Scarlet Unleashed

by Krihstin Zink

  “Oh, so she speaks. The finely-dressed, high-society lady has something to say,” she hisses as she stalks in my direction and then presses her pistol against my cheek. The cold pistol’s metal causes goosebumps to rise throughout my body. A panic attack looms and threatens to knock me out.

  “People like you disgust me,” she snarls and then assaults my face with her pistol. Her strike causes my cheek to burst open.

  “Heeey, she didn’t do anything to you,” Q snaps in my defense as he pulls me into his warmth.

  Sirens blare in the distance, and within minutes, tires squeal against the gas station’s surrounding pavement. An intercom causes static to pierce our eardrums, but no one speaks.

  “Finally,” the injured teen huffs as he sulks in his puddle of blood.

  “Hell, no. No one is leaving this gas station until I get what I want,” she yells and then marches toward the windows. “Lock that door, now,” she barks over her shoulder.

  “Do what she says,” Stan states to the young store clerk. The young clerk nods in agreement and then moves with caution toward the door. In an immature move, he attempts to flee, but then Svetlana in an instant turns and penetrates the store clerk’s back with two bullets. Blood spatters against the surviving hostages’ faces.

  “Oh, nooo,” Twilah whimpers and Stan fails to soothe her. Soon her whimpers transition into violent sobs.

  “Don’t cry lady, everyone must die—it’s inevitable and the end of this story,” Svetlana hisses, before she releases a bullet that penetrates Stan’s shoulder.

  “No,” Twilah screams as she falls to the floor with Stan. “No. No. No. Stan, no—please don’t leave me. I need you.” Her sobs fill the gas station.

  “Shut up!” Svetlana demands as she pulls at her hair. Intercom static causes us to direct our attention toward the windows.

  “This is the Collier County PD. Come out with your hands up,” a gravel-toned male orders. Svetlana’s plan was simple, and her threat to shoot everyone—while she ignorantly flared her pistol at the police—was a sure way to end it all. The CCPD fills Svetlana’s chest with bullets that causes a horrific blood splatter to splash what looks like most of Svetlana’s blood all over us. Her body shakes violently as she collapses to the floor.

  “Thank you, God,” the injured teen praises as a fleet of emergency staff rush in to treat us.

  Grief and disbelief overpower my facade of strength. And the moment that Q shifts his glance to question if I’m all right, a burst of my raw, built-up emotion covers his shirt. My tears and snot are everywhere, and for once my cry is uglier than Violet’s. After I feel as if I can resurface from his shirt, I glance up at him. His warm, honey-tinted eyes greet me with compassion, and there’s no sign of the arrogant jerk I met on the airplane.

  He pulls me in closer and then presses his lips against my injured cheek. We’re silent while those around us hustle to adhere to the other victims’ injuries. Those that can speak recall their perspective on the events while Q and I continue in a silent embrace.

  “Let’s go,” he says before he leads me toward an exit.

  As we step out of the store, I glance back and witness several EMTs aid Twilah and Stan. The injured teen and the store clerk are nowhere in sight. Twilah turns to face me; she blinks then offers a soft subtle smile. I return her gesture and then leave the store.

  David

  Kate depletes every ounce of energy from my body. I surrender to her seductive ways. Again, my sac deflates, so she finally rolls off of me.

  “How can this be? You’re dead…” I huff out in-between breaths. My chest throbs from my sexual exertion.

  “I’m a demon—I feed on lust, fear, and sexual pleasure. The more I consume, the stronger I become.” Her arrogance annoys me.

  Besides her flame-pupils, Kate appears as she did in the past. Vibrant blondee hair, pale creamy skin, and a long, lean frame. She’s the Kate I met in college—the person I fell for. Our conversation dances around the pending issue: Where do we go from here? It’s obvious that she somehow has me enamored, but my love for Scarlet continues to burn like an eternal candle.

  Her flame-pupils flicker as a smile forms on her lips. “It’s as if we never split up,” she beams as she shifts to give me a drawn-out kiss. She readjusts herself to speak, but then Fatima bursts in.

  “Da-aavid? Wha-aat are you doing?” she stammers as a confused glare wrinkles her face.

