Lucas shut the door behind him and took in the guest room, which resembled a hotel suite more than a personal space. The room was pristine with neutral colors, a large, neatly made bed, and polished wooden furniture. The ambiance was calm but impersonal.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to push aside the unsettling image of Mrs. Bennet's strange demeanor. The unease persisted, but he forced himself to push it to the back of his mind.
Suddenly, his phone rang. Seeing Mr. Morton's name on the screen filled him with disgust, and his first instinct was to let it go to voicemail. He watched the screen as it continued to buzz, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. The thought of hearing Mr. Morton's voice again made his stomach churn.
The phone went silent, and Lucas let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. But the peace was short-lived. The phone rang again. And again. By the third ring, irritation flared in Lucas, mixing with the unease he'd been trying to suppress. He gritted his teeth and stared at the device as if willing it to stop.
The fourth ring came, louder and more insistent. His hand twitched toward the phone, but he pulled back, stubbornly refusing to answer. When the fifth ring echoed through the room, the sound grating on his nerves, Lucas finally grabbed the phone, his fingers gripping it tightly.
"Hello?" he snapped, his voice edged with annoyance and something darker.
"Lucas, are you there?" Mr. Morton's voice was strained, a mix of panic and something else Lucas couldn't quite place. "I—I just wanted to check in after… after what happened with Violet."
Lucas took a steadying breath. "I know, Mr. Morton. She fell accidentally down the stairs. I'm sorry for your loss."
There was a moment of heavy silence. When Mr. Morton spoke again, his tone shifted to a more urgent, almost pleading note. "Yes, yes, I understand. But did she—did she say anything to you before it happened? Anything about me, or… us?"
Lucas was taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. "No, she didn't say anything like that. She was drunk and upset, everything she said was incoherent."
Mr. Morton seemed to ignore the directness of Lucas's response. "You know how she gets when she's been drinking. I heard from the police that she drank most of the bottle. Sometimes she's quite open about her feelings, and I just need you to understand that it means nothing—nothing. Did she mention anything that might make you think differently about me?"
Lucas's patience wore thin. "No."
Mr. Morton's voice grew more insistent, betraying an undercurrent of anxiety. "Are you sure? She can be so… indiscreet when she's drunk. I just don't want there to be any misunderstandings about what she might have said."
Lucas's irritation flared. "Mr. Morton, are you seriously more concerned about what she might have said while drunk than about her death?"
There was a brief pause before Mr. Morton replied, his voice softer, almost resigned. "I am devastated, Lucas.Shes my wife ,how could I not be but I have experienced being on the other end of her useless rants and all I want you to know is that whatever she did....said, is meaningless."
Lucas felt a wave of revulsion and disbelief rising within him. He struggled to maintain his composure, fighting the urge to unleash his anger. "Excuse my rudeness, but it's time I hang up. I'm tired, and I need sleep. This isn't the time for these concerns that aren't related to her death."
Mr. Morton's tone became pleading. "Alright, Lucas. We'll talk in two days. I'll be back by then to handle all the affairs of her funeral. You have nothing to worry about. Just try to stay calm. We'll sort this out together."
As Lucas was about to end the call, Mr. Morton's voice took on a different, more unsettling tone. "And Lucas… I can't wait to see you after all this time. It's been far too long. I've missed you."
Lucas felt a shiver run down his spine, his revulsion deepening into something more primal. The subtle perversion in Mr. Morton's words hung in the air, making his skin crawl. Without another word, Lucas ended the call, his hand trembling slightly as he set the phone down.
The room was now eerily silent, but the deep sense of unease gnawed at him, refusing to be silenced. Mr. Morton's twisted priorities, his disturbing focus on himself even after his wife's death, and that final insinuation made Lucas's mind race with implications that he'd rather not dwell on.
Lucas tossed the phone onto the bed and lay back, his head sinking into the plush pillows. The unease still gnawed at him, but exhaustion was creeping in, pulling his eyelids down with a heavy weight. He didn't want to think about Mr. Morton, Mrs. Morton, or the web of lies he was slowly getting tangled in. He just wanted a few moments of peace.
Sleep came quickly, but it was far from the peaceful Dreamland he was expecting.
_______
The room around him melted away, replaced by a dark, endless void. He was standing in it, alone, but not afraid. In the distance, he could hear whispers—faint at first, but growing louder, more insistent. They called his name, over and over, each voice layered with an echo of torment.
A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, slowly taking shape as it moved toward him. It was a man, his face contorted in a grotesque mask of pain and terror. Blood dripped from his mouth, pooling at his feet, and his eyes—empty, hollow—stared directly into Lucas's soul. It was the first man he had killed, the one whose mangled face haunted him in the deepest recesses of his mind.
The man stumbled forward, his hand reaching out as if to grab Lucas. His mouth opened in a silent scream, revealing teeth stained with blood. Lucas could see the gaping wound on the man's throat, the ragged edges of flesh where life had been violently torn away. The man fell to his knees, still reaching for Lucas, his bloodied hand leaving a trail of crimson on the floor.
