by Jon Athan
Ethan walked in, then he sat down beside Emiko. He vacantly stared at the wall in front of him, trying to keep his eyes off of his captive. He knew she wasn't breathing, but he couldn't face the tragedy. He needed time to heal.
He said, “When I was younger, my mother would always talk to me about girls. She'd tell me about the good girls and... the succubi. I liked hearing about the good girls; how they'd stick with me till the end while working so hard to raise our family. I was terrified of the succubi, though. 'They just want your money and your cum,' my mom would say. This was when I was... seven years old.” He chuckled and shook his head, then he said, “You're probably wondering if she said those exact words to a child. Well, she did. And, she'd even do stuff to me to keep me 'satisfied' until I found the right girl. She didn't want me to get caught up with a succubus, so she'd... she'd do stuff. It–It's hard to explain.”
Ethan's breathing intensified as he glanced up at the ceiling. Tears welled in his eyes and his breath broke as he thought about the past. He chuckled again – a nervous laugh to keep a semblance of control.
He continued, “As the years went by, my mother forgot about the good and the bad. She didn't care about me anymore, she only cared about grandchildren. She pushed me to this and there's no turning back. I'm so sorry, princess.”
The disturbed man stared at Emiko. He leaned closer and stroked her hair, then he closed his eyes and kissed her. He kept his eyes closed for a moment – ten seconds – in order to give her time to awaken. He opened his eyes and frowned.
Kisses could not revive the dead.
Yet, Ethan still refused to accept Emiko's death. Hibernating, he thought, she's just hibernating for the winter. He crawled down to her legs and gripped her stomach. He squeezed her baby bump as if he were molding a piece of clay.
Ethan said, “We can't lose the baby while you sleep, Emiko. I know, I know. It would devastate the both of us. Besides, I... I promised my mother I would bring her a child. I can't let her down. This is for the baby. This is for the family.”
Ethan pulled a boning knife from the back of his waistband. He inhaled deeply, then he thrust the blade into her lower abdomen. Blood spilled from the wound, streaming across her stomach and crotch. He cried as he sawed a horizontal 8-inch incision across her stomach. He pushed and pulled the blade in order to separate her abdominal muscles. Squelching and crunching sounds echoed through the room during the operation.
He placed the knife on the floor upon loosening the muscles and widening the cut. Using both hands, he dug his fingers into the gash, then he pulled his arms in opposite directions. Through the blood and tissue, he could see the uterus. He held the cut open with one hand and grabbed the knife with the other. He carefully thrust the blade into the uterus. He didn't want to use too much pressure to avoid hurting the fetus. He dragged the blade across the uterus, slicing through the amniotic sac at the same time.
Teary-eyed, he said, “I see you, baby. Daddy's coming.”
He gritted his teeth as he cut through the umbilical cord. He tossed the knife aside, then he used both hands to pull the fetus out of Emiko's body. He fell back to his ass, cradling the fetus in his arms like a newborn baby. Through his tearful eyes, he examined his baby.
The infant was the size of an avocado – 4-and-a-half inches or so. He could hold the infant in one hand. It already had a humanoid figure – arms, legs, and an erect head. Through the blood, he could see the infant's skin was red and pink. He couldn't tell if the fetus was a boy or a girl, though. Despite the lack of facts, he could make that decision for himself.
He nodded and whispered, “You–You're a girl. You're... You're my princess.”
He caressed the fetus' head as he cried. The baby did not breathe, she was clearly dead, but he refused to accept her death. Like mother, like daughter, he thought, she's a heavy sleeper, too. He held the fetus closer to his chest and swung his arms as he hummed a lullaby. He couldn't help but sob while doing so, too. He instantly fell in love with his daughter.
As he cried, he said, “I can't believe this is happening. Oh, God... I never thought I'd be able to call myself a father. The day is finally here, Emiko. We're parents. We're actually parents.” He stared down at the fetus and said, “You need a name. We'll use something from mommy and daddy, okay? Don't worry, I did some research. We'll call you Mirai – Mirai Miller. I read Mirai means 'future' in Japanese. You're our future, princess. You're everything to me.”