  “I…uh…” I’m unable to form a proper reply, and my confusion joins hers since Kate has now vanished. It’s utterly embarrassed to be found buck naked, especially when the help stares at my limp cock.

  She has yet to remove her gaze from my dick, so I urge her to provide a moment of privacy. She turns to leave, then closes the door behind her. I take my time to dress myself. When I’m less than a foot from the bedroom door, movement to my right catches my attention. Her skin glows and lures me toward her. I’m recognizably mesmerized by her. I’m a speechless sex slave as I undress. A smirk forms on her face and her flame-pupils flicker in excitement as I adjust to remove my jeans. But then, a loud bang on the door—followed by my father barging in—halts my stripping.

  “Son, did Fatima not call for you?” he barks as his face twists into a glare. I search the room, and I’m relieved to be freed of Kate’s spell. And in an odd moment, I feel as if I had the air knocked out of me. With discomfort, I hustle to dress myself, then follow my dad’s lead.

  “You brought me out for this?” I ask as I stare in disgust at an everyday news report of a crime scene. But then, a reporter questions a survivor and a familiar voice pings through the speakers.

  “Svetlana was utterly distraught by the death of her daughter; she wasn’t well,” Scarlet states in a timid but clear response. Even with blood splattered and sticking to her hair and skin, she’s still gorgeous. My parents’ 72-inch TV screen makes it seem as if Scarlet were right in front of me. The sorrow of surviving a suicide by cop is etched across her face. My protective instinct and urge to run to her revs up. But then, that douche from the airport sets his arm on Scarlet’s shoulder—on my woman’s shoulder.

  Tunnel vision leaves me in a trance as my ears grow deaf. My fury toward that hipster punk that has his arm on what’s mine causes fury to quake throughout my body as my fingers grip into tight fists.

  “Maybe we should make a trip to see Scarlet,” my dad offers.

  I jerk my attention toward his stern facial expression, and his face reveals that just like me, I noticed my future slip through my grip. I’m here while that hipster jackass comforts my woman.

  “Pack enough for a few days. I’ll do the same,” my father orders. My mother and Aurora are nowhere in sight. Fatima peeks her head out of the kitchen right as my father departs for his room, and I do the same. But before I leave, I stare into the eyes of my lover.

  “You’ll be mine again.”

  “Where are you going?” Kate urges from behind me as I refuse to face her. I focus my attention on my task. It’s become quite clear—everything about Kate charms me to do whatever the fuck she wants. So, if I just avoid her eyes, then maybe I’ll be free of her seduction.

  She places a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “I won’t force you to want me.” Her voice entices me to face her, but I stay strong and continue to maintain my decision to win Scarlet back. Before I leave my room, I grab my cell and charger.

  “If you leave to be with her, you’ll never see this nice version me ever again. You hear me? I’ll make sure you two are never happy.” Her shrieks feel like needles against my ear drums.

  “Do. You. Hear. Me?” her voice thunders from deep within, but I’m firm on my decision to win back Scarlet. I don’t bother to glance at Kate, and I just keep moving forward.

  The drive from Miami to Naples is long and silent. My father focuses on the traffic around us while Sinatra nurtures my romantic side. My father’s Lincoln Continental weaves effortlessly through the congested highway.

  Scarlet’s hazel
eyes appear in my mind, and just like that our happy ending begins to form. She’ll ditch that loser and will agree to be with me again. We’ll get married and have children and move forward from all of this. Positivity toward my future with Scarlet warms my chest. An actual picturesque future forms in my mind.

  “Ha. Not while I’m able to stop it,” Kate growls from behind me. “You’ll never be happy with her,” she hisses as she jerks my father’s head back and then snaps his neck like fresh kindling for a camp fire.

  “Nooo.” My screams fill the car, but they’re pointless.

  I’m powerless as Kate binds me to my father’s passenger seat. His lifeless body slumps into the driver’s seat, and his foot becomes a firm jolt into dangerous traffic. We’re racing at a speed of seventy-miles-per-hour, and I’m sealed to the seat by Kate. My happy life with Scarlet bursts into flames the moment my father’s Lincoln collides with an Exxon truck. We’re engulfed by a vicious fire that leads to a raucous explosion. Again, my soul disconnects from my body as Kate yanks my spirit away from my treacherous death.

