The Puppeteer and The Poisoned Pawn (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 3) by Brandi Elise Szeker

Author:Brandi Elise Szeker [Szeker, Brandi Elise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-30T18:30:00+00:00

21. The Newest… Patient Thirteen

They grip my elbows like I was brought in against my will. Like I might fight back, try to flee, scream and thrash around like a victim.

But I am exactly where I want to be.

It started with me weeping like a tenderhearted little girl in the church pews. Praying loud enough for the priest to join me. The same one that thought I could hear God’s voice in my head. The one that finally brought Judas to my room when we admitted ourselves.

It ended with him touching my shaking hand, revealing to me a vivid hallucination of the priest as a little boy, praying that his mother might finally die as she was suffering greatly from consumption. Coughing up blood, gurgling with each breath she took.

He just wanted her suffering to end.

I didn’t allow myself to feel badly or morally sour for using this memory against him. Not even when I gasped and told him that God showed me a vision of young Juliessa dancing in heaven, singing to the tulips like she did when he was a boy. That she was no longer in pain.

The priest was caught off guard, sure, but he didn’t have a moment of doubt. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, whimpering about how he missed his momma. He went on and on about how this was a miracle, a bright light cast down from the lord.

I told him how God wanted me in the asylum. That my presence would cleanse the evil from each patient. That I, myself, needed cleansing. God needed his vessel to be pure and without any temptation of sin.

The priest ate it up and nodded eagerly at my command.

The rest happened in a blur. He brought me to the asylum and wrote a report and diagnosis of the treatments I’d receive. And that since I was without my savage travel companion, I wasn’t a danger to anyone. I would cooperate. I was not to be executed for the crimes Dessin committed.

And now, as I am dragged through the halls of the asylum, I breathe in the deceiving scent of wood and leather, only to detect that ripe stench of body odor and stale urine.

I feel no fear or debilitating anxiety. Only a cold, detached sense of calm.

The stone walls vibrate with the screams of the patients. They echo with the dead that never made it out, that still linger from room to room. I can feel it blistering over my skin, the dire memories that beg for me to step through their veil. The urgency to see each injustice happen over the years, to watch the torture evolve into what they are now.

But I have a plan, and I must stay focused.

Conformists spin around to see my arrival, mouths dropping open in shock that I’m alone. Or perhaps, it’s the presence of death and destruction permeating from my soul. Maybe it’s the way my lips curve into a maniacal smile or the way my eyes glint with the promise of torment.

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