Ghosts of Halloween: Chapter 11

Everything stops. Groomer freezes. Even his breathing comes to a halt, and Strangler pulls back, though his hands stay on my hips. A sob escapes me, and I squirm, wishing he didn’t stop. I was floating, somewhere high and lovely, where even the memories didn’t hurt me. They were down there, like sharks circling in water… But I was up among the clouds. Untouchable.

And now, I’m hovering right over the surface, and I can feel them snapping at my ankles. Trying to pull me under.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

Groomer’s sharp intake of breath tells me I fucked up. They didn’t know it was true. That question was a gamble. And I just confirmed their suspicions.

“I’ll fucking tear him apart,” Groomer says, his voice gritty and full of menace.

I flinch, my happy, aroused glow bursting like a bubble. No, no, no! I don’t want this to stop, I don’t want it to get spoiled. This was the only time I felt happy, free, and alive, and I’m not letting it get away from me.

Why should they care? It’s not like I do, I lie to myself.

“She said ‘not since they’,” Butcher says, his voice cool and low. Groomer snarls, so angry I want to push him away, but Butcher is so calm, it’s eerie. “There are more than one. How many?”

I shake my head, wishing he would stop. Can’t he see he’s hurting me? I just said I don’t want to talk about this, so why is he pushing?

“Get away from her,” he says. “And you listen real good now, Harlow. The boys won’t touch you until you give us those names. Do you understand?”

I sob when both men step away, and suddenly, I’m cold and lonely, back in my little bubble. No sparks to warm me up. No nothing.

My right hand itches so bad, I’m willing to strip my skin off if it helps. But I can’t. This is only phantom itching.

Fuck. I don’t have a choice.

“If I give you their names, can we go back to what we were doing?” I ask, and I hate how whiny my voice sounds. My lower lip trembles.

Fucking pathetic.

I expect Groomer or Strangler to answer, but it’s Butcher again. The one who guessed so easily what my problem was. It seems he calls the shots here.

“That’s right. You just give us their names, and then forget all about them. The boys will get you back in the right headspace, don’t you worry. Won’t even take them a minute.”

I swallow, my throat tight and painful. My phantom hand itches so much, it hurts, and my heart hammers in my chest.

It’s just their names. No need to get so nervous.

But the names are enough to get me back in that room, the familiar rage, pain, and humiliation filling me until I want to curl up and die. I swallow again and again, gulping down nausea. I don’t want to say them out loud. I can’t.

“The boys,” I say hoarsely. “So, not you?”

I’m stalling, I know. And I think he knows this, too, because he snorts under his breath, the sound really pleasant. Just like his voice. It’s calm and cool, and he sounds so… competent. Like he can take care of anything.

“No, not me. I don’t play with girls,” he answers. “Not like this. Now, come on, Harlow. You can’t see them, but I can, and let me tell you: they are both itching to go back to you. Spill.”

I step from foot to foot, my stomach tight and knotted. I don’t think I ever talked about this. Obviously, I couldn’t go to the police. And there was no one else to talk to. Janet would just laugh and ask me what I thought would happen. I’m the town slut, after all. Free to use for everyone.

I breathe hard, and suddenly, there is a big, cool hand on my cheek, gently guiding my head up.

“You can tell me,” he says, voice soft and calm. “Just say their names. I promise I’ll keep them safe for you. So just let me. I’ll carry them for you for a bit, and then I’ll give them back. You have my word.”

I choke out a laugh, because it sounds ridiculous, but really isn’t. I know why I hold onto those names so much. Why those two words have so much power over me. It’s because I need them. Can never forget them. They changed me, and now I’m a different person. Those names are another key to my soul. The darkest, most hideous part of it.

But Butcher gave me his word. He’ll carry my burden for a while and give it back. I decide to trust him.

“Michael and Greg,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he says and kisses my forehead.

Then he’s gone, and Groomer’s arms are around me again, holding me tightly, his body pressed to my back. He shakes, whether from anger or something else—I don’t know. But he’s back, warm and grounding, and I sink into him with a grateful sigh.

I feel lighter, somehow. Like actually saying it, having someone else know my shameful secret, lessened the burden of it. I can breathe more freely. And I don’t feel like crying anymore.

Strangler kneels between my legs, running his hands up my calves, and Groomer brushes my hair off my face, his lips at my ear. His quick, angry breaths tickle my skin and send sparks into my body as he whispers hoarsely.

“I’m sorry, Harlow. I should have been there. I should have saved you. And I’m not asking for forgiveness, because it doesn’t mean anything. I’m just telling you… It won’t happen again. I’ve got you now. I have you, princess.”

I exhale, his words soothing me while his and Strangler’s touch makes sparks burst behind my closed eyelids. The warm, tingling tension seeps back into my muscles, replacing the cold rigidity from before. I sigh and relax, Groomer’s arms safe and warm around me.

And in that relaxing warmth, a thought nudges me. I didn’t notice it before, but…

“How do you know my name?” I ask.

First Butcher, and now him. Both used my given name. It means I’m not just a random girl to them. They know me.

Groomer releases a quick breath, bringing his hand up to my cheek and tilting my head to the side so he can kiss down my neck. But his lips hover over my skin, not touching, and my breath hitches. I wait for the kiss.

“We know a lot about you,” he says, sounding mildly threatening. “Now, be a good girl and tell me as soon as we do something you don’t like. If you don’t, I’ll be fucking angry with you.”

His lips press to my skin, hot and demanding, and I gasp. I tilt my head further to give him better access. Strangler’s rough hands move up my thighs, pushing my legs apart until I widen my stance, and then, his mouth is back on me.

And I feel it now. How wet I am. For the first time in two years.