The Eighth

by Wytovich, Stephanie

  “Maybe he’s right,” Rhea said. “Maybe I am going crazy.”

  The voice in her head laughed. “Or maybe crazy is exactly how you should be reacting.”

  Rhea struggled to silence the thoughts in her head, and when they quieted, she turned off the car lights. Caden’s parent’s house was a few yards in front of her and she didn’t want to be seen as she drove by.

  She coasted down the hill with her window down and her foot lightly tapping the brakes. The cold air hit her hard and she winced as it dried out her eyes. Snowflakes flew into her mouth and melted on her tongue like soft, wet kisses as she relished the memory of what it felt like to have lips pressed against her own. Rhea swallowed the winter chill and stuck her head out the window. His driveway was a few feet ahead and the pit of dread she’d been holding in her chest started to sink down into her stomach.

  What if he wasn’t there?

  “He’s not.”

  “He has to be,” she said, not knowing what she would do if he wasn’t.

  She eased forward and felt a wave of tension grip her chest. Not a single light shone through the windows. Not even the faint glow of a TV screen. There were no cars in the driveway—and she imagined none in the garage—because there was no one home. The house looked as dead as her relationship now felt.

  Whatever breath Rhea held disappeared as reality dug its knife into her back. She pulled off the side of the road and collapsed in tears against the steering wheel. She felt like such a fool.

  The fist of depression hit her hard then. It numbed her teeth, froze her tongue, and forced her to recall every moment of intimacy like some cruel joke. Every kiss, every breath, every embrace turned into something vile, something wicked. Waves of nausea swept through her stomach as the purge moved into her chest, lighting small fires of regret. Her heart, heavy with sorrow, withered in its flame, shrinking like a pressed flower inside a lover’s diary.

  Rhea might not have been dead, but a part of her certainly died She could feel a difference about her, like something or someone else stepped into her body. She was cold, numb. Most importantly though, she was angry.

  Caden killed her the second he chose Jayme instead.

  “Told you so.”

  “Stop it,” she said, brushing tears from her eyes. Rhea pulled down the visor and wiped away the black streams that ran down her cheeks. Two bloodshot eyes stared back at her.

  “I don’t know who I am without you, Caden,” she said.

  After seven years of loving the same man, Rhea didn’t know if she knew how to be alone. All she knew was that it hurt and that there was no coming back from this.

  “Still feel the need to see them fuck, or can we skip the charades?”

  “Yes. I need to see it. I need to know that I’m right, that it’s all really over.”

  Her hands shook as she jammed the key into the ignition. Skip the charades? No. She had to see it. Needed to see it. The idea of Caden being with another woman, no matter how obvious it seemed, just wasn’t possible until she saw it with her own eyes. There was no way he could touch another girl or promise the life he promised to anyone other than her. This had to be a mistake. One big misunderstanding.

  “Then why do you know it’s not?”

  The countryside became a blur of black and white as Rhea sped down the road. Her car swerved left and right as it danced on the ice, and her wipers fought hard to push away the snow that collected on her windshield.

  Rhea drove until a bright light enveloped her vision, but the sound of a car horn broke the spell. Instinctively, she swerved to her right and went off the road, her car bouncing against the loose gravel. When she came to a stop, her body shaking and sore from where the seatbelt dug into her chest, she noticed the front end of the car was smoking. A hiss crawled out from underneath the hood as puffs of white rose into the night. In her rearview mirror, she saw a man put his hand out the car window and flip her off.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up.”

  Rhea rubbed the back of her neck and got out of her car.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m exactly where I need to be,” she said.

  To her right, Matthew’s house stood on the hill. Led Zeppelin blared from the outside speakers, and Rhea heard the familiar screams and chants of her used-to-be friends. She ached to go up there like nothing was wrong and pretend that the past couple of weeks hadn’t happened, but she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t fake anything, not her feelings, not her words, and if Caden had cast her out, then the rest of them surely had as well.

  Rhea walked the line of the road kicking at loose gravel. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans and then bit her lip to take her mind off the pain in her chest.

  Caden’s truck was parked off to the left.

  Rhea ran over to it and stood on her tiptoes so she could cup her hands against the window to see past the tinted glass. Inside was the coffee mug she’d left there earlier today and next to it was Jayme’s jacket.

  Chapter 3

  Paimon prided himself on Jayme’s jacket. It was the perfect addition to sever whatever sanity remained in the young girl’s head. It was cruel, leading her on like this, but Paimon wasn’t one for the blood and physicality of collection. At least not anymore. He liked to work psychologically now. And in many ways, it made the chase more interesting.

  But tonight he’d have to play it by ear. Typically by now he’d have already read up on his victim’s past and learned all her ticks and idiosyncrasies, her every weakness and vulnerability. He didn’t like to work when he got on site, so he’d study her habits, familiarize himself with her emotions, and start to feed on her pain by carefully dissecting her mind. Paimon would make light suggestions here or there, but by the time it came to restructuring her thoughts, he knew his victim better than she knew herself. At that point, he was just along for the ride. And for the crash.

