inferno | 18+

XIX

"Sometimes mistakes take us to the right place."
- j.b.

DEVINA

Everything is going so fast. My heart is racing, and my hands are shaking. The gun is so heavy in my hand so so heavy. I'm panting my body begging my brain to stop to take a break to think of what I just did to think of what I'm going to do now. I have no idea where I am, what to do, who I can trust, if I'm even safe right now.

They were all wearing suits. They were all armed. Something was wrong. Something was wrong and I shot them. My God I just killed four men. Tears prick my eyes as I walk down the dark hallway. I can't help myself- a sob breaks out of me. I stop midway and lean against the wall letting myself cry. I cry until my eyes can't anymore. I tortured Pilgrim. I shot four men. I am the monster in question.

"Keep going," I hear. It's Rudra again. I can't see him. I can't see anything. Tears are rolling down my cheeks again, and I feel absolutely pathetic. None of them were good men. They aren't worth stopping up for. They aren't worth crying over. "Devina no one is coming to your fucking rescue, keep going!" Rudra yells at me. I straighten my back, stifling my cries. He's right. For the first time in years I agree with him.

No one is coming to save me. I can't count on anyone by myself. And what I did was for me. He was never going to let me go. He liked that I was complying to his games, to his fun. He liked it too much, and now he's dead. I clench my hands around the gun, and start walking again, my bare feet covered in socks making almost no noise. I find the stairs and walk up them, before pushing the ledge open again. I hide it with the ugly carpet, and hurry into my own room.

I search everywhere, until I finally find a travel-friendly bag. I change into some cargo pants, a top and some boots. Everything in my closet was chosen by Zakaria. I grab the gun, carkeys, passport and money, before putting them in the bag. I throw the bag around me, and walk out of my room, walking straight toward the door.

"Bedside table drawer in his room." I turn around and see bloodied Rudra leaning against the sleeping halls walls. I look between him and the front door. Quickly, I run into Zakarias room. The sheets are ruffled, some of his clothes lying around on the floor. He probably thought there'd be time for him to clean it up later. I do as Rudra tells me, and open the drawer.

The first thing I'm met with is a journal. On its black leather frontal it reads NEW YORK PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. A gasp settles in my mouth. It's the journal the night nurse gave him while they were waiting for me to come in. I remember the phone call from the AM's. They had told me Zakaria had used a shank he made from a toothbrush to cut up his arm.

I remember our conversation as clear as day. Back when I thought I could help him. A bitter smile settles on my lips, before I grab it and make my way toward the door. I grab the car keys, and press the unlock button, waiting to find the right car. When I do, I run toward it, and quickly get into it. It's manual gear. How good for me that I have an Impala at home.

"Check the plates." I turn my head, and Rudra is sitting next to me in the passenger seat.

"What for?" I question, my voice strained.

"If you're lucky and the car is from wherever you are, it should say on the plate."

I mentally slap myself for not thinking of it first. I quickly get out of the car, and read the initials on the plate. My jaw fucking drops. It simply reads i. The letter i. I get back into the car, and turn the key in the cognition. "We're in Italy," I say out loud. "He brought me to fucking Europe!" I'm speeding down the driveway now, only now noticing how there's barely anything out here.