by J. D. Dexter
All external sex organs have been carved from the bodies. One man, one woman. Taking a handful of steps closer to the lifeless bodies, I see two heads sitting on the floor behind the slumped stumps of bodies. My mind stutters, little blips of time that are more like seeing polaroid pictures develop: at first nothing, a blank canvas, then slowly colors, shapes, and perspective bleed into the frame.
I can finally see the faces of my parents again, and I will carry these images forever. The beloved faces of my parents are sitting on the floor, directly behind their slumped, desecrated bodies. The expressions on their familiar faces forever etched onto my mind, heart, and soul. Horrified shock is the last thing my cherished parents share with me.
Pushing against the impending break down and slide into oblivion, I raise my eyes to meet the broken ones of Hunter and Josh. Something behind them snags my attention, stalling my welcome slide into unconsciousness.
A message, written in crimson blood, drips down the wall separating the kitchen from the remainder of the space:
THIS WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED HAD YOU STAYED LIKE I SAID.
Rage, pure and unadulterated, fires through my veins. My vision explodes on a burst of white, the Spectrum flaring to vibrant life in something I’ve never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I can see phantom images moving around the space in my home.
A woman, as tall as I am, the space around her head a light-consuming obsidian, flits around my dining room and living room as if she’s a little fairy dancing to the music only she can hear. Her arms lift and twirl around her swirling body, her hands flinging something towards the far end of the room where I stand next to the decimated bodies of my parents.
Crimson splashes on the walls, smearing down the curtains like a bad Jackson Pollack painting. Every time her hands cut through the air, more blood flies from my parents’ bloodied managed forms from across the room. I can see the destruction happening again, only this time everything is in brilliant Techni-Color, HD detail.
I look down at my sides, seeing the colors surrounding my parents begin to pale, the vibrancy of their souls fading with each twitch of the killer’s hands. My only solace right now is knowing that both my mom and dad are in the presence of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I see the dancing woman slowly come to a stop between the table and the countertop bar. She picks something up from the countertop, bending over the kitchen table, it looks as if she’s writing a note. She signs with a flourish, throwing the pen across the table. It slides over the top, before falling to the floor by the chair. The pen is still on the floor by the leg of the chair.
Walking towards the table, I feel like I’ve aged centuries in the short amount of time I’ve been back in my house. I step between the frozen bodies of Hunter and Josh. Their heavy breathing the only disruption in the air around me. I pull the piece of outdated mail to me, reading the short, terse message the killer left for me.
Fyndrexia, you have disappointed me. I have removed your parents, leaving me as your only family. Come back to Ankarrah, or I will begin taking everyone else from you. –Mother
Anixia is the killer. That bat-crap crazy woman from Ankarrah, Maybe Mommy, killed my parents.
“I’m going to kill her,” I say it softly, the promise branding itself on my heart.
“We’re going to kill her,” Hunter says from directly behind me, his body stiff, hands clenched at his sides.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Kill who?” Josh asks, his focus still on the living room.
“Anixia,” Hunter and I say in unison.
Josh turns to face us, his skin a little green. “Who’s that?”
“Maybe Mommy,” I tell him, curling my rage around me like a favorite blanket.
He just stares at me.
“She said she’s my birth mother.”
“What?! Where did you find her?” His surprise is evident.
“Ankarrah.” I walk back into the living room. My heart steeled against what I need to do. I hear Hunter give Josh a brief rundown of what happened while we were gone. Josh’s voice rises in direct proportion to his disbelief.
I make my way back over to the disfigured bodies that are my parents. Searching for the left hands of both Mom and Dad. Scattered across the floor, I find a number of fingers, but none of them are the ones I want. I begin ripping couch cushions up, moving everything I can think of, looking under and through the gore.
Hunter’s hands encase my upper arms, gentling me. “Baby, what are you looking for?”
“Left hand ring fingers,” I say, my mind focused on finding them.
“Why? I can help you look, I just need to know what you’re looking for,” he offers.
“I need their rings.” My voice breaking slightly before I get it back under control. I shove my breakdown into a titanium box to be dealt with later.
