The Book Chapter 47

The book had been silent for too long. It refused to give them anything. Alice and Mick had left the courthouse in a haze of failure. The second task had left them sorrowful and drained. The guilt was overwhelming. The book had won, and an innocent life would suffer, and that was down to them. ‘It might have been bluffing,’ Mick said.

‘The book doesn’t bluff.’ Alice was hanging by a thread. She needed Mick’s strength and was grateful that he’d come back to her. She couldn’t have done this without him. And there was still one task to complete before they could win and destroy the book.

At this point, they had no way of knowing if, by choosing, they were still in the game or if they had already lost for making the wrong choice. They’d done as the task demanded, and guilty or innocent, they had sentenced somebody to death. They were wrong, but they’d done what it asked. She hoped that was enough.

The book had given them no clues since, not even its mocking whispers in the night. It was silent.

Until it wrote again.

It had waited until they felt safe and until the creeping paranoia in Alice’s mind was fading. That night the bitch delayed until they slept before striking in the dead of night. They could never let their guard down or relax for a second.

At 3:33 a.m. Alice was in bed staring at the ceiling when the air shifted. The book snapped open on the nightstand beside her, pages fluttering like the beats of a dying moth.

She woke Mick and scrambled for the light switch. The ink formed its last decree.

A final gift for the one you love.

An act of perfect devotion.

Strip the flesh, break the bone,

Pain: a price of sacrificed emotion.

Alice sat up so fast she almost knocked Mick off the bed. He groaned, rubbing his dream away. ‘What the hell?’

‘I’ve got the clue.’ Alice grabbed the book, holding it up for him to see. The words pulsed with a new excitement that Alice felt through her nerve endings. Isolde was feeding from their energy.

Mick read the passage and, even waking from a fugue, he understood its meaning. This one didn’t need research and Google. ‘No. We’re not doing it,’ he said.

Alice exhaled shakily. ‘We have to. It wants a sacrifice. And at least it doesn’t want one of us to die.’

‘Unless it’s talking about burning my vinyl collection, which I’d do for you in a heartbeat, it’s a hard pass from me.’

Alice wasn’t listening. The book never spoke plainly, and this was the clearest it had ever been. There was no room for negotiation.

It wanted pain. Blood. Flesh. ‘We have to offer it something,’ she said.

‘No.’

Alice’s hands were clammy around the book’s cover. ‘It doesn’t specify who.’

Mick glared at it. ‘Because it wants us to choose. Like before.’

Alice’s breath caught. ‘Last time, it was a test of judgment. We got that wrong and still don’t know if we passed that stage. This one is to assess our loyalty and our love for each other. Oh God, maybe it wants me to kill Erik.’

Mick looked furious. ‘Don’t even speak about it,’ he warned. ‘Don’t give it ideas, but it wants to hurt one of us. And for us to do it.’

The book shuddered in her hands, delighted by his realisation.

A willing sacrifice.

Prove you are worthy.

Mick let out a bitter laugh. ‘Worthy of what? You? A twisted, bitter child? Like hell. We’re not playing.’

Alice was staring at the words. ‘It doesn’t say the sacrifice has to die.’

Mick blinked. ‘What?’

Alice gripped the book tighter. ‘We can survive this. We can do it, love. It just says pain. It wants a show of suffering.’

Mick frowned. ‘So what then? One of us takes the hit? How much is enough? Do we break a finger, cut our hand?’

Alice nodded. ‘That might be enough.’

Mick let out a breath and squared his shoulders. ‘It’s not breaking bones and stripping much flesh, but fine. I’ll do it. Let’s get this over with.’

Alice opened her mouth to protest, but Mick was already standing and rolling up his sleeves. ‘I’m not letting you do it, Alice.’

He went to his workbag in the kitchen and came back with something suitable—a hunting knife from his fishing days that his dad had bought him when Mick took an interest. He was wiping the blade with Dettol and a flannel from the bathroom. Alice had forgotten he had it. ‘Is it sharp enough?’ she asked. ‘We should sterilise it properly.’

Before she could stop him or even breathe, he pressed the blade to the fleshy part of his inner forearm and slashed. His hand dropped to his side, the knife dripping with blood as he pulled it from the wound. The bleeding was extensive and dripped onto the floor, staining the wood. Alice wanted to look away but needed to see what he’d done for them. She owed him.

It was a sharp, clean cut. Deep enough to open a chasm in his arm that poured with blood. It was a bad wound that needed stitching. Mick would be scarred for life. But he wouldn’t be dead, and it wasn’t bad enough to cause permanent damage.

Blood ran down his arm in a torrent, and Alice grabbed a pillow off the bed, the nearest thing to her, and held it against the wound. Mick hissed through his teeth, his face pale but victorious. ‘Is that good enough for you, you evil bitch?’

The book trembled. The ink swirled.

Blood is given. The pact is sealed. The verdict is yet to come.

Alice’s heart nearly stopped. ‘It worked.’

Mick clenched his jaw. ‘So that’s it? We’re done?’

Alice was still holding the pillow against his arm. ‘We need to get that wound stitched.’

The book stilled.

Words inked themselves onto the page. This time in a slow and deliberate scrawl. The book didn’t like defeat.

The game is over. Three tasks have been completed. Burn me.

Mick let out a shaky laugh and sagged against the dresser. ‘Holy shit. We did it.’

‘What if we didn’t? It doesn't actually say we won. I don’t trust it.’ Alice couldn’t believe it and waited for the punchline, but the book was silent. After everything and months of torment, twisted riddles and impossible choices. It was done.

‘We have to believe it. It’s all we’ve got.’

She ran her fingers over the new words, expecting them to vanish or twist into some new horror. But they didn’t. They’d done it, and the book had conceded.

Alice and Mick looked at each other, then at the cursed object in her hands. On a subliminal level, she knew it wouldn’t talk to them again. It was over.

Mick grinned, breathless and victorious. ‘I can’t wait to burn this bastard.’

Later that night, they celebrated. She leaned into Mick, letting his warmth remind her they’d survived.

For the first time in months, they allowed themselves to have fun. They laughed as they drank whiskey from the bottle, dancing around the room, adrenaline still singing in their veins.

Mick’s arm was stitched and bandaged. He’d live. Alice was giddy with relief, and the book sat on the table, defeated. Mick had wanted to burn it there and then, but they needed protection first. One more night. Tomorrow, they would destroy it—for good.

Alice pressed her fingers to the book for the last time. It felt different. There was no pulsing warmth or shifting air. She laughed. It was just a book.

Mick clinked his glass against hers, smiling. ‘We did it, babe.’

The Book Here's the Amazon link for The Book. Available on KU and Audible, as well as eBook and Paperback  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0F2J7QYCQ