The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  "Look at me," Ethan whispered, glancing over his shoulder. Emma assumed he was making sure they were alone. "Look at me."

  "You killed my dog." She fumed, kicking his shin. "You piece a—"

  "Lower your voice. They don't need to know we know each other."

  "No shi—"

  "She would've chewed me up worse than them other two. And you know it, too. I didn't have a choice."

  "There's always a choice. My daddy chose to spare your life. And you repay him by kidnapping his daughter and killing the closest thing to her heart?"

  "It doesn't matter what choices I have. I always end up making the wrong one."

  "I'll tell you a little secret," she whispered, leaning forward. "I don't care about you."

  "Em—"

  "I don't care about the poor choices you've made or haven't made. I don't care about you at all. I cared about Olivia, but now she's gone. I cared about Stella, but now she's gone, too. And both of them were taken from this world by your hands."

  "I, I feel ba—" he stammered.

  "I care, about finding my brother," she said, cutting him off. "You want to do the right thing? Cut me loose."

  "That's why you're out here? To find"—he paused, seemingly perturbed—"Emma, don't go to that house. Griffin is—shhh," he said. "They're coming back."

  The sound of Bo and Ansley dragging something to the front of the house surfaced. Ethan ended their conversation just as dumbass number one's leg appeared around the corner. Standing up, Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, seeming to try and hide any connection to her, but Emma could sense the others were catching on.

  "The bitch give you any trouble?!" Bo shouted from the hall.

  "No, she's been pretty quiet."

  "I heard you speakin' to her. Why you lyin'?"

  "I wasn't. I don't know whatcha heard, but it wasn't us."

  The roll of Bo's eyes showed he was unconvinced, but he continued to drag the load around the couch. A leg stuck out from under a sheet, which was covered in blood. The other had been severed just below the kneecap. Because of the bruising, Emma assumed the foot still intact had been broken.

  "Grab the girl," Bo said. "I want her to see what happens to folks who fight back."

  Doing as he was told, Ethan forced Emma to stand, which resulted in the spear tip digging deeper into her flesh. Desperately, she tried holding back any facial expressions that suggested she was in terrible pain.

  To prevent Emma from looking away, Ethan placed his hands on either side of her head. For a moment, Emma found her eyes lingering on the broadness of Ansley's forehead until he lifted the sheet from the body. Emma's knees buckled, but Ethan slowed her fall by grasping her arm. She had never before felt so sickened by the human species.

  The body was of a man who couldn't have been more than fifty years old. He was completely nude. They had split his body open from his breastbone to where his penis should have been. His insides had been removed, Emma could tell, because he'd been opened up just like a deer that had been shot and cleaned.

  On the floor next to the corpse, Emma gazed upon the unfortunate soul's face and pondered, What was the point? Her question was answered as Ansley took the machete from the opposite counter and began hacking off the other leg. Every contact made with the deceased man's flesh jolted her from the floor, and caused hot bile to rise in her throat. These men who Emma'd had the rottenest luck of running into seemed to have lost their humanity.

  God be with me, she silently prayed. Please be with me. I need you now. Please.

  "Cook that a little before you eat it, Ans. We just carved him up. We don't need you gettin' sick again," Bo said, motioning toward the back door. "Go build a fire. I'm sure as soon as Roland's done with this fiery redhead he'll want somethin' to eat."

  "Here," Ethan said, helping her stand. "Sit down."

  A door upstairs opened just as Emma was settled upon the couch.

  "That'll be Roland, Ethan. You want to tell him where you know this bitch from? Or do you want us to beat it outta her instead?"

  "I don't know her."

  "She's not as skinny as the other women we've come across, is she? She looks well fed—healthy, even. Don't you think so?"

  As the men argued, Emma became transfixed on the light emanating from one of the back windows until Bo unexpectedly elbowed her in the stomach. The pain was unbearable. He seemed to thrive on making innocent people suffer.

  "Don't do that! I swear I'm not lying to you," Ethan pleaded, reaching for her. "Please, man, c'mon."

  "Naw," Bo replied. "She stays right here until Roland comes down."

