The Beast I Am

Chapter 18

A whole city lived within the grains of the wood, slivers, dots, and swirls, unaware of the damage they were about to endure. I burned the memory into my eyes as my feet scuffed on the welcome mat; its message long ago faded from the ruthless sun. Left hand on my pouch, the knife secured, attached against my waist; right hand white as it bombarded the city twice.

My will called to my Beast, using her rage to slither up my spine like nitrogen, hardening it as I swallowed. The fog was easier to call on; my oldest friend—allowing me to saw the parts of my brain off I would need to be blinded for what I was about to do. My muscles still, waiting...

Listening...

A creak–

The door, opening a crack–

Before slamming shut, the deadbolt chain rattled from the inside. I bit my tongue, quickly glancing to confirm our privacy as my heel connected with the handle. The door crunched like bone, the knob clattering and rolling along the dusty carpet. My foot rattled the tea set on the living room table, the flicker of the television our stuttering flame. I slipped into the room, hesitating as I let my eyes adjust to the light.

She was here– my focus drifted as my fingers stumbled, the pouch's zipper catching on itself, ash filling my mouth as I bit my tongue.

The banshee call bounced between the thin walls, my body nearly caving in surprise as a gremlin-shaped weight hurled onto my back. I couldn't stifle the cries of pain as her gnarled, bony hands scored red tracks from my eyes, shut against her jabbing nails. The heat surged to my hands as I hissed, nearly falling over completely, as I smashed my shin into the table, something clattering to the ground.

Her words came in frantic waves, rising higher and higher as I blindly reached for Ruth, wrapping my hands in her dress as I flung her as far away as I could- like Rhazien had taught me.

A screech of wooden flesh and a cascade of glass shattering against the kitchen tile. I could feel the stutter of her heart, my hand brushing a barren fanny pack. My knees dropped to the floor, one hand feeling along the ground as the other desperately tried to wipe the blood running into my eyes. The Beast kept an eye on Ruth as she shifted, the broken remains of the China cabinet whispering their final wishes against her bruising skin.

My fingers caught on the silver, the hilt sliding into my palm as my vision cleared. A long trail of blood was dripping from the destroyed furniture into the bedroom, where I could feel the stammer of her heart; awkward, inconsistent, dying.

The stalking was more habitual than breathing, my steps feathering across the floor.

She was muttering a rhythmic hiss of words, each one bubbling over the other in stilted combination, "Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi. Hodie Mihi– Cras Tibi–Hodie-Hodie Mihi–Tibi... Tibi... Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi... C-Cras T-Tibi–"

I didn't know what was worse.

That I knew Ruth felt me coming, or how she didn't move as my blade sunk into her back.

The rattle fell from her lips like a dying bird, desperate and longing for relief. Her blood was warm as it spilled over my hand, staining the hilt in crimson, filling the room with a Concerto of her life.

Ruth's body fell forward, suctioning a wet slap between the back of her dress and my now-drenched hoodie. I shivered as I waited, glaring at the crying hilt, awaiting some indication of a job well done. Of a sacrifice well served.