Damon's POV
The sun was scorching through the blinds, and unkind. I awoke with pains and pains, and my heart ached as though it were aching to get out of my chest. The nightmare was gone, though still the burden of it remained. I still felt tight in the chest, and my hands were trembling. I threw myself out of the bed and walked along the hall, feeling heavy.
The living room reeked of toast and coffee. Dr. Harlow was already, sitting quietly at the table, with his notebook on his lap, and a cup of coffee boiling next to it. His eyes lifted as I entered.
What is your mood this morning? he requested, level and stable as ever.
I am all right, I told myself, and sat down in the chair. I was attempting to be natural, easy. I grabbed the toast and eggs set in front of me, which were well-prepared, but I was not hungry. I was knotted in my stomach at the thought of what would come today.
Dr. Harlow sat back and examined me. Damon... yesterday was more than a nightmare, it was a dream. The smell of electricity, sparks, the noise... they cause panic attacks. You know that. You have to be careful. Blackridge is riddled with triggers--power lines or even domestic electricity will get you going unless you are ready.
I forced a nod. "I know."
He didn't look convinced. We have mentioned preventive measures, such as noise-cancelling ear protection, controlled breathing, grounding, situational awareness. You cannot spare to lose your head in front of people. You have to go by the plan precisely.
"I'll do it," I said. "I won't break."
Dr. Harlow came over, and clapped his hand on my shoulder. You can not simply use the power of will. Still, to this day, your body responds prior to your mind. Trust the methods. You have not been killed because you were prepared, but because you were lucky.
I let out a low breath. "I know," I said again. The words were empty but true.
The quiet was so much that it was interrupted only by the scraping of my fork on the plate. Then the door opened, and my guard entered, with stiffness of posture and the keenness of his eyes.
We have been cleared, sir, he said. We can go back to BlackRidge."
I froze. The air in the room felt heavy. My chest tightened. Dr. Harlow leaned forward. "Are you sure this is wise? That is where... it is where you get all your trauma. Would you be willing to go back?
I met his gaze, steady, calm. "I'm ready. Enough is enough, time to make all those who made me suffer pay.
The guard turned on a folder. Have you been able to find the graves of your parents? I asked.
"No concrete information, sir. No history, no evidence that they were buried. The last thing heard was the neighbors rushing in at night your parents... the night you were nearly electrocuted.
My chest tightened further. I shut my eyes, and the memory came back like a live wire.
There was the odor of antiseptic and white lights that hurt my eyes at the hospital. I was seven, and in a small bed, with tubes stuck to my arms. The monitor was beeping continuously, however, every beep was pounding my head.
One of the nurses entered, smiling her inhuman smile. A syringe flashed in her hand in the harsh fluorescent lights. I attempted to make a scream, but my throat was parched, and of no use. My little body was trembling.
Then up he came--the neighbor. Quiet, urgent, steady. He smuggled me out of the room when the nurse was not watching. I recollect the fear, the adrenaline, the trembling in my little legs as we ran along the hospital corridors.
Several days later we were stuck in a gas station. My skin was bitten by the cold night air. He concealed me behind a pile of crates, so that I was out of sight, and he met the thugs, who had been trailing us. I stood by and saw him sacrifice everything to save me. I recall the words he had to say, how he looked straight at me, and then he died. I recall how I was hiding and trembling and how I knew that I was alive because he died in my place.
One of my eyes dropped something. I wiped it quickly.
"What about Ethan and Sophie?" I asked, voice low but firm.
The guard hesitated. They are still in BlackRidge, sir. Stashed away in a house belonging to a dead couple, where Leo Blackwood lives now.
My hands clenched into fists. I gulp the bile that was increasing in my throat.
Have you seen anything of late? I asked.
He paused once more, and said. After Sophie attempted to flee Leo was spotted visiting the house. We had been able to steal a clip off one of our secret CCTV cameras outside the house before it was found and destroyed.
The guard touched a button, and a little screen came to life. Leo and another lady were beating Sophie to a pulp and Ethan was kicking about but he was chained to a chair.
My stomach turned. I couldn't watch any longer. My face turned, my face was tight with rage.
"Get the jet ready. In another fifteen minutes we are heading to BlackRidge, I said. My voice was low but firm.
The door opened again. A second guard intervened, with a pile of photographs. He handed them to me.
I gazed at the pictures, with every face grown old, scarred by time. I lingered on three of them, Lila, Ryan, and Leo. Each of them was a trauma in my background: Lila, the daughter who killed my parents because of her actions; Ryan, the one who murdered my sister in order to cover his rape; and Leo, who took Ethan and Sophie as hostages and made them his sexual toys. I had memorised their faces and every line, scar, every expression had been printed upon me.
Old age had worn them, but not worn them out. The harm they had done me--and my family--remained. I clenched my jaw as I read each of them, envisioning the reckoning that was going to happen.
The jet would be prepared within fifteen minutes. BlackRidge awaited. I was now in earnest revenge.