Grey III - Revelations

Chapter 37 - No Good Deed Goes Unpunished #TW

My plan was distinctly not good, terrible, in fact. My glance to James was as much an apology to him for the stupid thing I was about to do, as it was to see his deep blue, beautiful eyes and steel my resolve. Then I leaned down, my lips to Malachi's ear, and told him to let me in. I didn't know if it would work, if I could get into his mind when he was asleep, if he would let me, or if I wanted him to let me. And I had only briefly considered what I would do if I made it in or how I would get out. But none of that mattered. For some reason, I could only think of Malachi suffering in his dream, the Collector abusing him even here, now, in front of us in the Vault, a place we had told him was safe. And I had beat him in sleep once before. I at least had that to my advantage.

Something in me made the decision easily. I wanted to help Malachi in whatever way I could, I needed to. I felt a deep drive to save him - from the Collector, from himself, from everything in this life that was trying to break him and ruin him further. Instead of contemplating why I felt that way, I acted and did the only thing I could think of to possibly help. I forced my Gift into his mind. I closed my eyes, feeling weightless for a moment, like fainting. But then I heard voices, voices I recognized; one smooth and seductive, though it made the hair on the back of my neck raise, and one low, rough and rolling like distant thunder.

I opened my eyes to see a dark room, a hallway, and light from some unseen window spilling across the floor from an open doorway. I walked toward the door quietly, not knowing what the rules were here. Could I be seen? Heard? Or was I merely a phantom? I hoped for the latter for my own safety, but then I wouldn't be able to help Malachi, to push back the Collector. I stopped just outside the door to listen, but the voices were silent. I paused longer, my lungs burning to breathe, but I held it, not wanting to make a sound, not wanting to miss anything. I sent my Sight in instead, still hovering in the doorway, not getting too close in case I could be sensed.

Malachi sat in a chair in the center of a bare, stone room, a cell. He was tied to it, the dull gleam of electrum at his naked ankles and wrists. He was wearing the same as in the waking world; dark pants with bare feet, bare-chested apart from the blood dripping down his neck, lines of it continuing down his scarred chest and abdomen. The black of his collar and tattoos stood out against his skin in the room's slight light.

I could see the burn marks beneath the collar, the crackled skin, but his face held the most damage. I couldn't even see the yellow of his animal eyes through the mangled skin and wet hair as he hung his head. Then Malachi's low voice spoke into the silence, calm and cold, not an edge of pain in it despite his gruesome injuries.

"I don't know yet. They haven't exactly shared much with me. Gabriel despises me and obviously doesn't trust me. I'm surprised he even let me live, he's ruthless and suspicious, cautious. I've barely seen them since arriving at the Vault. They keep me under close lock and key - collar and all."

He was lying. He had seen plenty of us and knew so much already because we didn't think he could get information out of the Vault to James' father. And though we didn't trust him, James certainly didn't despise him, in fact, in his own way, it seemed like he cared for him. Or at least wanted to protect him, help him, similar to how I felt toward him. The collaring was true, but I was surprised Malachi was bold enough to lie to the Collector's face. I wondered if he could tell like James could when he was being lied to. I hoped not.

"What a shame, my pet, I was hoping for a lengthier report. But instead, you disappear for days, lose my sightlines into the glass castle Abraham has made, let yourself be collared by our enemies, and then, you protect that pathetic, shallow-blooded Clan that Jordan is so fond of-"

"I didn't have a choice, the collar, I-"

Malachi's explanation was cut short by a crack as the Collector struck with the back of his hand. Blood sprayed from Malachi's mouth as his head whipped to the side before lolling to his chest. The Collector twined his fingers into Malachi's white hair and made a fist, pulling his face up as he leaned in.