“Okay. We can find them.” He lets me go, moving farther into the scene that will hold my nightmares.
We’re both bent over, skin stained red up to our wrists, when there’s a heavy knock on the open front door frame. “Finley!” Brian’s voice crowds through the stifling space.
“I’ve got it,” Josh answers. The murmuring of masculine voices is drowned out as the air conditioning kicks on. The swirl and stench of death rises in the new air currents.
“Finley, I’ve found your dad’s ring.” Hunter lifts the slim circle of silver, the sun catching it, briefly dazzling my eyes with the reflection.
“Thanks. I still need to find mom’s,” I mutter, looking in the corner near the TV.
I lift a mass of bloodied tissue, what I dimly recognize as breast tissue from the nipple and areola. The skin and tissue jiggle ever so slightly, bringing to mind Mom always whining about her lack of boobs. The memory makes me chuckle softly. Hearing the desperation tinting the laughter, I cut it off. The pall of death once again oppressive in the room.
I put the excised breast tissue aside. A glint of diamond catches my eye. Just out of reach under the TV console, I sink down onto my knees. Barely noticing the chill as blood soaks through the thin layer of my yoga pants covering my legs, I slide my palm under the cabinet. I feel the diamond ring under my palm. Too tired to stand again, I simply pull my hand back out with the blood-drenched diamond clenched in my fist and turn around and sit down. My butt splashes in the blood surrounding me before soaking into the remainder of my pants.
Using my blood-stained hands, I try to wipe the ring clean. I need the blood gone from the ring. I wipe it on my tank, merely smearing the blood on my clothes, the center stone still covered in thick red. Tears crowd my throat, my breath soughing through my chest.
I rub the ring over my shirt, over and over. I don’t even notice that I’ve cut my own skin, adding my own blood to the surface of the ring, until Hunter steps over to me, a wad of tissues in his hand. He takes the ring from my rigid fingers, before pressing the make-shift bandage to my cut.
“Hold this here. I’ll go clean your mom’s ring.” He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss to my forehead. He gets up, pulling the other guys with him into the kitchen, their footsteps making splashing noises. I lean my head back against the wall, trying to slow my breathing, quiet my mind.
Nothing works to clear my mind. None of the tips and tricks I learned in all my years of education do anything but pile on more darkness. All I can see is the devastation of my parents being ripped from my life. Their pain and fear soaked into the very room, filling it just as surely as their blood has soaked into the floor.
I got them killed. I might as well have been holding the knife that ripped through their flesh. I’m going to annihilate Anixia, doing to her far more than she ever thought possible to inflict on another person. I’ve worked on bodies for close to twenty years. I have an intimate knowledge of how to inflict pain and torture. She will beg for a mercy that never comes.
“Finley.” Hunter’s sharp tone pulls my attention. He’s standing between the dining and living ro
oms, his big hands holding my mom’s ring.
“Yes?” My voice flat, even to my own ears.
“Your parents wouldn’t want you to do that. To tarnish your own soul for them.” His soft voice floats on the air to me.
“They’re dead. They don’t care what I do anymore.”
“Yes, they do. They’re waiting for you in heaven.”
“They’re going to be waiting a long time, because after I’m done, I’m going to end up in Hell.”
“Exactly. They don’t want that for you. They’re beyond pain, grief, sorrow. They would want you to go on living your life, being the good person you are,” he tries to reach me. His words merely irritations against my battered heart.
“She killed them, Hunter. Ripped them apart like they didn’t matter. You want me to just let that go?” Anger seeps into my body. I can’t believe he would ask that of me. Adrenaline floods my weary body.
“No. Of course not. But I also don’t want you to lose yourself while you do what you need to.” I feel my heart steady at his answer.
“I don’t know if I can do that.” I shake my head.
“Will you let me help you?” he asks, his eyes serious. “I can keep you safe, I can be your lifeline.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll help too,” Brian says from behind Hunter, his eyes blue flames of barely banked rage. Josh nods his head, his arms crossed over his chest, struggling to contain his own horror and fury. I couldn’t budge these two with a wrecking ball, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
“Yes,” I repeat.
We’ll end her.
To be continued.
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