Her body hurt. Her heart ached and wrenched, twisting inside of her. Mourn. She choked on a sob, listening to her mind's insistence that she mourn, while not entirely sure why she felt that way. A part of her was missing.
She let out a groan as she tried to recall what had happened. She felt groggy. Her brain was in a horrible fog unable to focus. Where was she? In bed. It was unfamiliar and not quite as comfortable as the one she was getting used to. The bed was wrong. The blanket was wrong. The room felt wrong. The smell was off. She wasn't home.
Gretchen briefly opened her eyes. The room was completely unfamiliar to her. She grunted as she fought for some lucidity. It didn't make sense. Her limbs felt heavy, her body just wanted to go back to sleep.
No.
She squeezed her eyes and tensed her muscles as she forced herself to sit up. No more sleep. She needed to move. Needed to get away. But go where? Get away from whom?
She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Didn't matter where or from whom. Anywhere but where she was at. She jerked her right arm and let out a hiss as cold steel pressed against her wrist.
Frowning, Gretchen opened her eyes. Her right arm was handcuffed to the railing of the hospital bed she was in. Hospital? Cuffed? Cuffed because-
Michael. Her chest constricted with pain as she felt her heart breaking. She pressed her left hand over her mouth to muffle her scream of anguish. He was gone.
Oh gods.
It wasn't fair. She had finally stopped fighting that they were meant to be. She'd come to terms and accepted her role in life as his lover. The world be damned. What had anyone done for her anyway? Her uncle kept secrets from her. Her father's side of the family didn't care about her. She had no idea what her mother's side was like. The few friends she ever made she never kept. Not for lack of trying. The man she originally thought was her soulmate became a vengeful ghost and haunted her.
Tentatively, Gretchen raised her left hand to brush the tips of her fingers against her right cheek. Her skin was smooth, not even the hint of a scratch on it.
"Why didn't you do it?" she muttered to herself. "Stupid man."
It had to be him, didn't it? He killed her boyfriend in front of her. He kidnapped her. Kept her captive in his home. Terrorized her at first. Raped her because she couldn't pretend it was completely consensual. She had told him no. And yet, she loved him.
Loved. This was what she should have felt like when Brandon died. Terrible emotional pain. She should have felt as if her heart was torn to shreds.
Gretchen choked on a sob. Why'd it have to be him?
Someone screamed outside, causing her to perk up slightly before she heard laughter. Perk up? Gods, she was messed up.
She looked out the window. The night sky was dark. Maybe it was the street lights that affected her point of view, but she didn't see any stars. How much time had passed? Didn't matter. The dark sky mirrored how she felt. The world was never going to be right again.
Not the world, she corrected herself. Your world.
Oh, the world out there was probably enjoying, celebrating. They probably saw the stars and light. A dangerous, uncaring serial killer had been stopped just on time for Halloween. Uncaring to them, but not to you.
Fuck.
She brought her knees up and pressed her head against them, wrapping her left arm around them. The cuff on her right wrist made it impossible for her to truly curl up and cry.
He had to be the one who actually saw her, accept her. Crazy or not crazy. Haunted or not haunted. It didn't matter to him. She was who she was and he saw no problem with that. Gods damn him! He had to take her visions seriously. He had to be the one to be proactive and try and do something to change them. Tried and failed.
She ran her finger along her cheek again. Okay, he didn't fail. He succeeded. Her cheek was unmarked, but in trying to avoid the-cut-that-was-meant-to-be he ended up getting killed.
"I could have lived with the scar," she whispered to herself. Her mind replayed the way he looked at her, the way his fingers brushed her cheek. She could have lived with it. She could have looked into the mirror and been alright with that scar if it meant he lived. But apparently he couldn't.
"Stupid serial killer having no problem murdering people, but one tiny little scar is just too much," she grumbled as her sorrow was quickly replaced with anger. She could have helped. They could have worked together. Sure, she would have joined him in being a murderer, but she'd already killed people. What were a few more lives? They came to her home and threatened her. Threatened him. It wasn't like she went to their homes to kill them.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened, making her tense. She was in a hospital, sure, but that didn't mean she was safe.
