CHAPTER FIVE: THE UNMASKING

The lightbulb flickered once before shattering on the floor.

He stood there, a low, hoarse laugh rumbling beneath his mask.

“I know you,” he rasped, voice thick with mockery. “Better than you know yourself.”

“You reek of buried memories and forgotten prayers.” He laughed again—cold, guttural.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Every nerve screamed. The tip of his knife grazed so close, I felt its whisper against my eyelid.

“What are you doing here?” he spat.

“If you don’t speak, I’ll make sure your blood stains every corner of this place.”

“My—my name… I stayed here tonight…” My voice faltered.

He cut me off. “A spy? Has an orphan turned into a spy now?” His words dripped with venom. “This isn’t The Ville.”

He leaned in, the blade brushing my jaw. “No one comes into Blackcroft Abode without a death wish.”

I slumped to the ground, knees sinking into the crimson-stained floor.

“I promise you, I’m not a spy! I could never be!”

“A stray lurking where he doesn’t belong. Filth follows you like a shadow—slinking through forbidden places, listening where you shouldn’t.”

He paused. Then a distorted laugh erupted from his throat. “You don’t even know who they are, and still—you’re spying?”

I couldn’t believe him. This masked man, soaked in blood, blade pointed at my throat.

“What are you talking about?” I rasped. “You think I’m spying? I don’t even have a weapon.”

“You think that’s what makes a spy?” he snarled. “A knife? A gun?”

He stepped closer, his voice a growl.

“Spies deal in secrets—whispers, truths that shatter empires.”

His gloved hands clamped down on my shoulders. “And you’re carrying one. A secret that’ll get you killed.”

I couldn’t swallow—my throat had turned to stone.

“There’s no escape now.”

He lit a cigarette—flame flashing orange, illuminating the blood-streaked mask.

“I ask one last time. Who sent you? Who are you working for? Who are you looking for?”

“No one sent me! I don’t even know who you are. I just—” I exhaled sharply, fists clenched at my sides. “I was homeless. Just for one night.”

He tilted his head.

“You can run,” he said, smoke curling around us like chains, “but you can’t outrun the Butcher’s Worm. Are you afraid the ones who sent you will come for you? Or for me?”

“They always do. But you’ve been deceived.”

His grip tightened, teasing the wound. My pulse throbbed—each beat a countdown to death.

“Give me a name,” he growled, “or I’ll carve it into your bones myself.”

I flinched, mind swirling. Then, shakily:

“The truth?”

A bitter wince scraped from my throat.

“…Holloway. And nothing else.”

His fingers twitched beneath the knife.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

My voice cracked. “It’s… it’s my orphanage.”

He froze.

Just long enough.

My lungs burned—I gasped and lunged. My hands shot up, grappling for the blade still clenched in his fist. Metal scraped bone, flesh strained against flesh. He roared, trying to wrench free, but I jammed my thumb into his palm.

His grip faltered.

With a cry, I twisted—turning the blade inward, still in his hand. Blood sprayed—hot and thick across my cheek. He staggered back, dark gloss spreading across the mask as he gasped. Then, like a wounded animal, he lunged again, hand clawing for my throat.

Stumbling back, my spine slammed into the wall as he crashed into me. I groaned beneath his crushing weight, twisting, desperate to pull away.

Then—his grip faltered. Fingers twitched against my throat, then slipped away.

A metallic tang hit my nose—thick and suffocating. A wet, choking gurgle escaped his throat, muffled beneath the mask. Blood seeped from the seams, splattering onto the floor.

“What…?”

The word snagged in my throat, the muscles along my back locking into a rigid line.

I didn’t mean to—

His hands clutched at the blade in his gut.

What had I done?

My quivering hands moved on their own, wet with the iron-stench of gore, as I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and yanked the knife free.

A sickening squelch followed—wet and final.

“Arghhh!” he screamed.

The mask shifted, deforming under the strain.

He staggered, his leg gave out—and he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

I stumbled back. My chest heaved, the knife slick with burning red.

Something in his voice—

No… that groan.

It clawed at my mind like a ghost from the past—but I couldn’t name it. Couldn’t place it.

A sharp breath escaped the mask. Then it jolted loose.

It slid sideways across his face.

With a dull thud, it dropped to the floor—bloodied and cracked—spinning in the growing pool of blood.

And beneath it—

A face.

Long, tangled hair framed the face I knew too well.

The face that haunted every corner of my memory.

The room tilted. My knees buckled. Blood roared in my ears, loud enough to drown out everything else.

It’s her.

The woman from the car.

The chaos.

The one who saved me.

My body went still. Ice crushed down my spine.

I stared, my fingers trembling.

The knife clattered from my grip—yet in my mind, it roared louder than a scream.

She was smaller than I remembered—her body swallowed by black.

“No…” she groaned.

She was dying.

And I was the reason why.

And all I could do… was remember.