CONTAINS CONTENT:
Stalker like behavior, distress, and brief strong language
Han took Marielle’s arm under hers and flicked some of her white hair back from her face as they walked to Marielle’s office, giggling a little. She dragged Marielle through the door and shut it behind them.
“Okay, so spill,” she said quietly, pulling Marielle to the couch with her to sit.
Marielle flushed and glanced away. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell.”
“Are you kidding me?” Han leaned in a little, fanning her cheek with her fingers. “Two very handsome men are after you, and there’s nothing to tell?” Marielle hesitated. “Okay, tell me when you met them both.”
Marielle shrugged. “Actually, right around the same time. I met Austin only about a day after Vincent.” She drummed her lip for a moment in thought. She hadn’t really considered it before this moment, but she’d known them for almost exactly the same length of time. What were the odds that Austin had shown up right after Vincent had? Well, Vincent had been at Valorant about nine days already, but it was interesting timing.
“Who expressed desire first?” Han pressed, knowing that both obviously had.
Marielle thought for a moment. “Uh, technically Austin… but only in sex,” she sighed.
There were a few moments of silence as Han leaned over her crossed knees, hand cupping her chin. “Can I be honest? I don’t think that all Austin wants is sex anymore.”
Marielle knew this to be true, but she had been avoiding this train of thought for a few weeks now—the one that asked what Austin truly wanted and why he was even there at Valorant to begin with. She knew the government had sent him to read everyone, including her, but there was more to the puzzle.
In fact, this was the first time that Marielle realized she hadn’t actually tried to read Austin and what he wanted at all. She certainly hadn’t run through imagined scenarios with him the way she had with Vincent. Why was that? Probably because it was her job to do it with Vincent, and regarding Austin, she hadn’t cared much until recently. Maybe she’d wanted to get to know Austin organically, and since most of what he’d told her seemed to be the truth, she had never felt the need to. Or maybe it was because she felt close to Austin and comfortable enough to be herself with him for some weird reason.
Still, she had to admit that aside from generally reading him in the moment, she didn’t know much about him. She hadn’t tried to dig any deeper. Moments before Vincent had interrupted them, she could have sworn they were thinking the exact same thing—the red trees, both of them as little kids, him wanting a kiss—but she had no idea how that was possible.
Han leaned forward a little bit more, breaking into her thoughts. “But what do I know, right? You’re the profiler.” She got quiet for a moment, as if considering her next words carefully. “But you spent last night with Vincent, didn’t you?” Marielle nodded slowly, feeling like she was giving too much away. Han pressed the needle in deeper. “So it was kind of interesting to see you pushing that card across the table to Austin. The Queen of Hearts?” Marielle looked up at her, mortified. “I just happened to be walking by. You didn’t see me—either of you. I didn’t eavesdrop, but, Marielle… you were pretty obvious.”
Marielle scoffed. “Have you spoken to him?”
“A little.” There was a brief pause. “We had a meeting yesterday.”
Marielle twisted her fingers together, realizing she was anxious about Han and Austin together. “Do you know what kind of guy he is?” She immediately regretted saying that.
Han lifted her chin a bit, a sort of righteous glow seeming to appear around her white head. “Broken?”
Marielle let her head fall a little. True. Austin was broken. She didn’t know where or how… or maybe she did, but she refused to let the thoughts come to conclusion. Why? Was she afraid of what she’d find there? Was she afraid that if she followed that rope into the darkness and pulled her way to the end, she’d discover…?
In her mind’s eye, she saw a little Austin looking up at her, reaching for her, wanting to be held. Wanting love… wanting love… wanting…
“I want to finally get a kiss,” a little boy’s voice echoed in her head. She stopped thinking.
“I’m not fooling myself, Marielle. We all saw him wait for that waiter last night. His intention was pretty clear, but no one is going to say anything to him. That’s his business.” She shrugged. “I’m not judging him. You know how I do.”
Marielle smirked. Han wasn’t beyond taking home a guy she hardly knew. Of all of the women at Valorant, she was probably the most likely to do something comparable to Austin, although Han was always smart enough to text someone an address or a license plate—not that she particularly needed backup. She could fly right out of a situation if she needed to or pull a dozen knives, but she always sent someone some clues as to where she was or who she was with in case she got caught off guard.
“But none of that matters, right?” Han continued. “Because you spent the night with Vincent.”