  The steps of their leader grew louder as someone she assumed to be Roland began making his way downstairs. Petrified, Emma watched as the man who held her fate in his hands arrived under the archway of the living room.

  "That'll be him," Bo whispered in her ear.

  Emerging from the shadows, he stood plain as day before them. Roland was dressed as though he were going to church. He wore black slacks and a blue button-down shirt. His muscles nearly pierced through the thin material. His face was elongated and chiseled, with great bone structure. Roland was the type of guy Emma and the girls at the bank would have swooned over as he walked by.

  Considering where things are headed, she thought, that's not gonna happen today.

  "Looks like y'all found something." Roland smiled, wiping out the clean and shaven look by revealing his mouth full of snuff. "Where are the rest of the boys?"

  "They didn't make it," Bo replied, forcing Emma to stand. "This bitch here killed Mark and Dylan with that crossbow behind you, there. Her dog tore up my leg pretty bad and took down Ray." Lifting his pant leg, Bo fished for a shred of sympathy, but all Roland did was grin.

  "You poor thing." He paused, raising his brow. "What'd you do with the dog? I told you to bring back food. Don't get me wrong; we're gonna have fun with this one here. But a dog's good eating. What'd you do with it?"

  "Ethan let her bury it. I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen!"

  "If he let her bury the dog, he must've had good reason," Roland said. "Am I right, Ethan?"

  "Yes, sir, that's right."

  Roland seemed to trust Ethan's word over Bo's because he didn't argue. Accepting Ethan's answer, Roland simply nodded his head. Holding out his hand, Roland didn't have to say a word. As Bo passed Emma over, she thought, Is this the way I'm gonna be treated? Like a toy to be passed around until each of them has had their fill?

  "If I need y'all, I'll let you know," Roland stated, latching his fingers to her waist. Pulling Emma closer, he said, "Another redhead. Ain't that funny, Ethan?"

  "Yes, yes, sir," Ethan stammered, avoiding Emma's questioning gaze. "It is."

  "C'mon, little lady." Roland grinned. "I want to show you something."

  Parting from the others, Roland led Emma to the staircase where more pictures lined the walls. As they climbed the stairs, her fate was on her mind, but the fate of the family's was as well. Emma prayed the children in these photographs were grown and miles away, but with the way things were going, she figured they'd probably been killed long ago.

  The scenery on the second level was vastly different from the rest. Instead of blood-stained walls and dirty furniture, Emma saw swept hardwood floors and clean, cream-colored walls. Inside every room they passed, the beds were made and spotless.

  "I like a clean house. I let the boys have the downstairs," Roland said, seeming to notice the puzzled look on her face. "They're only allowed up here when I say so."

  "Who are you, their mother?"

  "More like"—he paused, amused—"their new guide through this world."

  "Doesn't seem like you're much of a guide."

  "I'm all they've got. All they've got—and they know it."

  Beckoning them forward was a large red door at the end of the hall. The hall seemed to shrink as they approached. Emma feared the other side of that door so much, her entire body was trembling.

  As
they stood before it, Roland grasped the knob, and said, "Welcome home."

  He shoved open the door, and led Emma inside the depths of her tomb—a tomb where she would lose any shred of innocence that remained. The room was fitting to the evil that would be done to her. With its red walls and jet-black comforter on the bed, the room seemed to fit the kind of person Roland was.

  Ushering Emma to the edge of the bed, a wicked smile stretched across Roland's face when he noticed Mary's cross hanging from her neck. His scent was a combination of snuff and the rotting corpse downstairs. Emma found the tattoos on his forearms unsettling. The one on his right was the most disturbing to Emma: a tattoo of a naked woman lying upon a checkered blanket, her neck and wrists slit.

  As Roland gestured for her to sit, Emma did so without complaint, but flinched as he knelt before her. As he started unfastening her overalls, tears began to form, and she prayed for them not to fall. You don't deserve my tears, she thought, imagining herself cracking his skull open. Don't cry. Please don't let him see you cry. But despite Emma's pleas, one tear escaped from each of her eyes.

  "Don't cry," he whispered, unbuttoning her shirt. "You'll feel just fine in a minute."