Drenched in blood, Ethan staggered into the basement with the tiny fetus cradled in his arms. He placed his cell phone on the laundry machine, then he flicked his finger across the screen. A love song played through the speakers. He sashayed in the center of the room, swinging his hips and shaking his shoulders. He danced with Mirai – a father-daughter dance.
He placed his chin on her head and whispered, “I love you, princess. You mean everything to me. I can't wait to watch you grow up. I'm going to give you the world. Your mother's going to lose her mind when she wakes up and sees you.” He chuckled, then he kissed her bloody forehead. As he swayed left-and-right, moving with the music, Ethan whispered, “Your mother and I... We'll love you forever, princess.”
Blood on his arms, face, and clothing, the young man continued to dance with his deceased child. Tears of joy trickled from his eyes as he thought about the future. The dungeon was grim, death plagued his home, but he saw a brighter tomorrow.
Ethan and Mirai, they danced the night away...
Chapter Eighteen
The Family Dinner
The scent of mashed potatoes, gravy, and ham drifted through the home. Water for coffee and tea boiled in a kettle on the stove. Plates, Silverware, and folded napkins were set on the table for five people. Ethan dipped his fingers into the mashed potatoes, then he tasted the dish. He dipped his finger into the homemade gravy, then he tasted the sauce.
He smirked and said, “It's perfect. It's all perfect.” As he fiddled with the knobs on the stove, he said, “My parents can be a little strange, but I think everything will be fine. I mean, whose parents aren't strange, right? I'm sure your parents are a little 'off,' too. My mom is strict but caring. Don't take it personal if she runs her mouth a bit. My father did some bad things in the past, but he's okay these days. He's not so strict, you know? My brother... I hardly know my brother. I don't know why, but we just never connected.”
He wiped his hands on his white bib apron and turned around. He smiled as he stared at the rectangular table – three seats on the long sides, one at each end.
Emiko's body was poised on the first seat to the left, a pillow placed under the small of her back. The gash on her stomach was crudely sewn shut. Her other wounds were properly bandaged, but blood still dripped from her chair and plopped on the floor. Her face was still swollen and bruised, too. Her sleeveless black dress reached down below her severed legs.
Mirai sat on a high chair beside her mother. Due to her puny size, she could not reach the chair's tray. She was slumped back in the seat, limp and lifeless. She wasn't wearing any clothes, either. Ethan couldn't find anything that would fit. Her fragile body was clean, though. She was still pink, but the blood was gone.
Ethan grabbed a towel from the counter. He knelt down under the table and cleaned the blood from the floor.
As he scrubbed, the troubled writer said, “There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Emiko. Hey, women bleed once a month, right? If they ask, we'll just tell them you're on your period. No big deal.”
He stood and tossed the towel on the counter. He spit on his hands, then he ran his fingers across Emiko's tousled hair. He tried to fix her hair to the best of his ability, but it still remained disheveled. He liked it, though.
He kissed her forehead, then he asked, “Are you ready to meet the family?”
Emiko did not respond. She sat on the seat, a vacant stare on her face. Ethan nervously chuckled as he patted her shoulder, trying to persuade her to talk. On the verge of breaking down, he grimaced and whee
zed.
“I'm ready, sweetie,” a feminine voice emerged from the back of his head.
Ethan cracked a smile – he recognized the voice. Although her lips did not move, Emiko's voice still remained in his head. It was enough to boost his confidence. He sighed in relief. He kissed Emiko's brow again, then he kissed the top of Mirai's head.
In a soft voice, he said, “They're going to love you, too, Mirai. Grandma is going to go crazy when she sees you.”
He kissed the top of her head again, then he rubbed her tiny dome – as if he were petting a dog. He returned to the stove and checked on the gravy. Despite the dead bodies sitting at the kitchen table, he continued his day as if nothing were wrong.
