The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology

by Nikita Slater

  “And you,” I whisper, standing and walking around to Liam. They're tied, back to back. His dark eyes narrow as I kneel in front of him, rivulets of dried blood staining his forehead. “I hope you find a very special place in hell.” I'm compelled to rip the tape from his scruffy face, and he cries out. “You little cunt! Crazy fucking bitch! You'll go down for this!”

  I smile, though I'm sure it doesn't meet my eyes as I shake my head. “I don't care.”

  The pliers are in one hand, the paring knife in the other as I look at this man with contempt. Every ounce of rage and discontent that I've felt over the years are presented, right now, in this moment. My hatred is on the table, and it isn't going anywhere. I'm going to finish this.

  He can't cry out anymore once I've wrestled the pliers into his mouth. He can only groan as I clamp down onto his tongue, pressing the knife against the muscle as I stare into his eyes.

  “The words that have dripped from this tongue have scarred me for too long. You're a monster.”

  Sawing into his tongue makes me sick, yet at the same time, I feel the sadness escape. It's been caged for so long. I couldn't stop holding on.

  Some bridges are meant to be burnt, and in this case, must be obliterated. This family, this existence – this perfect little package they've managed to wrap us all in is being exposed. This is my destiny.

  I examine the tongue as he sobs uncontrollably in front of me. My eyes flit towards him, and I watch in amazement as this person, this creature, falls apart in front of me. I've gone this far at this point, and though I should stop, I don't. I murder the two people that destroyed me. Slitting their throats and watching them bleed. Suddenly, I realize that this wasn't how it was meant to be.

  The white rug in the living room blooms red, and I think about what mom would think. She'd freak out. She loved that rug. And Liam... he would stand here, shaking his head with his hands on his hips.

  I fall to my knees, my empty eyes staring towards mom and Liam. They're tied together, the duct tape is taut between them as they both hunch over. Blood staining their necks and chests, and no life to be seen as they stare at their laps wide eyed.

  “Is this what needed to be done?”

  The voice should startle me, but it doesn't. Something tells me that I'm stuck in a dream.

  Red and blue lights illuminate the room through the windows and I hug my knees to my chest.

  “Twigs?”

  Chapter 13

  “Twigs?”

  I feel like I weigh a thousand pounds. I can't lift my arms, or my legs. My chest feels like its being crushed, and my throat scratches and burns with each breath.

  Frowning, I peer between my heavy eyelids. The person is blurry, but the name tells me it's Virgie.

  “Oh! She opened her eyes!”

  I hear several other familiar voices, but none of the scary ones.

  When I wake up, I'm smothered with kisses and hugs, well wishes, and gifts. My family from the bar all signed a card. Later in the evening, Virgie stays and I open up to him about everything.

  Hours later, a detective arrives to my room, and I make a statement. One that will change everything.

  Her brown eyes scan mine. They're hard to read. “When did this begin?”

  “I was sixteen.”

  “And she knew? Your mother?”

  I nod.

  “Do you have proof?”

  Staring down at my legs, I think. “Between text messages and Christmas cards, yes. I do. I kept all of my old phones, and all of the letters.”

  She smiles, and her eyes do too as she nods. “Good. Let's take him down.”

  Chapter 14

  My monster was a giant during a time that I was small. His words were venomous, and his eyes were smoldering reminders never to cross him. He was powerful, and respected. I was weak. And broken. He spoke well, and had heavy, steady hands. My voice shakes along with my body; quivering and quaking as I watch them place the handcuffs around his wrists. Mom turns, her eyes rimmed with red as she glares at me. She wears all black as she mourns the loss of her husband.

  A hand squeezes my shoulder, and I smile at my attorney. “Well,” she says. “We did it.”

  “What about her?” I ask, my eyes never leaving my mother’s.

  She shrugs, “She moves away, far away from this place. Don't worry about her. She's to stay away from you.”

  Sighing, I force a smile before standing.

  She nods, escorting me to the door. Once we're outside, she turns me in her arms and hugs me. My body falls into the embrace. “Thank you, for everything,” I whisper, and she sighs before releasing me and grasping my arms.

  “Us girls need to stick together.”

  Three Years Later

  Throughout the past three years, I’ve grown more than I ever thought possible, but it didn’t mean that my demons died forever. I had to face them, for the first time in my life with a clear head, and without Liam to fall back on. For years, he molded my mind in ways that would affect me for the rest of my life.

  I’m not sure what happened during my coma, and I refuse to believe that Rowan was simply a figment of my imagination. Especially when I found him in his final resting place. It took me a while but, eventually, I figured it out.

  Rowan Peter Gallagher – Born September 10th, 1975, died December 31st, 1995. Sampson, the crow, led me here. He was barely twenty years old. He died far away from here, while backpacking in Europe. He was survived by his Nana, and his parents, Derek and Cynthia.

  “Kind, exceptional young man” is what the obituary read. He was loved. Very loved, judging by the roses that surround his grave. It’s December 12th, days away from the anniversary of his death.

