aware of how parched her mouth was, the dryness almost painful. The moment the bottle's rim brushed her lips, she couldn't stop herself from drinking. Karl watched his new interest with an amused glint in his eyes as she gulped down the water, her desperation evident. He fought back a grin, enjoying the sight. Over less than half the bottle remained by the time she finished, her thirst finally quenched. Letting out a breath that she had held during her prior guzzle, Ésme wiped her mouth with the back of her bandaged hand, her breathing almost uneven with relief.