Nathan stepped into the room then stopped, locking his eyes on her. She should have felt happy. He was her cousin after all. But instead, her muscles tensed as he smiled.
"Oh good, you're awake," he said, walking toward her.
She scooted back as best as she could. Wasn't that far since the chain between the cuffs wasn't very long. It was the movement that counted for her.
"Don't come any closer," she commanded.
Nathan stopped. No, not Nathan. She remembered. She remembered the face she had seen. There was no way. There was absolutely no way Brandon had disappeared now that Michael was dead. It was always her he was after. Michael just got in his way. And yet…
Gretchen's brow furrowed as she examined her cousin. She didn't see Brandon. He looked like Nathan. He sounded like Nathan. Even his stance was that of her cousin. There was nothing about him that screamed at her that he was possessed by the ghost of her ex-boyfriend. And yet, her whole body screamed at her in alarm. Something wasn't right about him.
"You're not Nathan," she stated. She mentally swiped at the fog in her brain, desperate to figure out how to get rid of it. The pills! Brandon must have drugged her to suppress that part of her that could see him. Get rid of him. He was scared of her. Oh boy. He was in for a surprise if he thought she would suddenly become docile. That she wouldn't fight back. She'd tasted true freedom, been allowed to be who she was. There was no way in hell she would stay in that foggy place. She had found a way to get off those damn pills before. She'd do it again.
Still, her confidence quickly waned as fear won out. She was cuffed to a hospital bed, drugged, wearing only a simple hospital gown and alone with the ghost who had been trying to get her to kill herself. The ghost of a man she no longer knew. There was no Michael to appear out of nowhere and save the day or give her that strange strength he seemed to lend when he was around her and Brandon. No spell or understanding that she could fight Brandon off if he tried something.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
Nathan looked away for a moment and out the window and then smiled. There was something about the way his lips quirked that reminded her of Brandon. He let out a sigh and shook his head as he continued to her.
"I never said I was him," he said. He sat down next to her and grabbed her cuffed hand. She clenched her fingers into a fist. "I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through. The things he'd done to you. How he tried to warp your mind against me." He ran his hand along her arm. "But don't worry. I'm here now. I promise, no matter what he did, I won't judge you."
Her skin crawled at his touch. "Don't." Her voice came out softer than she wanted as she tried to pull away.
"Don't?" Brandon's mouth twitched in anger as his eyes narrowed. He straightened his shoulders then got off the bed. She couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved as he took one step away from her. He ran his fingers through his hair in clear agitation. "I was hoping you'd come back to your senses now that he's dead. Gone. Burned along with that house that was your prison. I'm the good guy here, not him."
"I know."
"What?" he snapped.
"I know that he's the bad guy. I'm well aware of what he does. Of who he is," she stated. She felt oddly calm about that fact. Yes, she would have preferred it if he was more of a vigilante perhaps, taking lives of those who committed evil themselves. But, she wasn't going to make it a deal-breaker between them.
"Was," Brandon corrected.
Her heart twisted. She rubbed her face with one hand. "Doesn't matter, Brandon," she said. "Either way, it was him. I just didn't see it at the time. I thought it was you, but I was wrong. He won my heart."
Brandon's face twisted in anger. "Won your heart? Fuck, Gretchen! I-"
He clamped his hand over his mouth for a moment and paced. With a shake of his head, he stormed back to her side. She raised one hand as her body tensed, unsure of what he planned on doing. He placed his hands on the railing and smiled at her. There was nothing kind about his smile.
"Okay, Gretchen. You want the truth so badly, I'll tell you. I'll tell you exactly what your family has been hiding from you. The things I learned the moment I died and became a ghost. I was trying to be nice. Trying to not break your heart, but clearly this must be done. Michael was never your true soulmate, Gretchen. It's always been me. We belong together. Fate. Destiny bound us together a very long time ago. You came here for me. You and I belong together."
She shook her head.