  Nearly finished with her top, he began untying her shoelaces when a noise erupted from the bathroom. Irritated, he stormed toward the bathroom door, but Emma was grateful for the disruption. If he had pulled the boots from her feet, Roland would've found her secret weapon. Plus, it gave her time to continue tugging at the ropes binding her wrists.

  "I told y'all to keep quiet!" he shouted, slinging open the door. He disappeared inside, and then reappeared with two naked women on each side of him. Emma recognized both from the pictures. They were the mother and daughter. As he shoved their horribly beaten and malnourished bodies to the ground, Roland removed his belt and proceeded to beat them repeatedly with the buckle end. The mother tried to shield her daughter from the brunt of the blows but found it impossible to do so.

  "Stop it! Stop it!" Emma screamed, rising to her feet. "Don't you think they've had enough?! Leave them alone, damn you!"

  Her actions resulted in what she'd wished would happen. His arm halted in midair, and his full attention was given back to her.

  "What did you say?"

  "I said they've had enough! You think doing these things gives you power? If anything . . . it takes it away from you," she said as he dropped the belt to the floor, and stormed toward her. Standing face to face with absolute evil, she stood her ground, and continued, "What horrible injustice was done to you for you to be so weak as to inflict your pain on these people?"

  Roland's retaliation was expected and swift. What she had said seemed to enrage him so much that he was beside himself. Using all of his strength, Roland slapped Emma hard against the face, left to right, a total of six times.

  Despite the pain and the massive headache forming, Emma refused to crumple. Looking him in the eye, she smiled, revealing blood-stained teeth.

  "You like that? Huh? You think that's funny?" Latching his fingers to the sides of Emma's face, he squeezed, causing the cuts inside of her mouth to bleed even more.

  Her mouth was filled to the brink with blood, forcing it to ooze through the crack of her lips. Seeing the blood seemed to turn him into an even wilder animal. Emma could see it in his eyes, and it was confirmed as he pried open her mouth to collide with his. She felt as though it were a kiss with a creature who was no longer human. He slid his tongue over the gashes inside of her mouth, and Emma could hear him moaning, savoring the taste of her blood.

  When he chose to resurface, the sides of his mouth were just as drenched with red as hers. Disgusted, Emma watched as he wiped the blood from his lips and licked the tips of his fingers as if the blood was as delicious as chocolate."Satanic piece of shit," she spat, gagging at the taste of blood and his snuff. "Just couldn't hide what you truly were, could you?"

  "You're just too good to share." He said, heading toward the bedroom door. "You're all mine."

  Moments ago, when he'd fetched the women who'd been causing the disturbance, Emma had been able to loosen her binds. As Roland locked the door and turned to face her, Emma tore them from her wrists, and said, "The one thing I know about myself"—she paused, pushing through the pain in her jaw—"is that I'm not a victim. But you sure as hell might be."

  "Is that right?" He smiled, sizing her up. "This'll be over quick."

  Tom had told her if she was ever attacked to either go for the balls or the nose. Either one would bring a man to his knees.

  "Protect yourself," Tom had said. "Never let your guard down."

  Raising her fists for the fight, she guarded her midsection and shielded her face. Roland seemed to refuse to protect himself, and Emma was able to use his arrogance to her advantage. Catching him off guard, she immediately rushed forward. As he swung his fist, she ducked out of its range and bolted upright, shoving her wrist into his nose. But that wasn't enough to bring him to his knees. Driving the toe of her boot into his jewels, Emma shoved her thumb between his jaw and upper neck and watched him collapse to the carpeted floor.

  Pulling the boot from her foot, Emma retrieved the spear tip without caring as she sliced her ankle. Blood spilled from her foot as she threw herself on top of him. Latching her thighs on either side of him, Emma lowered the spear to his neck and smiled.

  "Fucking bitch!" he yelled between sobs.

  "Don't say a word, asshole. Or it's your own blood you'll be tasting. I reckon you won't enjoy the taste of your own."

