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I buried my head in my hands and shuddered, trying to contain a scream and tears. Inside my head, I begged Frost to hang on.
Once upon a midnight dreary…
----
I smile and I watch from behind the curtain as he screams and weeps like a child. It was easy…so easy. That stupid whore is dead, finally. I should have killed her years ago, should’ve smashed her fucking face in, should’ve drowned her in the fucking harbor. But oh well. She was dead and if she wasn’t, she’d finish herself off at the first opportunity she got.
Frost is still cursing and screaming and trashing the apartment. He made it so easy to break in. The damn fool. Cop indeed. I chuckle and kiss the shining blade of the twelve-inch-long serrated knife I have brought with me.
----
Loss, pain, misery. That was all Frost’s life had been for years. There was nothing more powerful, more consuming, more terrible than grief. Grief was all he’d known since Anastasia died, since his father had screamed at him that it was his fault, since he’d tried to blow his head off and settled for putting a hole in his chest. And now his family, his parents, his brother, Maddi, Trina…not Trina…. And now Poe. Grief ate away at the very fabric of his being, tearing apart his organs, biting holes in his arteries so his blood leaked from them, consuming his mind and his soul with agony.
As Frost continued to fall apart at the seams, he happened to look up. There was a shadow above the door, only a strange shadow. But in Frost’s tormented eyes, it was more than that.
It was a raven.
Frost laughed and stood up to stare at the “raven”.
“Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more,”
he quoted fromThe Raven, staring in a deadly trance at his raven.
“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore.’
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as ‘Nevermore.’”
The clock ticked on to 11:49.
