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“Accept the sacrifice, she is yours!” There’s a knife in Bertrand’s hands now. He lifts it above his head, then quickly brings it down. I can hear her screech in pain from here. He’s carving her.
NO, NO, NO!
He steps to the side so I can see his profile, and her, what he’s done to her.
He’s cut up her breasts. They were large, probably implants. Her body is covered in gashes, except her face, he didn’t touch that.
“Watch Dominique,” Bertrand calls to me gleefully with a hand gripping his engorged shaft. “This is the final anointment.”
DON’T!
“Accept the sacrifice.” He begins to pump his shaft. “Take her soul, she’s yours!” His movements get faster and faster. “She is my gift to you!” His body starts shaking. “Yes! Look favorably upon me so that I may fulfill my destiny!” he roars. Then he comes all over the victim. Ribbons and ribbons of semen burst from him, the white blending with the thick crimson on her breasts. Finally, his body relaxes as he lets out a heavy satisfied breath. “May you be pleased with this sanctification of pride.”
We were right. Pride, one of The Seven Deadly Sins. The only one left is…wrath.
Bertrand turns and approaches me, a smile curving his lips. He doesn’t slow his stride when he’s near me. When he’s at my side, he grabs a fistful of my hair. “Come on, my queen, time to get the filth off of us. We can’t take this back with us, you know that.” Then he drags me down the hallway to the bathroom. My spine slams into the hard floor, my legs and shoulders bash into the corners of the walls, but my scalp feels like it’s on fire.
He throws me into the bathroom, I slide across the tiled floor and hit the commode and pain shoots through me. There’s a backpack on the floor in the corner, but other than that, everything seems normal in here. He follows me in and locks the door behind him. He strolls to the shower and turns on the water, then proceeds to look through all Hattie’s things while the water heats up, like he lives here.
He actually hums a tune as he unwraps a new bottle of sugar scrub Hattie had on a shelf and places it in the shower. “I hate he had his hands on you. I’m the rightful Beauchamp. We have the same blood,” he states casually as he steps under the running water and closes the shower curtain.
Wait.
What?
He’s a Beauchamp? Like Bertrand Beauchamp? That can’t be.
I hear the splashing behind the curtain as my heart pounds and I try to get myself to a standing position against the door. Maybe I can at least get the door open and scoot myself down the hall before he gets out.
He continues with his insane babbling, “Have you heard of the Beauchamp curse? The one made by the slave whore Bertrand burned to death?” He peeks out of the side of the curtain, a pleased grin on his face.
My back is plastered against the door. Even though I’m familiar with the story, I shake my head no, my eyes fixed on him watching what he’s doing.
“You don’t? Come now, everyone knows the Beauchamp legacy, just like they know your legacy. Yours and Hattie’s, and Marie Laveau.” He makes a tsking noise, clicking his tongue. “The story goes that the original Beauchamp, the one who established Beauchamp Plantation, Bertrand, had a slave woman he took as a whore, his little pet. She spelled his family. His wife and children died, all but one son and Bertrand. The old man went mad and dragged her out, beat her, then burned her alive right there on the banks of the river, right near where I sacrificed the last whore. They say her spirit could be heard cursing the entire Beauchamp lineage while her body lay lifeless on the ground.” He peeks his head out again, a mad smile practically splitting his face in half. “Bet you don’t know the truth about that slave,” he cackles, his eyes fixed on me. Disappearing back behind the curtain, I keep trying to push myself up. “That slave whore had already given birth to one of that prick’s children.” Bertrand’s voice sounds more animated, a bit more excited. Almost manic. “Nobody talks about how that child had to be hidden because he was going to burn that baby too.” The water goes silent.
NO, NO, NO. I need more time!
He flings the curtain aside, his soft white body dripping wet in Hattie’s shower, a deranged grin on his face.
“You see, Dominique, I’m the rightful Beauchamp heir. I’m the only living descendant from that sluts union with Bertrand Beauchamp.” What is he talking about? I stare at him as he snatches a folded towel from the shelf and begins to dry himself. Like this is just another day, and he’s got all the time in the world. Like he didn’t just cut up an innocent woman in the other room. He steps from the shower, not bothering to cover himself. I turn my head; I can’t stand to look at him. “I checked the city’s records, and the first Bertrand was recorded a short while after Bertrand Beauchamp died.” He rubs a towel covered hand over the foggy mirror to look at himself. “That was when my lineage was born.”
This man is completely crazy!
He bends to reach for the backpack and unzips it. He pulls out fresh clothes and starts to dress. “We have to prepare the final part of the ceremony. The final purification of the sacrifice.” He pauses and looks into my face. “I am so happy you’re here, Dominique. It’s an honor to have you witnessing everything.” The joy that’s emanating from him is sickening, I cannot begin to grasp how to handle what’s happening here. He gets back to quickly dressing. “We have to get going, though. This part must be perfect.”
When he’s done, he takes me by the hair again and drags me away from the door. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to do. Do not anger me, Dominique, I don’t want to punish you.” He opens the bathroom door. Then his face goes feral as he lowers his head and jerks my face close to his. “But I will punish you, my sweet, especially for being Beauchamp’s whore. I saw you,” his voice turns to a dark hiss. “I saw him fucking you, and I heard you beg for it. He was always going to be dealt with, but he will pay for that. For taunting me. In my home.” He gives my head a vicious jerk, causing tears to spring to my eyes. “I saw it all.”
He straightens and drags me back the way we came to the back of the house. I can tell he’s in a hurry. My body is screaming in agony when he shoves me in the corner. He opens the back door and gets something from outside.
A gasoline can.
He leaves the kitchen and goes to the front of the townhouse. I’m breathing so hard as I watch him go, I’m afraid I might hyperventilate and pass out again. Fear is a living entity inside me, I can’t control it. He’s going to torch this place, along with the woman. I think he’s going to take me with him. My hell is just beginning.
God please, send someone. Help me! Ignatius, please come!I silently plead as I begin to sob uncontrollably.
He’s humming that goddamn tune again as he backs into the kitchen, leaving a trail of gas through the house and into the kitchen. I sit paralyzed, I can’t tear my eyes from what he’s doing.
I can hear the quiet whimpering of the woman as he douses a circle of the gas around her. He comes back for me and drags me to the backdoor and opens it a crack. He places the gas tank on the floor and takes the box of matches he has waiting by the door. He strikes a wooden matchstick on the side of the box and holds it in front of his face. “Thank you for accepting my gift. Praise be,” he mumbles quietly, almost reverently. My heart is pounding so hard, pushing the blood furiously through my body, it’s so loud, I almost didn’t hear him. My eyes are wide and glued on the flame, the smell of the gasoline heavy and thick, mixing with the iron smell of blood.
“Ignatius will be here soon.” He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are wild and full of hate. “That’s the reason you’re here. To lure him.” He gives me a slow smile. “It’s him I want. It’s always been him.”
Oh, my God, this is all about Ignatius! He’s waiting for him. It’s been him he’s wanted all along? He brought me as bait. For him.
I watch as the match leaves his hand when he gently tosses it onto the circle of gas around the woman, softly so it won’t go out.
That’s when I lean back and kick the gas can with both feet at Bertrand. I watch the clear liquid splash across the front of him and notice the flash of rainbow gasoline sometimes reflects shimmer in the fire. Instantly, the flames reach for him, their long hungry claws grasping at him and claiming what it wants.
Another sacrifice.
This time there will be three.
