Descend into Madness

DESCEND INTO MADNESS WONDERLUST BOOK ONE MADDISON COLE Descend into Madness by Maddison Cole First published in Great Britain in 2023 by DIRTY TALK PUBLISHING LIMITED Previously published Great Britain in 2023, under the title of My Tweedle Boys by Author Maddison Cole This edition published in 2023 by DIRTY TALK PUBLISHING LIMITED Copyright © 2023 by Maddison Cole The moral right of Maddison Cole to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the copyright owner, except for the use of quotation in book reviews. To request permission, contact [email protected] ASIN- B0B919LCGH Edited by: Julia Manley Cover Design: EmCat Designs Formatted By: Ruby Smoke Published by DIRTY TALK PUBLISHING LTD www.dirtytalkpublishing.com CONTENTS Preface Disclaimer Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Afterword Acknowledgments About the Author Also By PREFACE We all know of the fairy-tale, We thought we knew the end, But 20 years have come to pass And Malice’s gone around the bend. Safe inside her padded cell, Her arms strapped up real tight, Only the spiders come to call And ask if she’s alright. Yet through her haze of anti-psychotics And trauma-induced cackle, A pair of boys she’d never forgotten Return to break her shackles. So if you really want to know the end Then you’d better come inside, To learn what happened to the delusional girl Who wish she could have died. DISCLAIMER * * * The time has come literary lovers, To talk of other things, Of torment and triggers and hostile (tea) parties - Of smut-filled pages and sins. So, if the steamy sea proves too hot And only nightmares this will bring, I caution you to retrace your steps Before welcoming yourself in. 1 “Milk and sugar?” I ask Polly as I fix her a nice cup of tea. She doesn’t answer so I leave it black and turn my attention to my own cup. A dainty addition to my China tea set, white with small pink flowers curling around the rim and a delicate handle. The type you can only use with your pinkie flicked outwards. That’s the law. My jagged fingernails scrape on the miniature milk jug, I wince, then shudder. They wouldn’t irritate you if you’d just bite them short, a voice rolls around the back of my mind. Twitching my head violently to shake the voice out, I opt for singing a teatime song, instead of tumbling down the rabbit hole of proper etiquette. How doth the little cup of tea Improve my shifting temperament And ease the waters of my insanity With every drop of peppermint! Tipping the teapot up, I continue to hum whilst Polly watches me work. Her painted eyes stare lifelessly, the condescending smirk stretching across her plastic face not wavering as we enjoy our morning together. Beyond the barred window, the sun is steadily travelling towards midday, but it’s always 6pm somewhere. The perfect time for tea. Adding three cubes of sugar to my cup, the weight of Polly’s red, wool hair proves too much, tilting her head to the side as the echo of a patronizing mutter reaches me. “Did you have something to say there, Polly?” I dip my voice dangerously low, sending a tremor of warning through the air. Dropping my spoon against the fragile saucer with an ear-slitting clatter, a few sensible residents dive behind the sofas. Polly, though, that judgey bitch doesn’t back down. A solid minute rolls by as our staring contest stretches on, until my lids burn and I have to snap them shut. “That’s it!” I scream, throwing her tea in her face. Not mine obviously because I’m not wasting a damn good tea on a whore like her. She’s always doing this, every time I find my Zen and get most of the rec room to myself. As if I can’t drown out the voices in my head long enough for a single tea party, my only companion needs to be on my back too. “I need three fucking cubes of sugar to keep me sweet enough. I should be judging you, Miss Black-English-Breakfast-on-a-Sunday-Morn. Do you know who drinks black tea on a Sunday? Satan, you Devil worshiping bitch!” I narrow my eyes at Crazy Kurt kneeling by the window, gripping his rosary between his hands and muttering about redemption. I don’t waste my time on such things, not after what I’ve seen and done. This time, I throw the whole tea pot at Polly and she flies from her extra-cushion I’d propped her up on. Regret giving her that extra comfort now, don’t I? Holding my own cup at a safe height, I throw my arm across the table’s surface and the tea set I spent months unclogging shower drains for, smashes to the floor. The shattering ricochets through my tea-loving heart but there’s no time to dwell on sentimentality now. The tablecloth goes next, fluttering over the smashed remains to hide them from view. Much better. Flashing above the single entrance and accompanied by an alarm, a red light calls for the Bastards-in-Blue, as I like to call them. The door bursts open and