  Scarlet

  Numbness rises as an unwanted detachment asphyxiates me while I view David and Jackson Jensen’s faces on Naples’ 10 o’clock news.

  “A fatal car accident has left a disastrous fire on…” the reporter’s voice pauses due to the television glitching.

  “Isn’t that…?” Q whispers behind me as he enters Violet’s living room.

  “Yes,” Violet responds from her seat next to Roman on the other end of Violet’s sectional. Q wanders toward me and then takes his place next to me. I gape from Violet’s flat screen to Q’s face, and I’m unsure how to react. Sadness is there; it looms in the distance and induces tears to brim at my eyes. Grief stirs up every single positive memory David and I shared. Love, my love and adoration for my first true love, causes a typhoon of despair to wreck any self-composure I had left.

  Like a weak dam that waits to burst and drown a nearby town, my emotions unleash all over my knees as I press my chest into my thighs. Grief shatters my composure while I mourn the loss of the lover I rejected.

  “He must have seen you,” Martha’s shrieks emanate from my cellular phone’s speaker. She called as the reporter recapped David and Jackson’s death report. Martha continues to unleash her fury. I don’t blame her; she has every right to hate me. After all, she lost her husband and son in one accident because of me. Just imagining her pain induces my sobs to stir again.

  “I forgive you,” she finally whimpers after what feels like an hour of her yelling at me.

  Martha recognizes that blaming me is simply her projecting. She acknowledges that Jackson and David left on their own accord. Once we verbally grieve the men we loved, Martha promises that she will inform me on the dates of Jackson and David’s funeral. She asks that I stay in touch, then quickly ends our call.

  The familiar symptoms of loss cycle in my mind. For a moment, I am in denial. I contemplate if this is all a hallucination or dream. After several slaps and pinches, I conclude that this is indeed real. David. Is. Dead.

  A jolt of misery rushes from my heart. It’s as if David snatched then ripped my heart in two before he left me for good.

  “Why? Why didn’t I just forgive him?” I yell to the wall and weep before I curl into a fetal position on top of Violet’s sectional.

  “I told you that I’d never let you be happy with him.” Kate’s words pierce my heart. I want to lunge at her to scream and punch at her face. But as I stand, I tumble from exhaustion. I know that would be in vain. She won. Somehow she killed David and Jackson. I don’t even bother to acknowledge her. But then, I’m reminded of the decent few months we shared.

  “Why? I thought you had changed,” I whimper with hopes that she’d tell me that she didn’t cause David’s accident.

  “Did you seriously believe that you and I were friends?” And yet again, her words stab at what’s left of my heart. I’m reminded of how naïve I was to even perceive that Kate the demon would somehow be a better person than her live form.

  I place a pillow on my face and will Kate to disappear. Time ambles like a turtle while my grief disables me.

  “Why do you even care? You rejected him, remember?” she hisses from above me. She straddles my chest and then rushes her claws toward my neck. Her grip increases as she chokes the air out of me.

  “In this life, no one wins,” she shrieks as I take my last breath. My screams echo throughout the room as someone attempts to shake me awake.

  “Damn, girl! Wake the hell up, yo!” Q hollers as my eyes meet his. A deep inhalation brings me back to the present.

  “It was just a nightmare,” I remind myself as I run my fingers through my product-free hair. Q’s calm, honey-tinted eyes yearn for an explanation. He places his hand on my hand and it’s just what I need to calm me.

  “Can I get you anything?” he questions before he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. His respect of my untold past causes my morals to blur. I loved David; I truly did. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. Sometimes people aren’t meant to be. What I confused as simple relationship hiccups were the Universe’s focus to show that David and I weren’t meant to be. We just weren’t meant to be.

  Q is kind and respectful, and nothing like the hipster I met a week ago. Not once does he try to take advantage of my grief. With each day that passes, I get to know him more. I’m thankful to have a new supporter in my life.