"Oh, baby. Believe it. Why else do you think I'm still here? Still fighting so desperately for us? Fate is on my side. Fate and destiny is what's been keeping me here. Just think about it. I died, but my soul was brought back. It took a while. A while for me to claw my way out from being nothing but a thought into the presence I am now. Think I could do that without some help? Why the fuck would I risk my very essence for you?"
For some reason, those last words stung. "I'm sorry, Brandon," she said softly. "I'm sorry you went through what you went through. But, you're wrong. I know you're wrong. Michael and I, we had a connection from the very beginning. One I fought again because... well... you know."
"Fuck!" Brandon raised his hand, causing her to flinch in surprise and duck her head. She didn't feel the slap she was sure was coming. Glancing up, she watched as he growled and ran his fingers through his hair again. He stopped his hand on the back of his neck and pressed.
"I'm trying my best to control my temper around you." He let out a loud sigh. "As I said, it's hard controlling my feelings in this state. And honestly, it's not your fault. Not your fault he was able to manipulate you into believing you love him. Into believing he cares about you. The man can't care about anyone but himself. Do you know why he let you live?"
"I don't care," she said.
Brandon smiled. Once again, there was nothing nice about his smile. He wasn't trying to reassure her. He was excited to see her reaction for whatever bullshit answer he had to say.
"Part of the man's soul is inside of you. It was a price we had to pay, you and I, to stay together. That is why he seemed to care about you. That is why he couldn't kill you. He couldn't very well kill himself. It was never you. It was himself. That part of him that recognized what he was missing."
Her body pulsed with chills as she stared at him wide-eyed.
"I don't." She couldn't finish the rest of the phrase. Believe you. She shook her head and looked away.
"Ask your uncle. He'll tell you the truth now. They were looking for me then. Your father was trying to find me so that we could develop our bond. So that when he finally came back, drawn and called by that bit of him that's in you, you wouldn't fall for it. You'd stay with me."
A lump developed in her throat. It did make terrible sense. Michael was a killer after all. He'd never shown any love or care or interest in anyone before and suddenly he was interested in her?
"Go away," she muttered, waving her free hand in the air as she looked away from him. She needed to be alone. She needed to think.
His fingers clenched around her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"I really hate hurting you this way," he said. He sounded sad, remorseful, but there was still a falseness in his voice.
"Liar," she replied.
His pupils dilated with surprise. Did he really expect her to do a 180 and fall into his arms in relief? She tried to look away, but he refused to loosen his grip on her jaw.
"Gretchen," he said. He dropped his voice, his face no longer holding that faux attempt to look concerned. His thumb pressed against her lips for a moment.
She glared at him.
He flicked his wrist as he let her go, jerking her head to one side. She hissed in slight pain from the bruises still on her neck. Looking back at Brandon, Gretchen frowned.
"What are you doing?" she asked as the sound of a belt unbuckling echoed in the room.
"Clearly, words aren't going to get through your head," he said.
No. She tugged on the handcuff while mentally fighting the fog in her brain.
Her heartbeat picked up as Brandon took off Nathan's shirt. She couldn't help but let out a little gasp. A nasty large scar ran along his left shoulder. She'd never seen it before. But then again, Nathan hadn't taken off his shirt in front of her in years.
Brandon caught her gaze and smiled. "Yeah, you did that," he said. "Apparently, you went off those pills they were giving you to keep you in check. You ended up seeing something you didn't like and attacked him."
Seeing this? Oh, gods. A few years ago, Nathan had started to distance himself from her. She used to think that he'd had enough of her visions and was tired of hearing about them. She thought that they unnerved him. He had admitted that she told him something. Something he promised her wouldn't happen. Was this that event?
"Brandon. Brandon, don't do this," she said in desperation. Nathan had to still be in his body. Desperately fighting to regain control. Buy time? Yes, she probably needed to just buy him some more time.
"I don't want to. But my words just aren't getting through to you," he said. "I had it all planned out. Was going to take you to a nice dinner. Romance you the way you deserved to be romanced before fucking you. Unfortunately, I see that I need to show you now that it's you and me. It's always been you and me."