A thrill surged through Lucas, dark and electrifying, a sensation he hadn't allowed himself to feel in the waking world. He watched the man struggle, gasping for air that would never come, and an involuntary smile curled at the edges of his lips. The small fear that had initially gripped him was gone, replaced by something far more sinister—a sense of power, of control.
He stepped closer, looking down at the dying man with a cold, detached interest. The man's eyes pleaded with him, but Lucas felt no pity, no remorse. Instead, a surge of satisfaction coursed through him, the same rush he had felt when he had first taken the man's life. It was exhilarating, intoxicating.
The man's body convulsed one final time before going still, his hand falling limply to the floor. Lucas stared at the corpse, his heartbeat steady, untroubled by what he had done. There was no need to pretend anymore, no need to hide behind the facade of normalcy. In this nightmare, he could be himself—free from the chains of guilt and morality.
But the nightmare wasn't over.
The darkness around him began to shift, taking on a new form. The walls of a grand staircase appeared, familiar and foreboding. At the top of the stairs stood Mrs. Morton, her figure draped in shadow. She was dressed as she had been hours before ,her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Her hand gripped the banister, knuckles white, as if she were trying to hold onto her life with sheer willpower.
Lucas felt himself drawn to her, moving closer as the scene replayed itself. He could hear her voice, frantic and desperate, pleading for mercy, but her words were muffled, as though spoken through a veil. She took a step back, and then another, her foot slipping on the edge of the step. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, there was a silent understanding between them—a final, terrifying connection.
She fell.
The sound of her body hitting the steps was sickening, a dull, wet thud that echoed in the darkness. Lucas watched her tumble down the stairs, her limbs flailing, her head striking the wood with a nauseating crack. Blood splattered across the polished surface, staining it with her life's essence. She came to rest at the bottom, her body twisted in an unnatural angle, her neck bent in a way that spoke of nothing but death.
Lucas descended the stairs slowly, deliberately, savoring each step as if he were approaching a masterpiece. Her lifeless eyes stared up at him, filled with the terror of her final moments but her face began contorting into a sinister smile, going straight up and continuing to grow as Lucas approached her body. He crouched down beside her, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from her face. Her skin was cold to the touch, and he marveled at how easily life had slipped away from her.He matched her smile with that of his own.Only his was more innocent,hiding the predator lurking behind his boyish charm.
He felt no guilt, no sorrow. Only pleasure—a dark, twisted pleasure that coiled in his chest, warming him from the inside. He was in control. He was powerful. And in this moment, nothing else mattered. He had taken her life, just as he had taken the man's, and it filled him with a perverse sense of satisfaction.
The darkness began to close in around him again, the scene fading into nothingness. But Lucas didn't want it to end. He wanted to stay in this place, this world where he could be who he truly was without fear of judgment or consequence.
He let himself replay the scene, over and over, each time feeling that intoxicating rush as he pushed her, as she tumbled down the stairs, her body crumpling with every impact. He could almost hear the wet thud of her bones breaking, the sound ringing in his ears like a twisted melody. Each repetition brought with it a new thrill, a deeper immersion into the darkness that he could no longer deny.
But then, the darkness began to lighten, pulling him back toward the waking world. He felt a wave of frustration, of loss, as the nightmare slipped away, leaving him alone once more in the silent, impersonal guest room.
Lucas's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest—not from fear, but from the lingering thrill of the nightmare. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, the taste of that dark pleasure still fresh on his tongue. He could almost feel the blood on his hands, the weight of it grounding him in a reality he wished he could escape.
But here, in the waking world, he had to pretend again. Pretend that he was normal, that he was grieving, that he hadn't enjoyed watching the life drain from their eyes.
Lucas sat up slowly, a small smile playing on his lips as he let the memory of the nightmare linger. He knew it would never truly leave him. The thrill, the power—it was a part of him, a part he could never fully hide. And maybe, he thought, as he stood and stretched, he didn't want to.
A soft knock at the door jolted Lucas out of his reverie, the lingering remnants of the nightmare still clinging to his mind like a dark, comforting shroud. He blinked, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, and sat up, his body tense with the residual thrill of what he had just experienced.
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Lucas? Are you awake?" Dimitri's voice was muffled but carried a note of concern, or perhaps something more—something Lucas was too disoriented to decipher.
Lucas took a moment to compose himself, his heart still pounding from the vividness of the nightmare. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling that had settled deep in his bones, the one that made him feel more alive than anything else. He forced a neutral expression onto his face before responding.
"Yeah, I'm awake," he called out, his voice steadier than he felt. "Come in."
The door opened cautiously, and Dimitri stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto Lucas as if searching for something. .
Dimitri hesitated at the threshold, his hand still on the doorknob. "I heard something… you were making noises in your sleep. Are you okay?"
Lucas narrowed his eyes slightly, studying Dimitri. " Just a bad dream." he said with an aggressive directness.
Dimitri stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His movements were careful, as though he were afraid of disturbing something fragile. Lucas watched him with a detached curiosity, noting the way Dimitri's eyes kept flicking nervously over him, lingering a little too long .
"You seemed… disturbed," Dimitri ventured, his voice low, almost tentative. "I just wanted to check on you."