  Sampson still follows me, and he sits on a grave nearby, haunting me with his yellow eyes. I smile at him as I pluck a blade of grass from the earth. I’m on my lunch break, eating a sandwich as I sit quietly with Rowan. He happened to be buried at my favorite spot, several plots away from the weeping angel.

  He wasn’t one of them, like he said. He was an enigma, a spirit that must’ve decided to follow me during one of my visits – a friend that I’ll never forget. I guess when you come around these places enough, the souls sometimes stick, and there he stayed, in a special place in my heart.

  In the years since my revelation, Liam has been in prison and my mother was forced to leave her home for fear of embarrassment. I haven’t seen her since. Liam will continue to serve his sentence for twelve more years. That is, if he doesn’t get probation. An early release would normally threaten my healing, but I’m not afraid anymore. If he ever touches me again, I’ll make my dream a reality and cut his tongue out of his fucking head. He got what he deserved. Lost his career, and now he sits in prison to think about what he did to me… the life he stole.

  I still visit Gunther at the old folks’ home, and play at Ole Virgie’s, and visit with Earl as I wait for the bus. The city still moves at its own pace, except it doesn’t make me dizzy anymore, like it used to. My gallery is several blocks from my house, and its there that I paint, play guitar, and release the demons that litter my mind. I’m not a hundred percent, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but I’m getting better. Sometimes you have to get through hell to wake up, look around, and realize that you only have one life to live. I can’t control the past, but I can control the future.

  “Hello?”

  The voice startles me, causing me to jump to my feet. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I say, reaching down to collect my things while she approaches Rowan.

  Her eyes are glazed over, and she carries a cane. She looks like a nice, older woman. Gray hair styled to perfection, and red lips. She wears a long jacket as her feeble form sways from side to side.

  “Did you know my grandson?”

  I shake my head slowly as I watch the crow land on the old woman’s shoulder. “N-no…” I whisper. She tilts her head to the side, as if she’s listening intently… to something.

  “That’s funny,” she remar
ks, hobbling the rest of the way to his grave. “He says he knows you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  She laughs. “He thinks it’s funny, you playing dumb. It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me. His mother never wanted to believe me, either.”

  “About…?”

  She chuckles, her white eyes finding mine. “Silly girl. He helped you, yes?”

  My lips part, but I’m not sure what to say.

  “Rowan always liked helping people. Especially pretty girls, isn’t that right?” She pats the crow’s head, and my heart palpitates. I have never told a soul what happened. “I thought the bird’s name was Sampson?”

  “Sampson?” She says incredulously. “That was his grandfather’s name.”

  “So the crow is…”

  “My grandson,” she responds simply.

  Leaning down, she places the basket on the ground before retrieving a beer from it. Opening it, she places it on his grave before grabbing two more from the basket. “Here,” she says, handing me one of the beers, she turns and sits on the bench a couple of feet away, the crow, Rowan, never leaving her side. “Come. Sit. Let’s have a beer.” Leaning her cane against the bench, she opens the beer while I’m frozen in place. “C’mon, girl! I don’t have much time left on this dreaded earth to wait!”

  I laugh as she finishes another story about Rowan as the crow pecks at the ground in front of us. She sighs. “He was too young to go, but even in death, he’s always made himself known.”

  “I wish that I would’ve known him,” I say, reminiscent tears sitting in my eyes.

  “Oh,” she says, “You two would’ve been trouble.”

  “Why did he help me?” I ask, and she stares at the crow momentarily before responding.

  “From what I can tell, you’re a special girl.”

  I smile at her, though she can’t see me. She swigs the remainder of her beer, and calls Rowan, the crow to her. She turns and offers me a smile before telling me to visit “her little house right over the hill.”

  The moon is visible as I stay at his grave, placing a hand over the grass and closing my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “No sweat,” the voice says, and I smile at the sound of his voice as the memories of him and I rush to my mind.

  Opening my eyes, I see that he’s right there, in all of his glory, but only for a moment. He fades away, and a weight feels like it goes with him. My heart feels full, and for the first time in a long time, I can breathe.

  As for Rowan and I… until we meet again.

  This story is for the lost. I hope that my words give you a light.

  About the Author

  B. Bennett (formerly known as Bonny Capps) is best known for her novel, “Deliverance for Amelia”, which became a bestseller in the US and the UK.

  Her style is based on parts of her Texan upbringing, and refined through her travels across America. She bridges the gulf between the everyday and ordinary, and the extreme and horrific.

  A glimpse inside her writing is a glimpse inside a mind capable of showing readers tremendous humanity, and the ultimate monstrosities.

  B is happy to interact with readers, and can be found on social media.

  www.facebook.com/bonnycappsauthor

  www.facebook.com/B.BennettAuthor

  Twitter: @BonnyC_Author

  Other Books by Bonny Capps/B. Bennett:

  “The Boy in the Mirror”

  “Jay Creedy”

  The Killer Series:

  “Deliverance for Amelia” (Killer Book One), “GABRIEL” (Killer Book Two), and “Relentless” (Killer Book Three)

  The SNUFF Series:

  “SNUFF” (Book One), “Snuffed” (Part One), and “Snuffed” (Part Two)

  The Happily Never After Collection:

  “Stranger”