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But that was not enough. I felt like doing something really bloodthirsty. I thought of the man – the other I had invited to an exclusive predator feeding in the very first row – who was still sitting in my cellar and hurried home.
How long would it take for Dea to wake up? Until she realized that she had to master the descent alone? It would probably make her angry. So I had at least an hour. If everything went well, maybe two.
As soon as I entered the house, I grabbed the cellar key, climbed downstairs into the damp, musty rooms, and didn't take any time softening the guy up with psycho terror.
I yanked open the metal barred door of the dungeon, stomped inside, and unchained his ankles before unchaining him from the wall. With a jerk, I pulled the half-naked guy to his feet and dragged him out of the small room and into the hallway leading to another room with a single chair in the center.
Natale's torture cellar was not unknown to me, but I had never spent time there. Not even then, when everything had been different.
With deft movements, I strapped the guy, who was nameless to me, to the chair, loosened the tape that held the feeding tube in place, and pulled the tube out of his nose with one fluid motion.
He threw up on the floor, which I watched with my head tilted. "Well. That's it for your last meal for the next few days," I said with a shrug.
If he answered, I didn't hear. I never listened to men like him. No matter what they said, it didn't matter.
I heard the small voice in the back of my mind. My hunger for pure destruction wanted to be satisfied.
Because I thought nothing of aids in torture, I rubbed my hands together in preparation. A little warm-up wouldn't hurt, would it?
I stepped in front of him, lashed out with a right hook to the chin that threw his head back. Blood dripped from his mouth.
The idiot had bitten his tongue.
Before he had caught himself I gave him the next blow. And another, during which I heard a bone crunch protestingly.
I ignored the pain in my knuckles and mentally withdrew. Unfortunately, it was not like usual. Because this time, I wasn't alone, in this safe place of thought, but I had company.
Based on the last few hours, I expected Dea to be at my side, but instead, it was Rina and me standing shoulder to shoulder, her small hand wrapped around mine.
Her presence in that place deep in my mind was like a punch in the gut. All these years, I had wanted nothing more than this, and now she was just there?
I had begged for a dream, for her voice in my ears. Something that was not my memory. But none of it had ever come true.
I took a few seconds to reach for her hand and hold it before turning slightly in her direction.
Amused, she looked at me, small wrinkles around her eyes. Nothing had changed except that her body was not marked by the brutalities inflicted on her shortly before her death.
"You're making fun of me," I stated, a little amused but also outraged.
"On the contrary, I am happy for you,cuore mio."
I snorted. "About what?"
There was nothing to be happy about. Shouldn't she be much angrier? I had married Dea and now slept with her, although everything in me had resisted even thinking about another woman because there had only ever been Rina for me.
She let go of my hand, only to slide it under my shirt and gently run it over my tense muscles. I wanted nothing more than to sink against her body and let her catch me but it didn't work that way in this world of thought.
I was far too aware that she was dead. Did not exist. Was an illusion.
"Because you finally learned to let go. Because you realized you have to move on."
"I don't want to let go," I growled, aware that she would not accept that answer.
I had held on to her long after her death. Why should I let go of her now?
"She's a great woman. Makes you laugh, even if you won't admit it, you old stubborn bastard." Her other hand stroked through my hair, making some of the weight in my shoulders disappear. "What's wrong with getting involved with her?"
"She's not you."
