Fever dream - Masterminds #1, Chapter 7 (part 1)
Heila's new mission: investigate the strange murders that had been happening and catch the culprit. But the path she took only led to what she was running away from... TW: suicide attempt
Note from the author: Happy New Year 2023! The schedule for this novel will remain the same: a new chapter every week! (Typically every Wednesday)
Enough warming up for the night.
Heila zipped up her leather jacket and climbed down the manhole that would lead to the sewerage underground tunnels, where it was suspected that the murderer was hiding. She had gotten the files from Kerra earlier that evening, which contained both official and undisclosed documents.
Undisclosed information was usually provided by The Oracles and comprised certain details which would be incomprehensible and unbelievable to humans. Details about the victims’ wounds being cross-checked against potential creatures or existing abilities. A list of wanted Homothean criminals and deserters who could be matched with the murderer’s profile.
So far, all she knew was that the killer only attached at night or whenever it was dark. While the ways of killings used didn’t show any distinct pattern, they could be mistaken for some kind of shapeshifter… except that shapeshifters—or vampires and werewolves for that matter—didn’t exist except in fictional tales, even outside of the human world.
Because it didn’t make sense, they’d concluded that it was potentially a Rogue Writer. Writers could do almost anything after all.
Heila’s footsteps echoed softly on the wet floor as she walked in the dark. She had memorised the tunnels… at least as far as she intended to explore. If she didn’t find anything, she would come back the next day with a new memorised path. Her task, for now, was to identify the killer’s lair… and not get killed.
She felt a sudden but brief gust of wind blowing at the back of her neck and heard faint but unmistakable steps treading along the running wastewater, splashing lightly on the wet floor.
Heila crouched behind a pillar by the wall, round a corner. She tightened her grip on her notebook in her left hand, while her right hand instinctively held on to the hilt of Elena, her sword.
But she knew she was too late and had already been discovered.
She heard a growl and thought she was going to face some kind of animal, a projection the Rogue Writer could have written…
She couldn’t have anticipated what actually came at her.
Darkness.
She was suddenly floating in a vacuum… and she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t cry out; no sound came out of her mouth when she tried.
Then she fell onto the ground. An asphalt road. It was night and she was surrounded by residential homes. Family homes with garages and a lawn. She didn’t recognise the place but it felt oddly familiar.
She still couldn’t utter a sound.
It’s your fault.
She turned her head around. Who had spoken? Whose voice was this?
It’s your fault they died.
A female voice. It echoed in her head as if it came from her own thoughts. She tried in vain to block the sound out by covering her ears with both hands… but it kept echoing. Deep inside her.
Look. This is your doing.
She felt something hot coming towards her. She smelt smoke. Like a fire spreading… The house in front of her was on fire.
She blinked and suddenly she was inside. The fire had spread everywhere, from the kitchen counter to the couch and carpet.
A woman screamed. Behind her, behind the counter. She ran over only to see a woman and a man lying face down on the floor. And a few steps away…
She saw herself.
The little three-year-old girl was staring straight at her parents lying motionless without a trace of emotion.
Heila started to cough. The fire was blazing and the smoke had become too thick to breathe.
You’re the reason they died.
The voice was louder. Echoing in her mind. She dropped to the floor.
It’s all your fault.
If you weren’t born, they would still be alive.
She couldn’t shut it up. The voice… it was her, but it wasn’t.
If you weren’t who you were, they would still be alive.
If only it could stop. Just for one second.
Her mouth screamed. But no sound came out.
You’re a murderer, Heila.
You did this to yourself.
The little girl suddenly looked at her.
Her eyes were white and blank.
Heila ran away. She ran up the stairs, through the corridor of bedrooms, into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She knew this house like the palm of her hand, even if she couldn’t remember it.
It was her house.
Her house… before her parents died and she was left to be an orphan under The Oracles’ responsibility.
It’s all your fault.
It’s all your fault.
You did this to yourself.
She crouched on the floor as tears built up in her eyes. She wanted to say something, to reply to that voice; she wanted to shout, but she couldn’t.
How can you live when they are dead?
She opened the cabinet that hung below the bathroom sink.
Do you even deserve to be alive?
What are you even doing here?
You should have died too.
Die.
She found spare razor blades. She took it out and removed the protective film around it.
You should die.
Die.
She held the shining blade, lit by the harsh ghostly bathroom lights, close to her wrists.
You deserve to die.
So die.
She stared, helpless, as the blade slit through her wrists.
And it all went dark.
D. K. Waye.