Marielle took a deep breath and cut her eyes to her white-haired friend, knowing that Han was trying to force her to draw her own conclusions. “Yeah, and it was… amazing,” she said, her cheeks filling with color at the memories.
Han leaned in a little, interested. “Are you gonna spill any deets?”
She turned even redder. “I think I’ll keep that all to myself,” she said coyly.
Han shook her head. “Wicked.” Both laughed a little before Han stroked her chin for a second.
“But let’s just say that I got mine”—Marielle coughed—“several times.”
Again, both women burst into laughter, and they fell against the back of the couch in stitches.
“Ah, so Vincent’s the kind of guy who cares about your pleasure.”
“Yes,” was all Marielle said. “You know that he told me I was his wife, right?”
“That’s already going around the compound, yes,” Han whispered, drumming her bottom lip. “Obviously on the other side.”
“Yes… Well, I mean, apparently there are many other sides. But we were married, and I died of cancer about three years ago.”
“So it’s just settled, then,” Han said, shrugging her small shoulders. “You’re Vincent’s wife, story over, case closed… or is it?” She leaned so close that Marielle briefly wondered if she’d kiss her. Marielle looked away, knowing Han was right. There was more to this story, and a large part of her didn’t want to go searching for it. Things were already difficult enough. “I think this is more complicated for you than you can admit.”
Marielle’s face turned downward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Why?”
Han swallowed hard. “I think you’re in love with both of them. In different ways, yes, but I see love in you for both.” Marielle took in a deep pull of air. “I think one is your desire, your dream, and he’s honest with you… and the other is secure and wonderful… and he lies.”
Marielle narrowed her eyes at Han inquisitively. “You think Austin lies?”
“I didn’t say who was who.” Marielle put a few fingers to her mouth. She knew who Han meant; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. Han smiled and took Marielle’s hands. “Come out with me tonight,” she begged, obviously trying to change the subject. “There’s this club, and I want to go dancing.”
Marielle sighed, giving her a knowing smile. Han just wanted to find a handsome guy to go home with. “Only if we ask a few of the others.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Marielle nodded her reply. “Did you ever dig any deeper into the last few bodies? I heard you have Varun, Tayane, and…”
“Amir,” Marielle finished, whispering his name distantly. “I had to call him to hear his voice. It was tormenting me otherwise.”
“You killed him.”
Marielle nodded. “I’ll go to Kirra in a bit. I need to ask her a few questions, actually.”
But Marielle didn’t go there immediately, and she didn’t remember Han leaving after that. She did recall being alone at some point and checking the time, noting that she still had over an hour and a half before she needed to rejoin the others. She wasn’t sure of much else, only that she had the vaguest feeling that she was floating. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she’d fallen asleep, but that awareness was so tenuous it wasn’t enough to wake her, neither was the realization that she was dreaming.
She was in a place she didn’t recognize. There was dirt underneath her, and a wall behind her with slitted windows at the top. Directly in front of her stood something that resembled a black shed with no doors or windows, but it was so short a person would almost have to squat to fit inside it. Beyond this and to the left was an open arched window with a wide wooden ledge, and just inside it, she could see oriental rugs hanging on the walls of a small room. A room farther back and to the right was painted sky blue, where a latticed ceiling let in light in jagged squares. She could vaguely make out more arched windows and pots hanging on the blue wall. To her immediate right was a corner, and on the walls that made the corner was what appeared to be boxes of glowing aqua radianite. She got the impression that she was somewhere in the Middle East.
A disembodied female voice whispered against the wind, “Spike planted. A…”
A beeping like a tiny alarm began to tick. Marielle knew instinctively that this was bad, but she didn’t understand what was happening. She had a vague idea of what a “spike” was—Vincent had talked about it. But “A?” What was that? And what was she supposed to do about it?
The wind blew, stirring some dust and creating little swirling pockets around her legs that soon dissipated. It was hot, and the white sun pricked her skin. Hearing the unmistakable VOOMP that signaled the arrival of an intruder from another world, she instinctively pulled out her… knife? Somehow, there was a glistening blade in her hand now. Even though she had no idea where it had come from, she prepared herself for whoever might show up.
