C H A P T E R 11
C H A P T E R 11
MY PRODIGY
Puppeteer
Y ou've got to be shitting me. I leave her alone for an hour and she's already managed to wangle her way out the cuffs and obliterate my house. I'm taking it she's back to herself again, it's been a week and all I've done is coddle her like a paranoid parent. I really need to get a grip .
Call me obsessive, but I've been looking up her treatment and after hours of research and losing fucking brain cells I managed to get my hands on her prescription. Why is this crap so complicated? But at least we haven't got to worry about this bullshit again. Can't say the doctor enjoyed my company too much though. It was a risky operation but now I've got enough to supply her until she's grey and old. Not that she will be around for that, but maybe it will come in handy for other shit. Who knows.
I lock the garage door behind me keeping Shep in to stay out of any possible harm as I creep my way deeper inside the house, smashed up plates crunching beneath my steel toe boots. I know she's here because there is no other way out which keeps me calm. I know she's a smart girl but she hasn't spent six years behind bars. There are only a handful of rooms she could be in and most are fairly empty so I don't exactly know where she thought she was going to hide. But fuck it, why not scare her a little.
“One, two, Daddy's coming for you…three, four, Puppet, run for that door…” I echo down the hallway. I've spent four years hunting down one singular man across the US and she thinks she can hide from me in my own home? It's rather amusing, although I'll admit, she's good. The living room, my bedroom, bathroom and the kitchen are clear and the door to the garage is still locked which leaves the spare room. She's a petite little thing so hiding in a cupboard would not be far fetched for her.
Making my way down the corridor to the entrance of the room, I push the door forth causing an eerie creek to echo through the empty coffin. You could hear a pin drop it's so quiet but I can't hear her at all. Not even her breathing which peeks my worry a little. There is no way she's got out of this house unless I've completely underestimated her.
Once fully footed inside the room, my heart sinks at the memories held captive here. She loved this room. It was her escape. Now it is her grave.
Play – 'Paralyzed – NF'
Lost in thought, as I glare at the dull, burgundy stain underneath my boot, an almighty fit of rage sneaks up from behind me and as I turn around the palm of my hand is met with one of my kitchen knives, slicing straight through it with ease as it lodges between my thumb and index finger.
“SHIT!-” Seems I did underestimate her and I can't say I've ever been nailed in the hand before. FUCK this hurts. She pushes me off balance straight into the wardrobe behind the door, too distracted by the sheer metal and red river pooling from my hand, but pain is the only way I feel.
It doesn't take me long to pull it out, feeling the sharp edge graze against my open gash making me hold my breath, clamping my teeth shut in fear of biting my own tongue off. I use my remaining force to slam the door shut with my heavy boot, trapping her in where she legs it for the other side of the room, already equipped with another blade, clinging to the chest of draws like it will help her.
I'm leant with my back against the door, the pulse in my hand pushing a flood of blood from my veins decorating the floor with my innards. She’s gawking at me and I don't think even she knew she was capable of such violence. I hate to admit how hot this is, but it's been a while since I've tasted psychical pain and my hand isn't the only thing throbbing. Her fear is bringing out her eyes and I could stare at them for hours, pools of the pain she is holding in. I can't even be mad at her for this because I get it. I wanted me dead too, but now she's made this slightly more complicated. She's gripping that knife like a timid doe as if she didn't just stab me with one but I'd prefer she put the bloody thing down. The game is over now.
I push off the door slowly, listening to the sound of my bodily fluids hitting the wooden floor, dripping in rhythmic fashion as I approach her.
“DON'T!” she's threatening me as if I should be frightened. I've seen chihuahuas more frightening than her. But it's not her threat that frightens me. It’s the way she's crumbling. She's not had a chance to grieve and it's finally catching up to her. I shouldn't have left her to her own devices unattended but that realisation is a little late now. I can't exactly say I am experienced in a parentless teen who's been held against her will…Well... Actually, now that I put it like that. I am very experienced. The difference is, I never got to grieve. I had to suck it the fuck up and take it. I wasn't allowed to feel. I never got chance to process my infliction or heal my fucking harm. She needs to snap out of this if she wants to survive.
“YOU KILLED THEM.” she's quivering and I don't even think she knows what she's doing right now but I wanna smack those tears off her fucking face and really give her something to cry about.“YOU RUINED MY LIFE.” She's not wrong. I did what I always do. I'm selfish . But I wasn't exactly expecting this to be my outcome. She will always be my own personal Karma .
“Put. The knife. Down.” I wave my bloody hand gesturing for her to give it to me but of course she will not comply. She is breaking. Good. She needs to break. She needs to get it out. She needs to feel this pain if she wants to get out of this alive. She needs to pour alcohol on her open wounds and embrace the sting, it's the first stage of healing.
“It hurts! It hurts so much. I- I can't take it!” The cracking in her voice is forming a lump in my throat. I'll be honest, this is a first for me and I feel like an inexperienced mother hearing their baby cry for the first time. Its ear fucking and grating my gears but I have this urge to find a solution to stop her from sobbing like a bloody baby.
