The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

fears materialized. Two days after she arrived, she had a psychotic breakdown and cut herself free from the bed straps. She ran as fast as she could to the cliff, dogs chased her, I tried to call them off—but she—” I knew he meant Yara, by the way he emphasized the word— “ordered them on.”

I swallowed, hating that this was a part of my life story. “And then?”

“Jumped.”

I didn’t have words, didn’t want to know more, only wished I could wash it clean from my brain and replace it with the purity of my life before Yara Thornberry had entered it. “And the other writers?”

“Worse yet.”

I let his words hang, hoping that between the two of us we could patch the horrors of Usher and build it into something new—something that gave life instead of stole them.

“Why didn’t you escape?” I finally ventured.

“Tried once. She started dosing me with her toxic vitamins after that. Killed the nerves in my leg after a few decades.” He pressed his lips together, wiping at the chicken grease that dribbled down his chin. “Anyway, meaning is born of hardship. No nobler path exists than to confront it.” He patted Carnegie on the head as he spoke, tone lowering an octave. “Just so happens some of the souls on this Earth gain more meaning from doing evil than fighting it.” He paused. “Most people. The gods among us are few and far between. Learn to play their game and use them against themselves and you’ve won. That’s what she did, used human nature against itself.” He nodded, as if having an independent conversation with himself. “From sheep to wolves...we can’t all be shepherds, can we?”

Silence stretched, only the panting of Carnegie and Astor interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you wax so poetic.”

Yarrow’s familiar grunt brought a smile to my lips. “People who use too many words hide behind what they’re not saying.”

I nodded, closing the file and standing then, eager to forget our shared painful pasts for the hope of a brighter future.

“Are the rooms ready for the first batch of writers to arrive tomorrow?” I’d redesigned each with money Yarrow had deemed the caretaker fund. It contained hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold and silver and coins, all unused. I’d come to believe that Yara hadn’t wanted to ever update Usher—leaving it a haunted relic, frozen in time.

Now, the rooms were clean and tidy, fresh flowers in vases and plain wooden floors giving it a nearly monastic quality. Perfect for tuning out the noise and focusing on the words.

I’d been shocked when on the first day of placing the ad for a writer’s retreat on social media, the applicants had overwhelmed our website. Our seaside writing retreat was a smash success from applications until now. I wanted it perfect. I wanted it inspiring.

Yarrow stood, nodding as his chair scraped across the polished floor. “Rooms are ready. The latest formulation of vitamins arrived this afternoon too. Company promises they’ve worked out the kinks. The first doses are sectioned and ready in the freezer.”

“You confirmed they halved the PLt dose? We only want a little trip to la la land; each of the writers has signed an affidavit stating they understand the risks of the trip, but we can’t afford any mistakes. All eyes are on Usher.”

Yarrow finally tipped his chin, eyes meeting mine, and he winked once, though I couldn't tell if it was voluntary or only a twitch. “Left the documentation on your desk, but the new nano-technology is potent. Paperwork confirms they’re able to connect to the seeds remotely. Anyone that ingests the PLt tea will ingest nano-particles that can affect the mRNA—don’t understand how, but the company can alter the visual outputs of our recipients to induce stronger or more localized reactions.

“Sounds like we’re building robots to take over the world.”

“Not robots, Yarrow. Trans-humanism and artificially integrated intelligence is the future. Usher is helping create new science. Isn’t it exciting?”

He grunted. “Guess all the mRNA collection wasn’t for nothin’.”

I nodded, watching as he tossed his clean thigh bones to Carnegie and Astor. They wagged their tails playfully, then trotted out of the front doors with Yarrow at their side.

I watched his hunched form leave. The good twin I’d started calling him in my mind. Even though Yara and he weren’t twins, and she’d only assumed his real twin’s identity for fame and role-playing, it seemed his opinion that Usher bred evil.

I smiled as he disappeared into the garden with the dogs at his feet, feeling the struggle to do right by him and all that’d come before. While Yarrow had been quick to confess to his many sins over the decades, he’d been more reluctant to speak of the relationship between him and his sibling. Within days of her death Yarrow’s mind became more clear, his thinking sharper than it’d been in years—it became obvious that Yara had been micro-dosing him to keep him easily controlled. It took time, but he’d redeemed himself in my mind.

I thought killing Yara Thornberry would ruin me, but maybe Yarrow was right. Maybe fighting evil built character, even if most souls eventually succumb to its death grip.

I moved to the freezer then, opening it to verify the new batch of vitamins was indeed ready to go for the new writers arriving in the morning. I plucked one thick syringe from its slot in the tray, clouds of frozen smoke swirling round the customized concoction.

“Ready to have a little fun?” I felt his arms circle my middle and curl me close to him. A shiver of pleasure ran up my spine.

I turned, smile on my lips. “Mm, as long as it’s with you.”

“Always the romantic, Weaver.” Thax’s laugh echoed around the kitchen.

There was a moment in the cellar I thought I’d never see him again, but the toxin had only slowed his heartbeat and arrested his breathing. After Yarrow had awakened on the floor he’d immediately got to work injecting Thax with