From the blue room with the latticed ceiling came a figure wearing a tawny suit and tie. The man was familiar, although she’d never seen him this close before. He was taller than her by about eight inches, making him around five foot ten. He walked toward her in confident strides as he worked a button on his right wrist. His eyes were clear like water, and he dragged his gaze up to meet hers as he dropped his wrist and put his gloved hands into his pockets. His long, wavy red locks were pulled back into a ponytail behind his oval face, which was speckled with sun marks.
She took in a ragged breath, frozen from head to toe in fear. “Cory…”
He paused a few feet from her, and a genuine smile crossed his thin mouth, revealing pearly, perfectly placed teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “I’m glad to hear you say my name,” he said, his Irish accent thick. “It sounds good in your pretty mouth.” His gaze swept around the room, and he appeared to note the faint, distant beeping. “But we don’t have a lot of time, love. We should move.”
She could barely find the words. “Why?”
“The blast… You’d need about a thousand perfect health to survive it,” he said with a warm grin.
She had no idea what he was talking about, but before she could process what he had said, the scenery around them changed to an office. At first, she thought it was hers, but upon closer inspection, she recognized it as Austin’s. Cory was leaning back in the chair with his ankles crossed on the top of the desk and his hands folded in his lap. It took a minute for her to realize that she was bound at the wrists with wire and gagged on the couch, knife gone.
“I’m sorry about the bindings,” he said sadly, studying her. “It doesn’t exactly look comfortable, although I’ll admit”—he flicked a hand palm-up in the air, then put it back to his temple—“I’m not complaining, so…”
Cory grinned at her like a lion waiting to devour a caught, struggling lamb. “Now, what did we need help with?” he asked, fitting a pair of glasses over his thin face. “Right, you can’t speak.” He gestured at his own mouth, indicating the gag. “I get it, love. So instead, you shut the fuck up and listen to me.”
He leaned over the desk, his eyes growing so intensely dark that he almost looked like a different person. She decided the best course of action was to remain perfectly still. “Vincent is a traitor.” He leaned toward her a little farther, looking like he might crawl across the top like an alligator at any moment, claws and all. “He betrayed us and left us all to die.”
She was panting, trying to understand whether this was real or a dream. She thought it was a dream, but she was also aware that Cory could play tricks on his victims’ minds.
Cory leaned back again, and his eyes passed down her body hungrily. “I used to think that I missed you, Marielle,” he began, drifting from whatever his original intent had been. “You were so”—he flicked a single brow—“well…”
There was a beat of silence. Could she stand? Could she make her way out the door? What would be the use? This was still a dream.
“Oh, we’re in Austin’s office,” he noted. “The pictures on the wall are a bit different, though.” He flicked his gaze back to her from the corner of his eye, and then turned his head to her. “I’m going to make you suffer,” he said in a bizarrely comforting tone, shaking his head as though he pitied her. “It’ll be revenge. Oh, and… I’m gonna let Vincent boyo think he’s won first so I can really enjoy it.” His glassy eyes blazed with the need for violence, and he swallowed hard, salivating. “And when I do punish you and him, Masin,”—her skin crawled at the sound of her name on his lips—“I’m going to take… my… precious… time.” His gleaming incisors began to elongate, demanding a vein to pierce. She felt her neck throb both in pain and, paradoxically, ecstasy. She figured it must be due to the mild hypnotic effect he had over her. He was a vampire, after all, and if Dracula had taught her anything, it was that Mina Harker had been drawn to the devil. Steeling herself, Marielle sat straight and met his gaze.
“Oh, that’s right. Gall.” He grinned at the memory of her agent name.
She closed her eyes and willed herself elsewhere. Somehow, it worked, and she found herself on a gray cobblestone street, surrounded by thick, blinding fog. At first, she thought she was alone, but approaching footsteps informed her otherwise. She saw the figure coming toward her in the mist, his suit green now.
“That was an interesting trick, Marielle. You managed to shift us,” he said thoughtfully, then he smiled as though she had just confirmed a theory for him. “Good. I need you, you know? For the dimensions.”
“What do you want?” she cried out.
Marielle gasped as he slowly put a hand into one of his pockets and posed like he was modeling for a magazine. She whirled around to flee, but slammed straight into him, body against body. She sucked in air as she fell backward, landing on her butt.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said gently. He lifted both hands as he squatted down in front of her. “That’s one of my tricks. I apologize if you aren’t familiar with it. I understand if it startled you.”
She glared up at him, frozen but trying to formulate a plan in her head. But how does one plan in a dream?
