Chapter 5
Chapter Five
It’s no easy feat to convince someone to live when they’re truly resigned to death, but I have my ways. A gentle touch coupled with kind words usually does the trick, but this time I have two in my room with only one to convince.
However this scenario will play out, one thing is for certain: I will get the pain I came here for today. I walk away from the bed and toward the girl. Her face is no longer twisted in an ugly fashion of anger and false hatred. Now I see a small glimpse of fear .
Good.
“What’s your name?” I ask as I take her by the elbow and lead her to a large wooden desk that sits near the French doors. I like the view here, I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before. It’s calming and serene and allows me to enjoy the beauty of nature when I’m in my moments of passion and destruction.
“What do you care?” she spits back as I sit her down firmly in the chair. I chuckle and lean down, placing a hand on the desk, becoming eye level with the girl; a breath away from her face.
“Because I like to know the names of those I’m mourning after they pass,” I reply in an even tone.
“You’re going to … kill us?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.
“I haven’t decided yet. I will need your help, and maybe if you assist me, you might be able to walk away from this. A damaged heart, broken will and with, what I would imagine, a mind rotting with what you will witness, but you’ll walk away,” I reply as I stand back up to my full height.
I watch her cunning eyes as she tries to steal a glance past me. I’ve purposely blocked her mother from her view, and I think that’s the courage she needs to agree to the ultimate betrayal. To take the life of someone who gave it to you is one of the most horrendous atrocities one can commit, but when faced with the prospect of death, I’ve seen many people agree to terrible things.
Her eyes look up the length of my body slowly, as if she’s devouring me standing in front of her, and our eyes meet. She nods just once to let me know that she agrees to the possibility of life, and I hold a hand out to her.
“My name is Verona,” she finally relents. “What’s yours?”
I can’t help but smile. For some reason, her name speaks to me greatly; to the man inside of me, and the maelstrom of evil swirling within .
“Guy Burress,” I reply with a slight bow.
“That’s funny,” she says with a girlish giggle. Finally, I see a glimpse of the child she really is and not the angry woman she’s attempting to be.
“How?” I ask, walking her to the bed and setting her down gently next to her mother.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met a guy named Guy before,” she replies, a glimmer in her eye and quick shrug to punctuate what she’s said.
I nod, the smile leaving my face. I have her where I want her, and I know that with the false promises I’ve made her she’ll do as I ask. But how far is she willing to go to try and win her freedom? Now is the time that I will find out.
“Wait here, Verona. Hold your mother close. Tell her you love her and try to mean it. I know that deep down inside you do; tell her. You’ll never get another chance,” I say as I turn and walk toward the giant, black armoire that sits on the wall directly across from the bed.
I pull the right door open and then the left. There’s no rhyme or reason for it when both doors can be pulled open simultaneously, I just like to do little things to fray the nerves of those watching.
“I haven’t heard you yet, Verona,” I say sternly as I cross my arms over my chest and look at the array of sharp objects in front of me.
A loud suffering sigh meets my ears, followed by the sound of the bed shuffling slightly. At the very least, I know she has her arms around her mother.
Now you’re probably wondering why I’m not spending these moments convincing the mother to live. That should be obvious enough; Verona is doing it for me without knowing it.
I reach forward and slide a finger along the blade of the machete that sits gleaming in the darkness of the armoire. It’s beckoning to me to be used; it wants blood, and I will give it more than it could ever want. To begin, I know that the obvious thing I have to do is to cut the unborn child from the mother; it will be the first time I attempt something of that magnitude, and I wonder if I will enjoy it.
It’s of no consequence to me—the enjoyment of a task—it’s whatever feeds the need inside of me and quiets it long enough that I can go back out and look for her again. I pull the blade off the shelf and hold it up. I can’t help but wonder if this is something she would enjoy; watching me as I quell the need for pain. Probably not; this is a lonesome task, but one that I’m damn good at.
I turn to face Mother and Verona. They have their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Verona is running her hand over Mother’s hair, and Mother is crying into her shoulder telling her that she’s so sorry that it’s come to this .
“Come to me,” I say loudly enough to startle them both.
Verona looks up at me, then to her mother, then back to me again.
“I don’t think she wants this anymore. Can we just go home?” she asks nervously.
“When I’m done. Now come to me. Both of you,” I say again as I let the blade swing down to my side.
“But we’re going to live, right?” Verona inquires as she gets to her feet and helps her mother to stand.
“For the moment, yes.”