Lucas looked at him coldly ,it especially reflecting in his voice. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."
Dimitri's eyes softened, but the intensity of his gaze remained. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out as if he wanted to touch Lucas but then thinking better of it. "If there's anything you need—anything at all—you can tell me, you know. You don't have to keep it all inside."
Lucas felt a flicker of a twisted emotion that tried to overtake him as he continued to look at Dimitri.As if was starved and Dimitri could solve the hunger growing inside him.
He pushed back against that feeling, shrugging off Dimitri's words with a casualness that he knew would frustrate him. "I don't need anything, Dimitri. Just sleep."
Dimitri's expression faltered, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. But he quickly masked it, nodding as if to reassure himself. "Of course. I just… I wanted to make sure."
There was an awkward pause, the air thick with unspoken tension. Dimitri lingered, clearly reluctant to leave, and Lucas could feel the weight of his gaze, searching, probing. It was as if Dimitri was trying to see beneath the surface, to catch a glimpse of whatever darkness lay hidden inside Lucas.
But Lucas wasn't about to let him.
"I'll be fine," Lucas said firmly, his tone leaving no room for further discussion.
Dimitri hesitated again, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out. For a brief moment, Lucas thought he might actually do it, might actually try to bridge the distance between them. But then Dimitri sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement.
"Alright," Dimitri murmured, his voice almost resigned. "Goodnight, Lucas."
He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
_______
Lucas stared at the door for a long moment, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as he was left alone with his thoughts. He couldn't wrap his mind around Dimitri's behavior—why did he keep trying to be nice to the person who beat him, who degraded him at every opportunity? There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at Lucas, twisting his confusion into anger.
Why did Dimitri keep coming back? Why did he worry for him, go out of his way to do things for him, only to be met with violence and scorn? Was there something wrong with Dimitri mentally? Lucas couldn't fathom it. The more he thought about it, the more it infuriated him. He didn't want Dimitri's concern or his unwavering kindness; he wanted to see him break, to see the cracks in his facade.
As Lucas's thoughts churned, his anger began to build. Dimitri's resilience wasn't a virtue in Lucas's eyes—it was an affront, a challenge to his dominance. How could someone take all the beatings, all the demeaning comments, and still look at him with something that resembled admiration? It sickened him, made his blood boil with a mix of rage,disgust and something he didn't understand.
No, he wouldn't allow it. He didn't want Dimitri's appreciation. He wanted fear. He wanted to see Dimitri tremble, to watch the light in his eyes dim as he realized the hopelessness of his situation. Lucas's lips curled into a twisted smile as the plan formed in his mind. He would turn Dimitri's admiration into terror, break him down piece by piece until there was nothing left but fear.
And then, maybe, Lucas would finally feel normal again.Lucas's thoughts darkened as he imagined Dimitri's broken form—his spirit shattered, his will bent under the weight of Lucas's cruelty. The image of Dimitri, once proud and defiant, now trembling, eyes wide with fear, sent a shiver down Lucas's spine. He could almost see it: Dimitri's body hunched over, his face bruised, tears welling up in those eyes that had once looked at him with such misguided admiration.
The more Lucas dwelled on the image, the more it consumed him. His breath hitched as a strange, twisted satisfaction took hold, and he felt a hardness growing in his pants. For a moment, he thought about willing it away, pushing the feeling down into the same dark corner of his mind where he buried all the things he didn't want to acknowledge. But this time, he didn't. He let it persist.
Instead of fighting it, he embraced it. The sensation was a reminder of the power he held, the control he could exert over someone as foolish as Dimitri. Lucas leaned back on the bed, his hands resting at his sides, the hardness still present, throbbing in time with his dark thoughts. His gaze drifted to the door, his mind playing tricks on him, making it seem as though Dimitri was still there, lingering just out of sight, waiting for the next blow, the next degrading word.
The room was silent, save for the soft hum of his own breathing, but the air was thick with an eerie tension. Lucas's eyes remained fixed on the door, unblinking, as if daring it to open, daring Dimitri to return and face the monster he had unknowingly nurtured.
A quiet Lucas was a dangerous Lucas. The silence was more menacing than any outburst, the stillness more threatening than any physical act. In that silence, Lucas's mind was free to wander, to concoct all the ways he would break Dimitri down, to savor the thought of every tear, every gasp of pain that would escape Dimitri's lips. The darkness that simmered within him, usually kept at bay by some semblance of self-control, now surged forward, filling the void left by the departing tension.
His lips curled into a faint smile as he sat there, just staring at the door. The room felt colder, the shadows seemed to stretch longer, and Lucas reveled in the quiet malice that filled the space. Dimitri's imagined fear was a tangible thing, something Lucas could almost taste on the air, and it thrilled him in a way that nothing else could. The anticipation was electric, pulsing through him, fueling the twisted satisfaction that had taken root deep within his psyche.
He sat there, in that eerie stillness, his mind racing with dark possibilities, his body betraying the dangerous excitement that coursed through him. The door remained closed, but in Lucas's mind, it was as though Dimitri was right there on the other side, waiting, just waiting, for the moment when everything would change.