“Why are you doing this to me!” She says this like I purposely ruined her life and kidnapped her. I'm a fucking psycho but I'm not a stalker. She's been watching too many murder documentaries. I had no interest in her, she was purely Collateral damage .
“I told you. This was not what I wanted!”
“What now huh?! Are you just going to keep me here until I am a rotting pile of bones! Bury me in your back garden with the rest of your victims!” Her back chat is starting to rub me the wrong way. If she carries on and I will fill her mouth to shut her the fuck up, I am starting to think keeping her sedated was the better option here.
“The knife Alora . I won't tell you again.” She's not even listening to me right now, clutching it to her chest, almost dropping it as she trembles like a scared puppy. I know there's adrenaline running through her veins. The impression I get from her is that she never had much control of her own life so I'm sort of proud right now. I'm bringing out that untamed kitten and I don't care if she hates me for it.
“I WILL KILL YOU!” This is adorable, really. But I could snap her in 0.3 seconds. Her whining is getting annoying.
“This isn't a horror movie sweetheart. If I kill you, you stay DEAD. ” Like her mother. Her expression doesn’t change, she knows what I'm capable of and after last week's events I think she wants me to end her quickly.
“Good! You should have let me die! I swear to god I will make your life miserable every second, minute, hour that passes!” You know what. I don’t doubt she will. It’s been pretty dead round here so I guess she will continue to keep me busy, but if she thinks I’m going to put up with her bratty fucking behaviour she has another thing coming.
“I don't want to hurt you. Don't give me a reason to.” A spine-chilling laugh seeps from her mouth as she wipes away the grief damping her cheeks.
“You're funny…” That screamed sarcasm and I want to wrap my hand around her pretty little throat, making my face the last face she sees as I deplete her of oxygen just to show her how funny I can really be.“Let me out.” Her incessant whining is pushing me to a point I really don’t want to reach. Does she really think I'm going to just open that door and let her waltz free? If that was the case I would have done so already.
“Just give me some time. I need time to get my shit together and I will let you go. You'll never have to see me again.” I bite creeping forwards, prowling her into the corner of the room where she attempts to threaten me further. I can feel her anger consuming the room like gas, it’s becoming harder and harder to breathe. Harder to predict what she is going to do next.
“NO! You don't get to run away from this! I will kill you myself if the cops don't get there first!”
I gently huff in response, making it known that her threat is nothing but useless. There are no houses for miles. We are in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. This place has been abandoned for years after the murders and allegations; people avoid these parts like the plague. If she thinks anyone is coming for her, she is more delusional than I thought. I can’t fault her for hoping though. I spent many nights in that cell hoping someone would come for me even though I had no one left to rescue me. Your mind plays with you in the company of loneliness. Your demons begin to take up residence and play the angel in its absence.
“No one is coming for you. You can kick, scream, yell all you like. The windows are boarded up and we are the only sliver of life for miles. So you can either play ball and I can try and make this as comfortable for you as possible, or I can make this ugly. It's your choice.” She doesn’t quite realise just how lenient I am being with her right now which has proven to do nothing in my favour.
“FUCK YOU!” She screams with malice and I am boiling under my flesh. She knows I don't do kindness. Lucky for her I don't put my hands on women. Not unless self-defence is necessary and I feel there may be quite a lot of that if she carries on being a spoiled little brat, yet by the way she is directing that knife, I don’t think she intends on being here much longer.
“Put the fucking knife down. Before I have to get physical.” I take another step, holding my arms out to cradle her distress as she reaches forward, attempting to stab my other hand before sitting the tip of the blade against her prominent vein sat flush beneath the skin of her wrist.“Say you did kill me. Then what? Then you'd sit behind bars for murder.” I wave my hands in the air to mimic surrender, challenging her at her own morals in this very moment. Fear makes us see them in a different light when you're pushed to meddle between life and death, it makes you commit acts of sin in the name of survival, it makes you kill just to save your own skin.
“I would claim self-defence!” She exclaims. A vindictive cackle bursts from my throat, tilting my head to the ceiling, sighing at the irony. The naivety she still possesses even now. Even though I'm showing her how dark life beyond her perfect little world can be. She still seeks safety in the very system created to break us.
“You know what? They would probably believe you too.” I shake my head in despair smiling at her hopeful statement, finding amusement in how history has a way of repeating itself. Self-defence. Of course that would work in her favour. She wears no badge but she's still the daughter of an ex-detective who used the same excuse and got away with it.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” She questions, sensing my mockery and my bitterness as I laugh at her for being so fucking foolish.
“You're a Blackthorne after all.” My eyes find hers in the anger she's channelling, flickering at her own surname coming from my mouth. I've not told her any specifics, but I can see the dots are slowly connecting. She's not stupid, she knows there is more to this than an unhinged killer with a hunger for blood. She knows there's a reason I was in her house that night and she knows I know more about her family than she does.
“Why am I still here? What are you not telling me!” There are so many things I'm not telling her. Because I find enjoyment in this game of clue. She will figure it out . And when she does, I want to watch the sparkle in her eyes fade once she realises the kind of man he really was.