She swung her left hand to slap him as he set his knee on the bed. He easily caught her wrist, giving her an annoyed look.
"I'll scream," she whispered.
He smiled. "Go ahead," he said as he ran his free hand along her right arm. "I told them you would. I said that you would do anything to get attention. To try and escape. I told them that you weren't in your right frame of mind that'd you'd scream rape. You helped sell the story by biting one of them earlier today."
Today?
He leaned in. His lips lightly kissed her jaw, causing her to jerk back. She hissed in pain as he twisted the flesh on her left wrist.
"Baby," he said, sounding disappointed.
"He's my cousin, Brandon. Don't do this." She looked at him in earnest.
Brandon smirked. "Back in the day, it wasn't unheard of for cousins to marry."
She pursed her lips and adamantly shook her head. Hot tears stung her eyes. "Don't… just… just… find someone else, please," she begged. Her skin tingled with disgust as his free hand started touching her.
"I can't. Get used to this face, baby. It's the only one you're going to see over you from now on. Hmm…" He paused. "Oh. Right." A cold smile crossed his face. "You do have a rape kink, don't you? Well, I'm a bit more vanilla, but I'll try to keep in mind your 'nos' mean 'yes'."
Nos mean yes? He was wrong. For her, Michael was the exception to the rule. In the end, she wanted him. She had been attracted him. Didn't matter if what Brandon said was true. That Michael's soul was part of her. She didn't fight him because she didn't want him. She fought herself. She fought because there was a part of her that insisted she needed to fight. That it was the proper answer to her situation. She wasn't supposed to be attracted to a serial killer.
"I'm really going to enjoy breaking you in," he muttered.
Her eyes widened. There was no way he meant to say that out loud. Or maybe he did. Anger coursed through her. Maybe she was helpless, weak. Her powers once again suppressed by that fog. But she wasn't about to lay there and let him do what he wanted. She fought Michael. She damn well was going to fight Brandon.
Sorry, Nathan. She sent out a silent apology. She was going to scratch, claw, kick, punch, do all in her power to fight him off. The body was Nathan, but it was Brandon she was attacking. Maybe her fighting back would give Nathan the strength he needed to take his body back.
She tensed her muscles, focusing on her new commitment. Yes, fight back. He's only brought trouble. Fear. Pain. For a moment, the fog clearly slightly and she saw Brandon. Her heartbeat pounded heavily through her body. She felt it. Her own power stirred inside of her. This was her chance. She knew what she had to do.
"Get out of my cousin," she commanded.
He froze for a moment, then laughed.
"Get-"
His hand shot out, wrapping around her throat and squeezing tightly to cut off her air. He moved her free hand up and pinned it over her head. Straddling her body, he forced her to lay completely on the bed.
"You're going to want to be very very careful doing that," he said. His voice was deep and menacing.
"Fuck you," she managed to rasp.
"You will," he said. "And you'll soon learn to enjoy me." His eyes moved as he examined her face. "Fine," he added. "I'll let you in on another truth. You almost destroyed me earlier. Back when you banished me from that fucking house. Nearly tore my soul apart. I've learned my lesson though. I've tangled my soul with your cousin. You pull me out and you'll kill him. And trust me, baby. It'll hurt him way more than it hurt me."
Kill Nathan. Her face went slack as his words registered in her brain. The fog closed back in, suppressing the power she felt. The opportunity to get rid of him was gone.
She turned her head away and stared at the wall.
You would have killed Nathan as well. It was strange, how different the situation seemed. Earlier, she had accepted Nathan's fate when she tried to fight by Michael's side. He would have been a casualty of war, so to speak. A death that was necessary. But his death didn't feel necessary now.
"Fuck you," she said, turning her attention to him.
Brandon gave her a lecherous smiled. "Soon, my love. I really can't wait to have those lips wrapped around my cock again," he mused. He leaned in close. His free hand stroked her face, causing her to turn her head and cringe. He let out a sigh and pinched her cheeks, forcing her to look at him.
