(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 55; chrysalis

And Quentin was at the door of the cell, shaking the metal in his fists. When the locks held strong, he turned to Tisper. "Give me the key."

She found it in her pocket, delivered it to his hand with trembling fingers. And Quentin threw the door open, moved inside and slammed it hard behind him. Then he passed the key back through the bars.

"What are you doing?" Tisper asked, clutching the object between her fingers. "Quentin!"

Quentin sat on the blankets beside Jaylin, reaching under his arms to pull him back against his chest, and Jaylin laid there between his legs, tears streaking his face. "Get out," he struggled, and Tisper could see him grip at Quentin's leg—squeeze from the pain of it. And Quentin only jumped a bit when he claws went through.

"Or what?" Quentin said, brushing the sweaty bangs from Jaylin's forehead. "You'll punch me again?"

The sudden caterwaul of thunder lit Tisper's nerves. She jolted, watching the lights flicker above in that tiny naked bulb. She reached for the door and slotted the key into the lock. "I'm coming in too."

"No!" Jaylin shouted and there was something in his voice that made Tisper stop. He didn't sound like himself—not at all. She removed the key slowly and stepped back, watching as Quentin pulled Jaylin's claws from his leg and forced his wrists to cross over his chest—to keep his razor-sharp talons locked down.

Jaylin calmed down after that. Tisper realized it was the movement—the pain came and Jaylin would retaliate by moving, by twisting and writhing and crying out. But when Quentin held him still, Jaylin quieted. He laid there, breath too deep, too crude. For hours he laid in Quentin's arms.

The pain seemed to take enough of his energy that Jaylin fell asleep there. And after some time had passed, Quentin moved out from beneath him, painfully, painfully slow. He laid Jaylin's head on the pillows and let him rest for the next wave, and as he stepped out of the cell, Tisper caught the blood on the leg of his jeans.

"He didn't mean it," she shook her head. "He'd never hurt you."

Quentin looked down to the stain, wiped a hand over the fresh blood and examined his palm in the darkness. Quietly, he mumbled, "It's normal."

"How long do you think he'll sleep for?"

"Maybe twenty minutes," Quentin said. "Might have to bind his wrists. He's cut himself up already."

"Got anything he won't break out of?"

"There may be some zip-ties in the shed."

"You don't think he'll break those?"

"Probably, but it'll buy us time. I'll go look for them."

He'd started to jog his way up the steps when Tisper felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Before she could even answer her with a hello, Sadie's voice burst through.

"Tisper! Thank god. Alex, she answered."

There was a storm of noise on the other end, and then Alex was speaking, "Tisper, I need to talk to Quentin."

He must have heard his name because Quentin stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around.

"Um. Okay," Tisper said. She pulled her phone from her face and hit the speaker button, and then Alex's breath—shallow and shaken, crackled too loudly in the silence.

"What is it, Alex?" Quentin's voice carried from the top steps.

"Quentin," the speakers crinkled. "They're here. She's here. She's looking for him."

A look of shock passed briefly over Quentin's face. He sprinted back down the steps and snatched the phone from Tisper's hand. "Where are you?"

"With Sadie. We're hiding in the attic. Mom's trying to—she's talking to them but they won't leave. They want him."

"Stay there, I'm coming." He was nearly at the top before Tisperhad a chance to shout after him.

"Quentin, wait! What about Jaylin?"

He staggered on the top step and swung around to look at her—then to the cage where Jaylin was starting to stir again. Tisper had never seen a look so helpless as on the one that crossed his face. A man torn to pieces.

"Quentin." Jaylin was curled on his side, trying with all he had to lift his head from the blankets. The black had nearly swallowed his face whole—one of his eyes pale and milky. Sharp like the eye of a cat and reflecting light from the dark corner of his cage. "My friends."

Again, Quentin hesitated.

"Please go," Jaylin said. A tear peeled down his face, and in his agony, Jaylin shouted, "Go!"

The sound sent Quentin back a step. He looked to Tisper, a hard lump moving down his throat. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said. "I'll send someone in my meantime. Just...don't go in."

The door shut and Tisper turned her eyes to Jaylin, his shoulders accented by the sharp cut of bone that wasn't there before. His breath rising and falling like a dying thing.

Through the tiny basement window in the corner of the room, the Bad Moon poured in, rich and pink as good Rosé. Tisper swallowed down her wine with a trembling hand.