  January 15th, 2014: My twenty-sixth birthday as well as the day of David and Jackson’s funeral, begins as any other Thursday. Once I finally manage to silence my cell phone’s alarm, I linger in my bed. A soft knock on my bedroom door followed by Violet barging inside increases my desire to just stay in bed—all day long.

  “Happy birthday, gorgeous!” she exclaims as she sashays forward with a cupcake that’s adorned with a single lit candle.

  Gorgeous…

  Nostalgia sets in as memories of David creep into my mind. No birthday will ever be the same because I’ll always remember his funeral.

  “Are you sure that you want to go?” Violet questions as I stumble out of bed. I turn to face her, and in one huff, I blow out my birthday candle.

  “Did you even make a wish?” she whines in disappointment.

  “What does it matter?” I reply before I vanish into my closet. I collect jet-black leggings, knee high-boots, a black camisole, and a thick, long, dress-like sweater. Black from head-to-toe, just like Kate’s demonic soul. When I leave my closet, Violet is gone and my birthday cupcake is on my dresser. My shoulders slump as I take into consideration that David would never have another birthday.

  The hot shower stream purifies my heart. I promise myself that after today, I’ll let go. No longer will my past sorrows hold me back. Somehow, I believe David would want that. He loved me, he was coming for me, and he’d want me to be happy. Now, I will come to him and show that I valued his life and adoration for me.

  I’m a prune-like mess under my prolonged shower, so I shut off the water and wrap myself in a large towel. I withhold my tears as I comb out my hair and then wrap another towel around my head. The lack of sleep and lack of daily nutrition show in my naturally contoured, pronounced cheeks. My eyes are puffy balls that are almost the shade of healing black eyes.

  Once I’m dressed from head-to-toe in black, my appearance resembles that of a recovering anorexic in desperate need of a proper meal. My sweater feels two sizes too large, but I don’t care at this point—I just wanted to make it through today.

  Before I leave my room, I grab my quilted Chanel purse and make sure to pack my cell charger, just in case I need to charge my cellular. I sit on my unmade bed with my birthday cupcake in one hand and my purse over my shoulder and then stare off into the distance.

  “You shouldn’t go and you know it. He died while driving to be with you,” Kate hisses into my ear. She leans back and stares down at me. Again, she’s in her true form: Damp blood covers every inch of her and her hair is caked with blood.
Her flame-pupils dance in their sockets.

  “I told you that I’d make sure you’d never be happy with him,” she reminds me.

  “But, you didn’t have to kill him,” I whimper as I fail to hold back my tears.

  “Even with my warning, he made his choice,” she snaps as she strikes my face. “You should stay here. It’d be a shame if something happened to you, too.” Her threat kindles my fury, but after she assaults my other cheek, I’m forced to succumb to her violence.

  She vanishes, so I silently finish my cupcake. With my purse on my shoulder and my cell in my hand, I venture out of my room and then toward the kitchen. Soft whispers greet me as I stand in the kitchen’s entrance.

  “Happy— Ohh. Are you all right?” Q questions as he walks toward me. He stops inches from me and fidgets with his hat while he waits for my response.

  “I’m ready to go,” I reply as I focus my attention on my shoes. Shame has diminished my sense of confidence. Kate’s words haunt me, and I acknowledge that I’m to blame for David’s death. If he had picked Kate, he’d still be alive.

  The drive from Naples to Florida Funeral Home and Crematory is long and drawn-out for a Thursday morning.

  With silent respect, Violet and I scurry in and then occupy the seats in the back of David and Jackson’s wake. The service begins with Martha’s eulogy for her husband and son. Then, a young teenaged girl walks toward Martha to hug her and takes her place. A woman with a strong resemblance to Martha helps Martha to her seat.

  The young girl at the podium introduces herself as Liliana, Aurora’s daughter and David’s cousin. She gives a sweet and simple eulogy and makes sure to only focus on David’s career accomplishments. Liliana highlights David’s personality and after ten minutes, she’s done. Silence greets her while she ambles toward her seat. A preacher stands at the podium and thanks everyone for their attendance. Then we’re instructed to vacate the wake and follow the crowd toward the small reception area.