He said, “This is the first step towards our future. You just have to meet my family, they have to accept you, then we move on to the next step. Of course, that means I have to meet your family, too. I know your family might not like me, but we have a kid now. They have to accept me. If they don't... Well, we'll always have my family. We wouldn't want their negative energy anyway. We're on the right path, sweetie. Believe me, this is–” The door bell echoed through the home. Ethan glanced over his shoulder and whispered, “They're here...”
***
Ethan wiped his clammy palms on the towel, then he removed his bib apron. He smiled and nodded at Emiko and Mirai, trying to keep a semblance of control in front of his deceased family. He marched across the living room, then he stopped at the front door. A second – he only needed a second to mentally prepare himself.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, he opened the door and said, “It's good to see you. You all look great.”
“Of course we do,” Brooke responded, wearing a black knit dress with a bulky coat draped over her shoulders. “What did you expect? We're about to meet the future 'Mrs. Miller.' We can't show up looking like trash and setting a bad first impression.”
Ethan laughed and nodded – sure, sure. He glanced over at his father. John wore a white button-up shirt with a red tie, black trousers, and matching dress shoes. He cleaned up nicely. He held a brown bag in his right hand.
With a big grin on his face, he held the bag up and said, “I brought some nice wine and chocolate for your lover. I'm very excited to meet this fine young woman. Jeez, I feel like I'm dating again.”
Brooke rolled her eyes and said, “Of course you do. You bought wine and chocolate for all of your old whores back then, too, didn't you?”
The group became silent – an awkward silence. Brooke stood with her arms crossed as she tapped her foot while John lowered the bag and shrugged.
Ethan said, “Anyway, um... Come in, come in. Dinner is almost ready.”
Ethan watched as his parents walked into his home, wiping their feet on the doormat before stepping foot in the house. His eyes widened upon spotting a third visitor on his porch – Corey Miller.
His brother, dressed in all black as usual, fiddled with his cell phone on the porch. The young man was not dressed in formal attire and he didn't appear interested in the family dinner. He showed up, though, and that was enough to warm Ethan's heart.
Awed, Ethan said, “Corey, you're here...”
Corey glanced up at Ethan, then he huffed – whatever. He walked through the doorway without sharing a word with his older brother. The youngster took a gander around the living room as he walked towards the kitchen.
As Corey explored, Brooke and John stood near the front door and looked at the family pictures clinging to the walls. They beckoned to Ethan, inviting him to reminisce about the past. The family huddled in front of the pictures and told stories about each photo. Most of the photos depicted a happy family.
In reality, the family had been broken and distant since Ethan was born. A picture could tell a million lies.
Corey sneered in disgust and pinched his nose as he walked through the living room. The putrid stench of death pummeled his nostrils. He stopped in the archway, one foot in the kitchen and the other in the living room – frozen. He clenched his jaw and swallowed loudly as he stared at the dead bodies sitting at the kitchen table as if everything were normal. He sighed and shook his head.
He glanced over his shoulder and shouted, “Mom! He did it again!”
Near the front door, Brooke furrowed her brow and asked, “Did what?” She glanced at Ethan and asked, “What did you do this time, boy?”
“I–I just did what you told me. I... I did what you told me to do.”
“What the hell did you do, Ethan?”
As Ethan indistinctly stammered, Brooke jostled her way past her son. John frowned and followed his wife. The family stood in the kitchen archway. Father, mother, and son shared grimaces of disgust. They did not appear surprised, though. They didn't gag or cry, they were just appalled and disappointed.
John shook his head and said, “Goddammit. I thought it was different this time, Ethan. I thought it was real. Look at the mess you've made, boy. You cut her and you...” His eyes widened upon catching a glimpse of the fetus. Shocked, he turned towards his son and asked, “Did you take the damn baby out by yourself?”
Ethan stuttered, “I–I saved the baby, dad. Her name is Mirai. It means 'future' in Japanese. I saved her to–to save my future. Everything is okay, though. It all worked out... right?”
John frowned and shook his head, disappointed. He walked around the kitchen table and examined the bodies.