  And oh the crash. He loved nothing more than seeing a beautiful woman destroy herself just as Marissa did all those years ago. To him, tragedy and beauty worked well together. It was comforting to see another’s regret spattered all over their face, especially when it was their own blood. It made Paimon feel good and less alone, but it was hell on his guilt. Not to mention his body.

  He didn’t like killing women, but he certainly didn’t not like it either. Ever since he was eighteen, the essence of a woman had eluded him. He tried to gain their acceptance, once or twice he even tried to gain their affection, but they always looked down on him as if he wasn’t enough of a man. It’s why he cherished the moment when the last piece of their soul escaped from their mouths.

  He imagined it now.

  Saw how it eased out their delicate lips in a soft whisper that said “I’m sorry.”

  But that was the problem.

  They were always sorry.

  They just never meant it.

  Paimon lay on the forest ground, chewing on a thin piece of grass that tasted like a sweet onion. His eyes were closed, but the faint glow of the moon shone through his eyelids and painted the night a dismal shade of blue-gray. Patches of snow salted the ground, but he liked the way it felt against his skin, cold and wet. It was a touch, one he’d almost forgotten, and he reveled in the soft puffs of white that fell against his face with the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

  He couldn’t see Rhea’s face, but he could feel the anger and betrayal as it began to brood inside of her. She was devastated. That much was clear. Now he just had to break her.

  “What were you expecting to find?” he said.

  Her thoughts tasted like sugar as they spiraled in her head. Paimon tongued at them, smiling as he fed. Her madness pleased him.

  “Not this.”

  “Stop fooling yourself, Rhea. She’s better for him anyways.”

  Rage. It gave a kick to the taste.

  “No, she’s not.”

  A breeze swam through the barren trees, dodging branches and moonlight as it tussled his hai
r. The gentle sway of the wind against his cheek brought back vibrant memories of a life once lived, and for a split second, the temptation to relive those happenings, not matter how vicious or unfair they were, almost won.

  Paimon sighed.

  Spiced air crawled up his nose and freedom hung in the distance like a morbid siren song reciting its lies. He grabbed at the ground and dug his nails into the almost-frozen soil, burying the growl in his chest. Grit made a home in the creases of his palms and dusted at the hair on his flesh with the lightness of a spider’s legs.

  If he broke concentration, he would lose her.

  But if he dragged out the inevitable, he could enjoy the scenery a bit longer, pretend that he was human again, that God had given him a second chance out here in the night.

  Paimon stifled a laugh.

  God never listened to him.

  Never heard a single prayer or cry for help.

  At least that’s what he forced himself to believe.

  The alternative hurt too much.

  In the end, the choice was simple. Paimon may have hated his job, but any time he could spend on mortal ground was worth the torture, not to mention the regret.

  He closed his eyes hard and felt his lids scrunch up together. If he kept them pressed like this, the world around him seemed dimmer and less inviting. It was a world he was used to, and comfort sought him out in the blackness.

  He needed to think of something fast that would tip the scales in his favor and keep her on track. Rhea teetered on the edge of madness, but being miserable wasn’t a sin. It wouldn’t land her in Hell.

  Paimon pushed through her memories and looked for something he could use. He witnessed her and Caden’s first kiss—it was a light brushing of lips coated with anxiety—and watched as Rhea laid in his arms listening to intimacies exchanged through his bated breaths. But not once did Paimon catch them in bodily union. The two of them had never made love.

  There we go.

  “I wonder, though. If she’s not better, then why is he fucking her instead of you?”

  Paimon felt the doubt coursing through her mind as she contemplated what the voice insinuated. He laughed as he focused on the strain of suspicion and held it in place. How was it that women could never tell when they were being manipulated? They trusted too much and feared too little. No wonder everyone blamed Eve. It was the obvious choice to pin the fall of man on the female.

  Rhea began to pace.

  Here it comes.

  And then she started up the hill to the house.

  Chapter 4

  Five minutes, she promised herself.

  In and out.

  Rhea trudged up the driveway, her heart lodged in her throat. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Her chest tensed as if strings to an imaginary corset tightened near her breasts. She gasped for air, tried to force herself into taking slow, deep breathes, but hysteria settled in.

  With shaky hands, she pulled another cigarette out from her crumbled-up pack of Camels, slid it between her lips. Rhea fumbled with the lighter, her fingers like pale icicles slipping over the thumbwheel as she tried to get it to ignite.

  When the flame started to dance, Rhea all but cried.

  “There we go,” she whispered. Her eyes swelled with tears.

  Rhea inhaled and let the smoke collect in her mouth. Nicotine crawled down her windpipe and spread disease through her lungs, but the sweet taste of almost-death was what she craved. She didn’t smoke out of habit. She did it because she knew it would slowly kill her.

  And in that she found peace.

  “You know who else is finding a piece right now?”

  Rhea tilted her head back and pushed out the smoke. Her jean jacket felt like an ice blanket against her bony shoulders, and no matter how hard she rubbed her arms, she couldn’t radiate any heat. Or disappear.

