The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The black liquid that reeked of death filled the hallway. Trinket closed her door before it could follow her into her room, but it seeped through the crack underneath, spreading over the floor and staining the throw rugs.

Letting out a long breath, she set to work preparing for bed. She was just overtired. All she needed was some sleep. Then the rats and spiders and shadows and death ooze would be gone. And then she could concentrate on helping Booker solve this game.

Which would then lead to her role in his life being usurped by his estranged best friend. And that didn't really even matter anyhow, seeing as once he found out the truth about what she'd done in her past, he'd undoubtedly want her out of the picture.

She threw the wardrobe doors open, pushing the rising panic back down as she pulled out her nightgown. This was insanity. Booker would not replace her. He loved her.

But he cared about Benedict, too. He may not have said it outright, but his old friend was an important part of his history. Of course he cared about him and would want him in his life.

Wasn't there room for both her and Benedict in Booker's world?

No. There wasn't. Benedict wasn't good for Booker. Benedict wasn't good for anyone. Look what he had done to the people she cared about. Daphne. Tory. And his stupid game was what had pitted Booker and Scales against each other, so as far as she was concerned, he was responsible for Gin's death as well.

Tossing her nightgown onto the bed, Trinket paced the room and unpinned her hair. She had to keep Benedict from hurting Booker. From corrupting him. But how?

She sat at the writing desk and unlaced her boots as the voices mumbled in her head, making it difficult to think clearly. It would be impossible to convince Booker that his long-lost friend was no good. And after all the work he'd put into trying to find him, there was no chance he would give up now. But maybe if she could find Benedict first, she could keep him from reuniting with Booker.

How?

You're awfully skilled with a knife.

She gasped and clutched her chest. No. No, she could never do that. She could not kill a person because she didn't like them.

So you only kill people you love?

Gritting her teeth, she tugged off her boots and tossed them into the corner. There had to be another way. Maybe she could persuade Benedict to leave. Or threaten him. She wasn't above threats, so long as she didn't carry them out. Perhaps she could use her history as a dangerous asylum patient to her advantage. Would that work on someone like Benedict, though? After all, he'd actually gone to Elysium and taken a deranged young woman into his custody. It might take more than an asylum escapee to unnerve the likes of him.

But everyone had a weakness. And she would figure out Benedict Hawk's and use it to keep him from harming Booker.

Stripping off her dress and donning her nightgown, she sank onto her bed with a heavy sigh. This plan didn't make her feel any better. And it wasn't making the hallucinations go away. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she curled into as small of a ball as she could. Wouldn't this plan hurt Booker? Wouldn't he be upset with her for keeping Benedict from him?

But what if he never knew it was her? She could set it all up to seem like Benedict had lost interest.

No, that would crush Booker. Although, if it was for the greater good, would it be justified?

You're a horrible person.

How could you think of doing this to someone you love?

What makes you a better influence than Benedict?