Carnage by Sarah Bailey

Nineteen

Scarlett

“Have you had enough yet, little lamb?” came the sinister and disjointed voice from behind me.

My legs urged me on faster, dashing through a never-ending dark tunnel. I don’t know how long I’d been going, only that everything burnt.

Keep running.

My chest heaved with the exertion. I pressed on, my arms flailing at my sides as my feet pounded the dirt floor.

“I’m going to catch you, little lamb. And when I do, you’ll feel it for days.”

I couldn’t let him catch me. My choked cry came out hoarse and gravelly. The voice chuckled as its brokenness echoed around the tunnel.

“Are you crying, little lamb? Will you beg? You’re running now, but we know you want it. You want the pain.”

“No,” I moaned, urging myself on.

I was exhausted. My body ached everywhere. It hurt in the worst way but I had to keep going. If I didn’t, they’d destroy me.

“You think you don’t want it now, but you will, little lamb. You’ll remember.”

Remember what?

“You’re ours, Scarlett. Ours.”

I shot up in bed, sweat pouring from my body as my heart pounded in my ears. That wasn’t the only sound. My mouth erupted in these tiny whimpers. I’d learnt a long time ago not to scream when I had a nightmare. I didn’t want anyone getting angry with me for waking up the household, especially since they happened all the time. Like my subconscious trying to force my past memories lost to me back into my head but failing to join the dots together properly. They were all jumbled up and made no sense.

This wasn’t like those nightmares. It felt different. And I was terrified for a reason that had me staring down my hands trembling as I brought them up towards my face.

Why am I having this reaction?

Yes, I was a sweaty mess, my breathing erratic and my pulse skittering, but all that paled in comparison to the way my nipples had hardened. My hand dived under the covers to confirm my theory. I let out a choked gasp when my fingers were met with my wetness. The crazy, fucked up nightmare I thought I’d been in turned out to be a wet dream.

I flung the covers from my body, stumbling out of bed on shaking legs as I fought to regain some semblance of control. Making my way into the bathroom, I flipped on the shower and peeled off my damp pyjamas. They’d need washing. I had at least seven or eight pairs for that reason. Mason had stopped saying anything about it. He knew it wasn’t something anyone could fix. I was broken. At least, I felt that way considering I had sixteen years missing from my memory and no way of knowing if what anyone had told me about what happened was true or not. I had taken it on faith, but there were times I questioned the things my parents had told me. Only ever in my head, because questioning them out loud led nowhere good.

Who knew what time it was. I hadn’t checked, but I needed to wash away the clamminess from my skin. I stepped into the shower, tipping my head up to the spray. The hot water hammered down, soothing me a fraction.

I braced my hands against the dark grey tiled wall and bowed my head, closing my eyes. My hair stuck to my skin, but I paid it no mind. The only thought I had was being scared had excited me on some level.

Was I always like this? An adrenaline junkie? Needing fear to feel alive.

It didn’t feel alien to me. Like my body and mind finally remembered a concrete aspect of my past before the accident. Before I was left in a coma with no memories of what happened to me.

Don’t fight it, Scarlett. You’ll never remember if you fight it. Let yourself feel the fear. Let yourself go.

A hand left the wall and snaked down my body. I let out a whimper when my fingers met my clit.

The voice kept calling me a little lamb. He said they’d make it hurt.

My fingers circled the small bundle of nerves on instinct. The memory of the dream flooded me. The way I’d been scared out of my mind only fuelled my need.

I could hear footsteps behind me this time. I let the fantasy take me under, not caring I knew in my mind who those footsteps belonged to. Who I wanted them to belong to. And how I shouldn’t want that at all.

“I think you like being scared, Scar,” he said, his voice echoing around the pitch-black room.

“What gives you that idea?” I asked.

His hands snaked around my waist, holding me against a solid body. I let out a breath. I’d known he was there, but in the dark, I’d lost a vital sense.

“You run headlong into danger instead of away from it.”

I laughed. They made me brave. I was safe if I had them. They’d never let me fall or flounder.

I moaned as the memory and the voices dissipated. My fingers worked faster. I was right. I liked the fear. The excitement. The need to feel alive. It was the opposite of the girl I knew now. The one who’d spent the past ten years locked away from the world. Who didn’t know who she was at all because she couldn’t remember a thing.

If I embrace the past, will that change who I am now? Do I even want to be this woman?

I had no answers to either of those questions.

I was so close to the edge, wanting to free fall into the abyss.

“Little lamb,” I whimpered. “Little lamb, run.”

The explosive sensations washed over me. My knees threatened to buckle but my hand on the shower wall kept me upright. I let out a cry of relief. Letting it all out felt good. As if I was embracing who I was inside.

I stood for a long moment, trying to catch my breath. Then I straightened, dropping my hand from the wall and picking up my shower gel. My next step was to wash thoroughly since I had work today.

I had been at Fortuity for just over two weeks now. And after yesterday’s encounter with Prescott, I shouldn’t be surprised by my dream. We’d talked about lambs and hunting. No fucking wonder I’d dreamt of it. Of him chasing me. Of them all chasing me.

Shaking myself, I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off before going into my bedroom to get dressed. When I was done drying my hair and putting makeup on, I walked out into the kitchen, finding Mason sat at the table.

“Why are you up so early?” I asked as I flipped the kettle on.

I’d checked the time when I was getting dressed. It was only six.

“The shower woke me up. I’d ask you the same question, but I already know the answer.”

“They’re never going to end.”

I got two mugs out of the cupboard and chucked tea bags in them.

“Don’t say that. They might.”

“We both know they’ll only end if I get my memories back. I’m not going to fool myself into thinking otherwise.”

As I glanced back at him, I noticed his contrite expression.

“Do you want them back?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

I want them restored more than anything.

It wasn’t Mason’s fault I was tired and snappy. I shouldn’t take it out on him, but he knew the answer to that question already.

“It’s been ten years. The doctors said it’s unlikely they’ll return.”

“They’ve said a lot of things. Some of them turned out to be bullshit.”

They thought I might not walk or talk again. I’d proved them wrong. I’d proved everyone wrong since none of them knew my inner thoughts and feelings. The ones I’d kept hidden for good reason. I could never afford to forget who Mason reported to. I wasn’t about to tell him my past had started bleeding through into my consciousness. No one could know about the tiny snippets I’d had since returning to London. The city I knew I’d grown up in even if it was alien to me now. It felt familiar at the same time. I belonged here more than I ever did on my parents’ estate in Kent.

“Scar, I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean what? I want to remember. I need to. I’m missing a vital part of myself. You can’t possibly understand what that’s like. No one can.”

The kettle boiled. I picked it up and poured water into the two mugs.

No one got it. They just expected me to go on with life since it was like starting with a clean slate. It didn’t work like that for me. I didn’t feel whole.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

‘Sorry’ wasn’t good enough any longer, but I didn’t say that to him. I’d had too many people apologising to me over the years. Especially my parents. Pity their apologies were hollow and meaningless.

“I’m sorry we can’t let you leave the estate, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m sorry I have to ask you to do this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

I slammed my hand down on the counter.

“I’m tired. Adjusting to working every day is taking a toll on me.”

It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“It’s okay, I get it.”

But he didn’t. No one did. I carried this burden alone. All alone.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to know who I am. Maybe then I can find my way home.

My home sure as shit wasn’t with my parents. All I had to do was this one complicated task then I could be done with all this fucked up revenge business. I didn’t believe it ever really gave anyone closure, but I would do it, anyway.

That was the price of freedom.