  The ground was wet with snow and she fell more than once, stumbling as if something—or someone? —was trying to hold her back. Her black boots were scuffed and covered in mud, and her knees were scraped and bloodied underneath her pants. The wind bit at her skin with jagged teeth. Her cheeks reddened with winter’s rouge.

  Halfway up the hill she noticed the glowing embers of the fire-pit that she’d sat around a dozen times. There didn’t seem to be a lot of people outside. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to get too close. The dated farmhouse might have been big enough to hide her body, but not her curiosity.

  Rhea sank into the snow-covered hillside and watched from a distance. The porch lights bathed the back of the house in a fluorescent polish, but in the shadows she could watch without compromising herself. Had she not known what she was looking for, she wouldn’t have been able to find it. The fact that she’d spent most of her life with these people worked to her advantage. She knew their mannerisms, their tones, their habits. Sorting them apart from each other seemed almost too easy.

  The heel of her boot sank deeper into the ground and she pulled it out with a heavy slosh. Ugh. Her socks were soaked and no matter how hard she shook her left foot, she couldn’t feel anything. Numb or asleep, it didn’t make a difference. Her leg might as well have been dead.

  “Hey guys. Whose turn is it to work the fire?” someone shouted.

  Rhea’s teeth chattered and she threw her hand over her jaw to drown out the sound.

  A boy in a black and blue plaid shirt walked into the light. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll help you,” said a girl.

  Rhea would have recognized those voices anywhere. She’d memorized Caden’s voice the first time she heard it, and Jayme’s…well, she’d been listening to her voice since kindergarten. She was practically her sister. More of a sister than Rhea’s own had ever been.

  Caden picked up a couple of logs from the pile and made his way over to the half-dead fire. He threw them into the pit one by one and jabbed them with a spoke. Rhea watched his eyes light on fire as sparks flew in the air.

  It shouldn’t hurt like this.

  Her chest burned.

  “Maybe what you have—what you had—with Caden wasn’t love at all,” the voice said.

  Rhea bit her lip and chewed on the inside of her cheek. Jayme threw her red solo cup into the fire and laughed as the flames ate at the rim.

  “This feels good,” Jayme said, closing her eyes to the heat. Caden moved behind her and put his arms around her waist and into the front pockets of her jeans.

  “Not as good as you do,” he said.

  Their auras pulsed the moment they touched. A halo of red—the color of lust—surrounded them, and even though Rhea turned her head away from the scene, the color still burned her eyes. Go away, go away, go away. Sin was everywhere she looked: blue, green, indigo. It lit up the farm in swirls of sloth, envy, and wrath. She hated seeing the worst in people, but she couldn’t turn it off either. Ever since she was little, her sight came with a price. She saw the evil that people were really made of, and while she wanted to believe that there was good in everyone, it didn’t hurt that she knew what their demons were at first glance, either.

  “I thought he only went red for me,” she whispered.

  “Funny thing, lust is,” said the voice. “It always fucks you in the end.”

  The shine of the fire set Jayme’s mahogany curls aflame as Caden tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He seemed so soft with her, careful, giving. Rhea couldn’t think of a time when he ever touched her like that. With them it had always been a hunger, a violent taking of what was needed. It was part of the reason they’d never made love.

  “Because there wasn’t any love there,” said the voice.

  Caden titled Jayme’s chin up to meet his own, then leaned down to brush his lips against hers. The smoke from the fire clung to them like a blanket, and Rhea watched them kiss as the knife dug itself into her back a little deeper.

  As much as she wanted to look away, to skulk back into the shadows and lose herself, she couldn’t. Rhea made herself watch, and she committed every to
uch, every whisper, every look to memory. She didn’t want to forget how this betrayal felt, and if she couldn’t have love, then she’d glady welcome in hate.

  “But it’s not them you hate is it?”

  Rhea stared at the ground and fought back tears.

  “No.”

  She hated herself.

  And in admitting that, her world turned purple, a dark royal hue that was almost black. Wrath invaded her, and she welcomed it in.

  Fuck you, Caden.

  He moved his hand up Jayme’s shirt, and she moaned like a nymph in heat. Even in a sweatshirt, her 36Cs were unmistakable, and Rhea sank into her jacket to cover up what she knew was insecurity. She wasn’t one to flaunt what she had, but even if she were, she didn’t have much to show.

  “Seeing green, now are we?” said the voice.

  The music stopped and silence suffused the air.

  Rhea’s legs ached as she squatted on the stiff ground. Shin splints crawled up her legs, tugged at her tendons. Waves of pain spread through her limbs. The cold made it worse and her entire body felt foreign.

  Caden released Jayme’s ponytail and stared as a waterfall of curls trailed down her shoulders. He kissed her with an insatiable lust, his hunger obvious in the vibrations around him. From what she could see, it didn’t look like love, and while the idea of Caden being with another woman killed her, if it was just for sex, it hurt a little worse.