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Chapter Nine

Lindsay turned out to be a very sweet girl. She had these weird, psychotic bursts, though. We’d be talking normally about something and then she’d freak out on me--one time she even scratched my face.

She apologized profusely afterwards, almost groveling before me. I felt bad for her, convinced that her mental state had been compromised from being here for so long.

Currently she was plaiting my hair, claiming that she had never been able to braid hair so long before. She kept on fawning over how beautiful my hair was, how she’d never seen tresses--that’s the word she used--so black and glossy. And not to mention how soft it was, I mean, gosh, it was just so lovely.

It was kind of annoying. At first, I was flattered by her compliments. But she kept on repeating them to the point where it no longer felt sincere. I tried my best not to snap at her; still, she was such a sweet kid.

Anyway, I told her small pieces (and very irrelevant) of my life and she told me about some of the other girls that had been here and what their personalities were like. It was almost like she had taking copious amounts of notes on them, able to recount everything about them perfectly. I joked and asked if she had made them up at one point, and that was when it started getting weird--weirder than before.

“Are you afraid of what you don’t see?” Lindsay questioned, as she braided my hair again for the umpteenth time.

“Huh?” The question had came out of nowhere. Like most things with Lindsay, actually.

“Are you?”

I scratched the back of my head. “I guess. Aren’t most people?”

“Are you a person?”

“I mean, yeah.”

Her tone was stony, “Are you a good person?”

“Wh--”

“We mean, you’ve killed before.” How did she know that? “Not with a knife. With your voice.”

“Li--”

“That’s what banshees do. Especially you. How many people’s lives did you take?” Her hand yanked down on my braid, forcing my neck to bend awkwardly so that she cold look down on me and I looked up at her. “We’re tired of playing games with you. Tell us what we want to know.”

“What?” I repeated, voice cracking. And here I thought that we were friends.

Lindsay sighed then pushed me forward roughly thus causing me to slide across the glass-covered ground. I screamed a little as the shards scraped and cut my skin. “Banshee,” Lindsay began, “you will to tell us what we want to know or your life is going to become very difficult.”

Wasn’t it already? “Let me guess.” I dragged myself to an upright position, turning to face the now evil Lindsay. “You want to know about...” I trailed off, did they (being the demons) even know Arthur’s name? “Him.”

“The Nephilim boy,” Lindsay expanded from my generic pronoun.

I sniffed indignantly at her. For a second, I wondered what would happen if I told her what she wanted to know--whatever that was. The answer was that she’d probably kill me and I’d never be heard from again. Demons weren’t known for playing fair. So either way, I ended up dead. But when I didn’t say anything, did that mean that I got to protect Arthur?

Instead of him saving me, I got to be the knight in shining armor. The thought of that made me sit up a little straighter. “No.”

Lindsay blinked a few times, obviously shocked by my answer. She lunged for me then, claw-like fingers wrapping around my throat and squeezing as she shook my body back and forth. “Tell us!”

“No,” I rasped.

She banged my head hard against the concrete wall, causing my vision to swim and stars to start dancing in front of me. She didn’t stop there, instead, she kept smashing my head against the hard surface as if she wanted to bust my skull open. She honestly might’ve before she finally stopped and yanked me close to her face. “You are a cursed one, like us. And you shall die just as impurely as us!” Her grip tightened on my neck, I could feel my lungs begging for the sweet taste of air. She kept squeezing and squeezing, her eyes wild and malignant.

I was going to die for real this time. Arthur wasn’t going to come and save me, but I had saved him. Or at least, I figured that I had. I still didn’t know what demon Lindsay wanted from me.

Lindsay’s body went limp, and like a marionette whose strings had been cut, collapsed to the floor.

It happened so quickly that I wasn’t really sure that it had really happened. Her body hit the floor, eyes wide open and mouth parted, hair falling over her face. Was she... dead? I looked around, hoping that a door would open somewhere and the concrete walls that surrounded us would drop down. Nothing happened. The dim light bulb simply continued to flicker weakly.

“Okay,” I whispered, debating if I would be able to stand up. It’d be really painful and similar to walking through the depths of Hell, but I really had to get out of here. I stood, very, very slowly. My legs cried out as I stretched out to my full height and the glass shards dug deeper into my skin with the increased weight and pressure. I sucked my lips in, biting down on the flesh as I crept over to the wall in front of me.

My expression contorted as I pressed my hands against the walls, the dirt on them stinging my open wounds. A moan escaped my lips as I felt all over the wall; I was searching for some type of indent or hole in the wall that would open up a hidden door like they had in the movies. I did that for every single wall. Moving slowly and trying to touch everywhere in hopes that spot would be the one.