She scowled at him. If he thought she was going to change her tune he was in for another surprise. Maybe she couldn't pull him out of her cousin. But, she wasn't going to lay there and take it. She was still going to fight. Still show her anger. Still make it clear that she didn't want him.
The sound of the door opening, caused both of them to freeze.
"What?" Brandon snapped in annoyance.
"Mr. Carter's on his way up, sir," the man said through the crack in the door. "You said to tell you as soon as possible."
"Fuck," Brandon muttered. "Thanks." He immediately got off the bed.
Gretchen quickly sat up again, relief flowing through her body. She'd been saved, and her uncle was going to be there shortly. She'd tell him about Brandon being in Nathan's body. He'd figure out what to do. How to save his son.
"I'll kill him." Brandon's words interrupted her thoughts.
"What?" she asked.
Brandon slid his shirt back on. "I said, you tell your uncle about me and I'll kill him. Right here, right now. Or at any point. You're mine, Gretchen. You've always been mine. And I'll be damned if I let someone take you away from me again."
Her world tumbled yet again. She believed him. He had no emotional attachment to her uncle. Hot tears stung her eyes again as she clenched her fingers over her blanket.
The sound of the door opening tore her way from her frustration. Her eyes widened slight as her uncle stepped into the room. He froze when their eyes locked.
"Gretchen," he said softly.
She didn't say anything, slowly examining him. She hadn't been gone that long, seventeen days roughly considering she'd been counting down the days to her birthday before Michael took her. But her uncle appeared older as if she'd been missing for years. He was dressed in a nice suit as always. He stood tall, but his shoulders were slopped slightly. The stress of the situation had taken a toll on his body. His eyes were sunken in with dark circles around them. He seemed to have added quite a few more grey hairs. Hell. He looked as if he'd added quite a few years.
He stood stiffly, looking at her, waiting for what she was going to do.
Do? Did he think she would try and hurt him? Maybe. She did make it clear that things wouldn't end well for him if he came after her. There was little doubt in her mind that he had a part in Michael's death. Her insides swirled with anger, pain, and sorrow.
"Uncle," her voice cracked. The lump in her throat grew and her jaw trembled as she tried to control her tears. As angry as she was, he was still family. He helped raise her. He had developed a bond with her and encouraged her when it came to her visions. He wasn't perfect. But, by the gods, she needed someone.
"Oh, Gretchen."
Before she knew it, he was hugging her. She let out a loud sob, burying her face in his shirt. Her sorrow won over her anger toward him. She would yell at him later. What she really needed was someone to hold her, hug her, comfort her.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said.
"He changed my fate," she sobbed. Her whole body shook with tears. Brandon was all but forgotten as she focused on her uncle. She pulled away from him for a moment. "He was… he was supposed to cut me here. But he didn't. He didn't!"
He touched her cheek for a moment. His eyes held a deep sadness in them. "Gretchen," he said.
She wrapped her left arm around him and buried her face in his shirt. "Why'd it have to be him?"
Thankfully, he didn't say anything, knowing her question was purely rhetorical. Her right arm strained on her as the cuff kept her from fully hugging him back. She ignored the uncomfortable way her body was twisted.
His fingers stroked her hair and back as he patiently waited for her to calm down. Her brain fought with itself. She needed to cry. She needed to rage. She needed someone to comfort her. She needed Michael.
Her heart twisted on her at the thought again. Gone. Her powers were once again being suppressed. The man she thought was supposed to be her soulmate turned into a creepy, evil ghost, who decided to possess her cousin and just tried to rape her. And the man she knew she was in love with probably never actually saw her like she thought he did. Maybe Brandon was right and Michael's soul was in her and that was what appeased the killer.
Didn't matter. At least, not right now. Because she could pretend. She could conveniently forget that part. She had already told herself that he didn't really love her and only cared in probably a sexual way. Still. she wanted him back. She wanted to be in his arms again.
But he was gone. And the arms she was going to have to fight against would be her cousin's, piloted by the ghost of her dead boyfriend.
Life sucked.