Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 46

"Night-Wrath," said Warden Lily pleasantly. "It's been too long. Didn't you bring Sergeant Corrigan with you?"

"She's busy," I said evasively. "I need to talk to Simon Mallory. Alone."

Warden Lily looked at me curiously, cradling his snifter in his left hand. I was standing opposite the warden's desk, my posture stiff and my shoulders tense. In my ill-concealed agitation, I kept drumming my fingers on my holstered electro-staff. If Warden Lily noticed any of this, he tactfully kept it to himself.

"I can arrange it," he said. "Just be sure to close the cell door behind you. It would be quite damaging to my personal reputation if Simon Mallory were to escape."

"He won't," I said. Warden Lily pushed the button on his desk to summon the guard.

Simon was stretched out on his bed reading a wrinkly old issue of some Catholic magazine from the prison library—probably Commonweal. He used to check that out from the school library all the time. He didn't notice me at first. Maybe he'd gotten so used to being alone that he'd stopped expecting visitors. It was the guard unlocking the transparent door of his cell that finally caught his attention. He jolted, then, seeing it was me, set his magazine carefully on the side table and got slowly to his feet. For a while, we stared at each other without a word.

"H-hi," said Simon, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Um... what's up?"

He was trying to smile, but I knew him well enough not to buy it.

"I need to talk to him," I said. "Now."

His nervous smile faltered. His eyes widened a little, and I saw something in them that might have been fear. Fear of me. I heard the guard lock the door behind us.

"What if he w-won't come out?" he said hesitantly.

I gritted my teeth.

"Then I'll make him."

Simon was quiet for a moment.

"D-do what you need to do."

He dropped to his knees and stared at the floor of his cell as I unfolded my electro-staff with a forceful snap. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself.

My first blow came over his head, striking him on his left temple. I heard him gasp, but that didn't stop me. I hit him from the other side, smacking my electrified staff against his cheekbone. The third blow was against his ribs.

"Psychosis," I growled. "Come out and let's have a chat!"

I jabbed the electrified node at the end of my staff into Simon's chest. His body twitched and convulsed, but I could tell by his breathing it was still Simon.

"If you think I won't break him," I said, "you're mistaken."

Tossing my electro-staff aside, I grabbed Simon by his shirt collar and struck him across the face. The guard outside the door, meanwhile, decided to wander off and take a smoke break. I hit Simon again, and again. Blood started to drip from his nose.

"I know you're in there. I know you can hear me."

His eyes were usually the first place you noticed the change. Simon's eyes were intelligent, and gentle, and brimming with pain and memories. There was something comforting about them, even when he was scared. Psychosis made the same eyes look mocking, and cunning, and hungry—like an alley cat watching the mouse squirm and thrash under its paw. It's creepy. And unnatural. I recognized that looked in his eyes as I pulled back my fist for another punch.

"You rang?" he sneered.

I punched him as hard as I could.

"Ow! Dearest Nightwrath, what was that for?"

"Deadstream took Ben," I said. "He almost killed him."

"Almost?" said Psychosis. "You don't mean he's still alive, do you? Well, that's... unexpected. A little disappointing, really. Ooh, but I bet there was a lot of blood, wasn't there? Perhaps even a few... missing fingers? I've always wanted to see Deadstream work ever since I heard—."

"Did you tell him?" I screamed, slamming him against the glass wall of his cell. Blood was dripping down his face, but he was laughing.

"C'mon, Maggs," his voice oozing with mockery. "I hope you wouldn't beat the crap out of Simon if you weren't sure I told him. I mean, you're not that twisted. Yet."

I jabbed my knee into his groin, which shut him up pretty effectively.

"Try again," I hissed. Psychosis was doubled-over on the floor.

"Of course I told him," he coughed. "Well, I didn't tell him who you were—that's my secret after all—but he wanted to know how to get to you, so I gave him a little hint. Besides, Simon's been getting a little jealous with all the attention you've been giving Benedict. And you haven't come to visit us in ages. I thought maybe getting him out of the picture would—."

I kicked him hard in the chest. Though I barely noticed it at the time, there was a muffled thumping coming from the next cell—like someone trying to break down the locked door of a distant room. All I could see was Psychosis smirking up at me. All I could think about was hurting him.

"Who is he?" I yelled. "Who is Deadstream?"

"He's a... guy," said Psychosis, wiping his bleeding lip with his hand. "African-American, about five foot nine, maybe twenty-five, and you should see the—."

"Don't toy with me!"

"I'm not toying with you, I just don't want to spoil the fun. Ooh, the stakes are so high now, aren't they? Have you ever noticed how violent you get when you're afraid? Does it remind you of anyone? Funny how every boy you've ever fallen for ends up bloody and bruised. At least this time it wasn't your doing."

I punched him again—so hard that his eyes briefly drifted out of focus.

"You shut up!" I screamed, punctuating each clause with another fist to the face. "Shut up about Ben, shut up about Simon, and shut up about my mom, or I'll—."

"Maggie, please."

It was Simon's voice again. He was trembling—holding his hands over his face as I readied my next blow. Blood was seeping into his shirt.

"Tell him to come back out," I snarled.

"He won't," said Simon. "He... Maggie, it hurts too much. I..."

The bruises on his face were what brought me back to my senses. They reminded me of that night I'd left him chained to the railing in the Barclay Continental steam plant—the night I'd discovered that two people I loved and hated the most were one. I took a step away from him.

"I... I sorry," I stammered. "I... I don't know why I thought..."

Finally, I consciously registered the thumping sound. It was Josie Connelly. She was throwing herself against the glass, screaming for me to leave Simon alone. It never occurred to me that in the weeks that I hadn't seen him, Simon and Josie could have become friends. She was looking at me with both fear and hatred—like I was someone who'd only ever brought her misery. I guess I was. Even behind the mask, I couldn't look at her or Simon. What I would've given not to be Rachel Moylan's daughter at that moment.

What I would've given not to be Nightwrath.