It wasn’t.

After the first round, I went around again and again, hoping that something would change. My freshman year teacher would always pester us to check our work, then check it again, in case the solution was wrong. So I listened to her advice, ten years later. The answer couldn’t be that there was no way out. It just couldn’t.

I’d keep going until I found the proper answer. The one that I knew existed. Everything hurt, and I was covered in cuts and blood--not to mention stark naked--but it didn’t matter. I had to get out.

I tried pushing on the walls next. Exerting what little strength that I had, I shoved my entire body against it. I could do it. I knew that I could. I knew that I would.

“It’s pointless,” a dreadfully familiar English voice said. “I’ve told you before. I tried to get out--it doesn’t work. No way out. Only if the master comes and gets you.”

“Are you serious right now?” I questioned Lindsay, turning around to face her. “You just tried to kill me,” I touched my neck, “and crack open my skull.”

Lindsay twisted her mouth to the side, eye dubious. “I don’t think I did that. I’m rather weak.” She held up her thin arms and showcased the rest of her bony body. “I’m a twig.”

“No. You did.”

She shrugged. “Whatever. You’re acting like Lola did.”

“Lola?” I echoed.

Lindsay played with her topaz-colored hair, examining the jagged ends (she probably cut it with the glass). “She said that I attacked her. Tried to kill her. But I didn’t.” She looked at me, gaze sincere. “And I didn’t hurt you either. I would never. I like you; you’re nice.”

That said, I didn’t trust the brat. I didn’t respond and kept to the far corner of the room. She seemed upset about it, but didn’t say anything else on the matter.

While she sat and sulked, I worked on tearing the braid out of my hair that she had done. The thought that I had let her touch me was sickening, and I wanted the memory gone as soon as possible.

I leaned my head against the wall when I was finished, wondering if I’d be left with Lindsay--who possibly had DID--forever. What I remembered about the outside world would fade and diminish over time--leaving me like Lindsay, just a shell.

A slightly psychotic one.

“I’m serious,” Lindsay spoke up after how ever long of us not speaking to each other. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. Don’t be mad at me.”

I ignored her. Then she started to cry, like, bawling her eyes out. Tears, snot, gasping, coughing, the whole works. Part of me wanted to go over and comfort her; it felt fundamentally wrong for me not to comfort someone who looked so broken. But then I remembered that she was a demon trying to kill me and who wanted Arthur’s blood, so I kept my hands to myself and plugged my ears instead.

“I sowwy,” she sobbed. “I-I didn’t want to!” She hiccuped, small body shaking. “S-sometimes, t-they make me d-do things I don’t w-w-wanna!” Lindsay started to wail even louder, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking back and forth. “I so-sowwy!”

“Shut up!” I yelled, digging my fingers deeper into my ears so I didn’t have to hear her.

“No!” Lindsay continued to grow louder, so I continued to yell at her to shut up.

She finally stopped crying after what felt like hours. Now she just laid there on the ground, staring blankly forward without saying anything. If it wasn’t for the occasional blinks and slight movement rise and fall as she breathed, I would’ve thought thought that the girl was dead.

No matter where I tried to move, Lindsay would roll so that we were facing each other. And she’d just stare at me. Her eyes were empty, almost glazed over like a corpse’s.

I tried my best not to look at her, but every so often my eyes would wander over and meet with hers.

Soon enough, she started muttering. It was gibberish spoken rapidly, just her spewing out words that didn’t really make sense. She’d randomly stop. Then start. Then scream or start spasming.

I now understood why Leticia (Was that her name?) had slit her own throat. Currently, Lindsay was squirming on the ground, mouth and eyes open as she flopped around the ground. She wrapped her hands around her own throat, squeezing until her own eyes bulged and she was gasping for air.

Then she stopped right when she was about to pass out and then just laid there on her back. She rolled over to face me once more. More nonsense started coming out of her mouth.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes tightly so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.

I felt hands on my wrists suddenly, yanking them away from my ears. Rancid breath washed over my face as Lindsay said, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Get out of my face!” I spat as I opened my eyes to glare at her.

“The Holy One protects you,” Lindsay remarked. “We can see his mark.” She touched my cheeks, hands tightening on my face in a vice-like grip. “Yet you try to hide from us. You try to lie to us. But you cannot. We see it. He has branded you, despite your impure soul, banshee.” She kept turning my face, as if she was trying to find something on me. “What do you hide? Why?”

I fought against her grip. “Let me go!” I commanded. “Lindsay, let me go!”

She did, releasing me as if I had just shocked her violently. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Lindsay started to cry again. She buried her dirty face into her equally filthy hands, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”