He said, “Shit, they're really dead. They must have died recently, too. I bought this expensive wine for nothing.”
“Well, you can use it to get shit-faced while you clean up his mess,” Brooke suggested.
“You want me to clean this? Again? This is a lot of work, Brooke. He needs to start taking responsibility for his actions. He needs to learn how to clean his messes by himself.”
Brooke sternly said, “You're going to clean it up. What else are you good for, John? Hmm? You're a has-been crime scene cleaner. You don't have a job anymore and your 'specialty' is useless around the house since you don't clean. The least you can do is clean up your son's mess.”
John sighed, irked. He had been cleaning Ethan's messes for years, disposing dead bodies, cleaning forensic evidence, and fixing his son's mistakes. He even helped him get rid of Karen's torso. He glanced over at Ethan. He considered leaving his son with the mess, but he couldn't abandon his family. He couldn't go against the matriarch, either. Yet again, he decided to use his skills to clean his son's mess.
As John reached for Emiko's body, Ethan lurched into the kitchen, shoving his way past his mother and brother. He slid to a stop at the table and held his arm between his father and his lover.
Teary-eyed, he asked, “What are you doing?”
John said, “She's dead, Ethan. You can't keep her in your home, so I'm going to get rid of her. Are all of her belongings in the basement.”
“Y–Yes... I have some... some pictures of her in my room, too. But, you don't have to–”
“I'll get to that later. You'll probably need some new computers. Don't worry, I'll take care of it.”
Ethan grabbed his father's wrist and said, “No, no, no. Please, don't do this. She's okay, dad. She's fine. I mean, if she looks sick, we can just take her to the hospital, right? Right?”
John stared at his son with a set of disappointed eyes. He was genuinely hurt by his son's mental condition and his lack of aid. He could clean Ethan's mess, but he couldn't cleanse his mind – and that fact hurt him. Being a helpless parent was painful.
He said, “No. Go to your mother. I'll take care of this.”
Ethan reluctantly released his father's wrist and stepped aside. He stepped in reverse until he bumped into his mother. His eyes welled with tears as he watched his father. The man lifted Emiko's torso off of the chair, then he lugged her into the basement – grunting and groaning with each step. Emiko was petite, but her lifeless body was heavy.
Corey muttered, “I told you this was going to happen.” He sighed, then he said, “I'm leaving. Alright, mom
? I'll be home by midnight.”
Brooke casually waved and said, “Go on. Stay out of trouble.”
Corey took one final glance at Ethan. He could see his brother was sad and confused, but he couldn't muster a shred of sympathy. His older brother was a psychotic serial killer who frequently tortured and killed innocent people. Family protected family, but the idea could only go so far. He sighed and walked away, leaving his brother to wallow in his sorrow.
Brooke approached the table. She puckered her lips and shook her head as she stared at the fetus. So close, she thought, we were so damn close. She grabbed the nape of Mirai's neck with her fingertips and lifted her from the high chair. With her arm extended forward, away from her body as if she were carrying a soiled diaper, she approached the basement door.
Ethan asked, “She's dead, too?”
Brooke nodded and said, “Yes. Darling, go to the living room and lie down. I'll come talk to you in a bit.” Ethan held his hands over his mouth and sobbed. Brooke smiled and said, “Everything's going to be okay, sweetie. Don't worry about it. I'll take good care of her, okay? Go on. Give me a minute with your father.”
Ethan gazed at his daughter, trying to memorize every nook and cranny on her figure. Heartbroken, he reluctantly followed his mother's directions.
He shambled into the living room and mumbled, “I love you, Mirai. I'm sorry for everything I did.”
As her son left her sight, Brooke leaned into the basement and said, “Get rid of this one, too, John.”
She nonchalantly tossed the fetus down the stairs, causing the infant to roll to the bottom of the steps. Sneering in disgust, she vigorously washed her hands in the sink. She breathed deeply, as if she were preparing for a performance, then she strutted to the living room with a fake smile plastered on her face.
***