“Daddy's helpless little girl. Defending herself against the big bad monster who killed her parents. - Finally stops the killer- . Now that would be a great headline for the papers.” I approach once more, swaying my broad shoulders in her direction, egging on her anger so she deters that blade away from her prominent artery.
“Come any fucking closer and I'll add another body count to your list like I should have done last week, you sick FUCK!” My throat tightens as I take in a sharp inhale. She’s toying with my weakness and I know she isn’t afraid of dying, that much is clear. But for some reason I find myself continuing to give a fuck. This could all be over and I could just let her end this right here, right now, but the pain in her eyes is seeping inside me. She really will do this, and I strangely don’t want her to. I refuse to let her be weak, there is a fire inside her that I want to see. I want her to see that she is capable of overcoming this, she needs to realise that life is not all fucking rainbows and fairies. There are people like me, people far worse than the monsters she creates in her head.
“ Alora… ” The closer I get the further she’s pushing the knife. I have a few seconds to pursue her before she buries that blade and bleeds out on my floor. I’ve had enough red mops in my life. I don’t particularly want to clean up after her as well if I can help it.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?! DON’T FUCKING SAY MY NAME!” While she is distracted, fighting with her own demons I take it upon myself to lunge for her, gripping her dainty wrist inside my large hands but she won’t let up that easily, fighting against my hold to slice her arm clean. She grazes it, not deeply but enough to make its mark as she screams like a banshee down my ear causing it to ring, smoothing both of our arms in our blood as she uses all her might to get out of my grasp. Colliding into the wardrobes and drawers, she yelps in pain, kicking her legs around like a child as I hold her up off the floor, crossing both my arms across her chest to constrict her chest.
“I didn’t ask for any of this! Let me fucking go!”
“Keep fighting Princess . It just makes it more enjoyable for me.” It’s been awhile since I had a rough and tumble but I can’t deny the adrenaline I'm feeling. It’s addictive. It feeds my serotonin. Most people get that from puppies or fast cars. I receive it from watching someone fight for their life. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about me then I don't know what will.
As I crush her tighter she sinks her teeth into my bicep and I can feel her tearing my flesh away causing me to loosen my grip.“Fucking -” I'm finding out a lot about myself today. Apparently being a punching bag for my Little Innocence is proving to relieve me of some pent-up anger and quieting my demons. Who knew she had that in her.
“Fight BACK! Fight! COME ON!” She pants, wanting me to retaliate. She wants me to be her outlet. Slamming the flat side of her scrunched up fists into my chest like a drum, she’s drawing the monster out of me with her persistent pushing. I'm afraid if I let her carry on I may do something I will regret.
“If you're so eager to die, let me make it quick for you.” I waste no time yanking both of her wrists, as I rotate her to face away from my body, locking her forearms in place with one hand as I pull out my firearm from my back pocket with my other, shoving the barrel inside her mouth, I fight against her resistance as she squabbles in my arms, muffling her anger beneath the metal and the plea in her face shows me that deep down she is terrified of dying.“Fucking LISTEN to me!...” I have no interest in killing her. The mag is empty, but she needs to be shown the kind of fucking evil she is tampering with.
“I fucking get it! I get this anger you're feeling! I get this hunger for vengeance! I get that swelling ache that feels like it's collapsing your lungs. That overwhelming urge to want to make all the pain go away! But you have to fight it! You have to fucking suck it up and survive! You have to be better than it! Better than me!...” She is peering at me with tears welling in her eyes, and I can see by the way they are rounding at the edges that she is taking in my words carefully. I know I am not a saint; I never claim to be and I never will be anything but what she should fear.
I am dangerous, but I am dangerous because I've been exposed to nothing but destruction. She is so pure it makes my skin crawl with a selfish need to corrupt her, poison her slowly with every possible means necessary and open her eyes to the world beyond rose tinted glasses. I want to make her question everything she thought she knew. But until I do, I need to know she can handle it. I need her to fight.
“You're not a monster. So stop acting like one.” I whisper with depth. Every second I am with her I feel like my wall is being lowered and it’s driving me insane. Nearly two weeks in and she is already proving to be my biggest problem yet.
I remove the gun slowly watching her bottom lip quiver. She doesn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. I think she gets a kick from being seconds from death knowing deep down I won't let that happen. She is a weakness I'm growing fonder of by the minute. I’ve spent four years on my own without human company, as violent as it is, it’s strangely comforting. All I've known is violence, so it really makes no difference to me. It just coats the deafening silence and the voices in the walls. She has become my voice in the walls.
I slide my gun back into my back pocket and peer down at the open gash in her arm where she attempted to off herself like an idiot , pulling her wrist to raise her inner arm to me, I gently stroke the flesh surrounding the wound with my thumb wanting so desperately to run my tongue against it. Next time I might not be quick enough, or next time. I might do it for her.
“Now. Let's get this wrapped up before you bleed out in your sleep. You foolish girl…”