“I’ve been told that I’m dead in this world.” He smiled in a way that was handsome and far too genuine-looking to truly be real. It was like at any moment his face would split open and a mask would fall off, revealing a leviathan. “Funny, that is so…” He glanced around, then looked down at her again with a guileless smile. “You’re dead in mine.”
His gaze turned possessive. She knew he was imagining where to put a knife and gently peel her skin back. She was pretty sure he was imagining something else, too. He looked like he knew her intimately, and it made her skin crawl.
Marielle sprang up and dashed from him, even though she didn’t know where they were or how she’d gotten there. She hit something—a stone wall—she pounded on it with her fists. Nothing.
She turned back and saw Cory strolling down the cobblestone street that wound through the dark fog, becoming clearer with each step, his hands casually in his pockets.
“I hope you like the outfit. I—I dressed for you. I know how much you like handsome… dangerous men in suits,” he said with a smile. “Do you like it?” He lifted his hands. “Emerald-green.”
She looked him over, trying to understand what he wanted. She was obviously trapped, so what did he need her to say? “Yes.”
“I think my favorite part is the tie,” he said, lifting it and stroking the silk with his gloved hand. “Oh, and this.” He pulled something from his left pocket and opened his fingers a little to let it dangle down. It was a garrote of some kind, glinting in the light. Her heart began to race. She swallowed hard, her neck already burning.
“Oh, no, no,” he comforted, raising a hand. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Marielle. Not yet. I’m not going to kill you.” He grinned sardonically. “Actually, I told him he could have you.” She swallowed. Him? “Well…for a little while anyway.” Cory took another step toward her, closing the gap. “You want to know who I’m talking about,” he realized. A sadistic smirk moved over his mouth.
She glanced left and saw nothing but dark mist, but knew she had to take her chance now. She tried to dart away but hit another wall, trapped in a corner. Marielle whimpered, pounding her fists against the obstacle before her.
Turning, she stared Cory down, ready for a fight if it came to that. She was trying to figure out his next move. He stood with his wrists crossed behind his back, twirling the garrote behind him. Did he have a knife, or was he going to use that garrote?
“Are you reading me, Marielle?” His eyes sparkled cruelly. “Please try it. I was always one of those people you couldn’t read. Do you want to know why?” She didn’t respond. He smirked and took a small step toward her. “Because, in my world… to you, I was nothing.”
Suddenly, without appearing to move at all, his disfigured face was less than an inch from hers and his hand was around her throat, choking the life out of her. The tips of his long fangs glinted, begging for her blood. His voice deepened to a demonic howl. “Nothing but nightmarrrrrrrrrrrrrres…” .
Marielle jerked awake with a yelp, taking in a sharp breath and reaching for her throat. She sat up, noting that she’d fallen asleep on the couch in her office, exhausted from the night before. Something stuck in her throat—a name. Why was her first instinct to call out for…?
She decided to ignore this for now. It could simply be that she knew he was closer to her physically. Only next door.
As if on cue, there was a knock, and Austin poked his head in. “Are you okay?”
Marielle was still on the couch, looking around for Cory. Was he really gone? She nodded shakily, panting in terror.
Austin crouched in front of her. “No, you’re not,” he whispered, looking her over, eyes wide with concern.
“W-” was all that she could get out, her mind hazy, somewhere between dream and reality. She felt like something was still holding onto her throat, and her hand went there again, feeling.
“Marielle?” he pressed, laying a single hand on her right forearm. “I’m with you.”
She met his eyes, trying to focus on something other than her pounding heart. Part of her wondered if this was still trickery. Was this really Austin?
Lifting a trembling hand, she dared to touch a single lock of his black hair near his left temple, her palm hovering just above his forehead. He froze, both of them barely breathing.
–What are you doing?
She swallowed hard. -Making sure you’re real.
-I’m real… and about to get real crazy for you if you don’t stop touching me like that.
-It’s just your hair, Austin.
-It’s more than that, Marielle, and you know it.
She dropped her hand and swallowed. Her throat felt hot and dry. “I had a dream,” she started, then her eyes darted around the room again, searching for her attacker. “But…”
“But it was real.” She nodded, her eyes still moving around the room. “Cory.”
She nodded again, and her eyes went back to Austin’s. His gaze matched hers in intensity and fear as he sensed what was coming. “He’s going to hurt me.”
“Let’s go find Vincent,” he said.