  As Emma held Roland's life in her hands, she realized it wasn't going to be as easy as she thought. Looking at him now, Emma saw nothing but a scared, pathetic little boy. Her Aunt Mary's cross didn't help the situation as it began swaying between them. The cross seemed to act on its own. Foolishly, Emma's eyes became glued to the pendant. Roland snatched her hand, which held the spear, and began beating her hand against the floor to release the weapon from her grasp.

  A single moment's thought of mercy had killed her. He flipped Emma on her back and pinned her in the position he'd seemed to want her in to begin with. Straddling her, he forced Emma's legs to spread, and weighed her down, preventing her from moving an inch.

  Roland's laughter filled the room, when he noticed Emma's eyes darting toward the women in the corner.

  "They're not going to help you."

  He was right. They didn't budge. Instead of pleading for help, Emma stared at the spear tip, lying only an arm's length away. She stretched for the spear; she was so close.

  Roland ripped the cross from Emma's neck, and said, "You still believe in God, do you? He hasn't been much help these days, has He? Has He?!"

  After he tore Mary's cross away, Emma had felt as though he'd stolen any connection she'd had with her great-aunt.

  Grabbing hold of Emma's chin, he forcibly turned her face to meet his.

  "You're not gonna give up, are you? You know this would've been a lot easier if you'd just let me fuck you. I guess that's gonna have to come after you die. Easier that way."

  As Roland wrapped his hands around her neck, Emma groped at the fingers cutting off her air supply with one hand and used the other to reach for the spear, but Roland seemed to find that amusing. Roland tightened his grip, and began slamming Emma's shoulders against the floor.

  It was a strange feeling, knowing she was about to die. At first she couldn't think of anything but the pain, but then the images of all of her loved ones began flashing through her mind. One after another, a slideshow of cherished memories replayed themselves. Just as soon as Tom's sorrowed expression of rejection clouded Emma's thoughts, Roland slammed her head against the floor.

  The cross lay to her right, the spear to her left. Both were just out of reach; death was inevitable. Emma couldn't breathe, nor could she hear or even see clearly anymore. The life was being drained from her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

  "I've gotten the biggest rise," Roland said, spitting at her face, "watching the hop
e of your God saving you vanish from your eyes."

  As a last resort, Emma tried reaching for the spear once more. It was then that she caught sight of the blurry image of someone standing in the corner. It was a mirage of Emma's sweet Aunt Mary, healthy and in her prime, with her bouffant hairdo, wearing one of her yellow Sunday school dresses.

  Smiling at her niece, Mary whispered, "Give it to God, baby. Put your faith in Him."

  Hearing Mary's voice, Emma immediately stopped reaching for the spear tip and reached for the cross of their Lord instead. As she did, the same silhouettes of the man and his dog that had haunted her dream appeared on the wall.

  Just as the tips of Emma's fingers grazed the cool surface of the silver chain, the room was showered in darkness, rendering her blind.

  Effortlessly, Emma felt her spirit being lifted by an unseen force, as the word "death" echoed around her.

  Chapter 33:

  Emma

  At first, Emma couldn't sense or feel anything but the darkness surrounding her. Lying still, motionless, the heaviness of Roland weighing down her lifeless body surfaced. Emma was trapped, deep in some state of mind she had never experienced before. Inside herself, Emma was screaming at the top of her lungs, but on the outside, she was finished and lost to everything around her.

  Just as Emma began sinking deeper into the great abyss of loneliness, a faint light appeared before her. It started out small, but grew larger as it approached.

  As it pierced her sight, Emma clamped her eyes shut, longing for control so she could use her hands to shield her eyes from the blinding light. Afraid to open them, Emma peeked through her lashes and was shocked to find herself standing in the woods, the forest floor covered in snow.

  It reminded her of being at the movies; the curtain lifted and Emma waited in anticipation for what was going to happen next. Just as her mind began to wander, a buck appeared. The animal seemed to have no care in the world, and wasn't aware of Emma watching him savor what fresh grass he was blessed enough to find.

  Suddenly, he stood upright, tilting his antlers to the left. It seemed as though he heard something approaching, because soon after he stopped to listen, he took off. Wherever the deer ran, Emma was with him. No matter how fast he sprinted, he couldn't seem to shake her.