Stevie… Goddess, the look this will put in her eyes… The thought of it damn near stays my hand. But no matter how bright her light shines, it’s not for me. There’snoredemption for me. My blood is tainted, my fate sealed a hundred times over.
I’m the Devil, baby. I was born for darkness.
“Baz…” The voice calls, echoing against the stone walls. “Tell me it’s really you, sweetness. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
“It’s me.” I approach the cot, barely able to contain my disgust at the vile piece of filth lying in it. “Dreams really do come true, huh Janelle?”
She reaches for me, her eyes glazed and unfocused. But that’s okay. She doesn’t need focus. I’ve got plenty enough for both of us.
“Help me,” she says softly. As close to begging as I’ve ever heard.
“I’m sorry—haven’t you heard?” I flash her a wide grin, one that probably borders on maniacal. “I’m not here to help you. I’m here to end you.” I pull up the rolling chair and lean on my elbows, so grateful to whoever put her in this near paralyzed state. “But not just yet.”
“What… what are you talking about?”
“I used to fantasize about this, you know,” I tell her, taking more pleasure in the confession than I probably should.
I laugh.
Should. What does that word even mean?
Ishouldhave had a better childhood, but I didn’t.
The people who signed up to protect me—first, by bringing me into this world, then by taking me into their home—shouldhave done a better job, but they didn’t.
Maybe the idea of cold-blooded murdershouldterrify me, but it doesn’t. It calms me. Warms me. Gives me a sense of purpose—one without hope, only action. One whereIcontrol the outcome.
At the end of the cot, there’s a table, still set up with various potions, ingredients, and a few other implements. I pick up a silver athame, twisting it before her eyes.
“This one’s nice, don’t you think?” I ask.
“Your… your brother…” she stammers, but this just makes me laugh again.
“My brother murdered a mage in cold blood. Tortured him. Burned him alive. None of that was my fault. Yet you were more than happy to let me believe it was.”
“He will suffer…”
I press the tip of the blade to her throat and lean in close, so close I can count the crow’s feet tracking around her eyes. “I. Don’t. Care.”
As soon as the words are out, I know they’re true.
For so long, I’ve carried the weight of my brother’s sins, the guilt over his punishment. I let that guilt fester into nightmares, into punishment, into a lifetime of victimhood.
But it’s over now. It’s done. The Ford I once loved died long ago, and it’s time I accept that.
Which means there’s not a single thing Janelle can hold over my head anymore.
“But he’s your family,” she whines.
“No, Janelle. He isn’t. My parents aren’t. And you sure as hell didn’t earn the right to call yourself a mother either.Myfamily? Myrealfamily?” I point the blade at the ceiling. “They’re upstairs trying to figure out how to break down the goddess-damned door so I don’t do something crazy, like slit your throat. But you know something? I have a feeling that even if I do go crazy down here, they won’t turn their backs on me. I’m not saying they’ll give me an award or anything, but they won’t bail. Because unlike you and everyone who came before you, my real family knows the meaning of that word. On second thought? I don’t need this.” I set the athame back on the table and gaze down at my hands. “Call me a purist, Janelle, but I’d ratherfeelthe life leaving your body.”
I lean forward and wrap my hands around her throat, just testing it out. She smacks at my arms, but she’s so weak and groggy, it’s like a gnat going up against an elephant.
Closing my eyes, I take a moment to soak it all in. The warm pulse, rapidly thrumming beneath my grip. Her paper-thin skin, soft and wrinkly. Her scrawny neck, as breakable as a bird’s bone.
“Baz, please… don’t do this.”
“Give me a reason.” I release her throat and open my eyes, watching the tears leak down her cheeks, waiting to hear the words I’ve waited to hear since I was a scared fucking kid trapped in her house of horrors.
