Chapter 8 Sebastian
Chapter eight
Sebastian
Daddy asking me out on a date is the best thing that has ever happened in my life.
Fine, maybe he didn't say the word date, but technically it could be understood that way, and I'm choosing to do precisely that.
After what I did yesterday night, I've been feeling down. I've been down this road several times in my life, and I know the drill. This is the part where the hollowness inside me grows and grows until it consumes me.
There's nothing else in this void.
It usually takes days before I snap out of it. But Daddy managed to pull a smile out of me. That has never happened so soon after one of those… episodes.
Still, even the excitement for our date isn't enough to pull me out of the hollowness. I took two shots earlier, and if I didn't have to work, I would have drowned a few bottles of cider. No heavy alcohol for me.
My shift starts slow. Some ugly ducklings try to flirt with me, and I go through the motions, flirting back like an actor. By ugly ducklings, I mean men. Everyone's an ugly duckling compared to my Daddy.
Speaking of my Daddy, of course, I track his every movement. He's busy tonight, and I wonder whether he'll still be up for our date.
I sigh deeply.
"Not your night?" Conrad asks.
"I'm good," I answer automatically.
I hope he doesn't keep talking. I hate chit-chat when I'm not in the mood.
Just when I'm about to take a new order, commotion erupts to the right. Everything happens too fast even for me.
A guy swings and hits Daddy's jaw. Daddy stumbles, but regains his footing and slams his fist into the guy's stomach.
This guy is dead.
The hollowness I felt evaporates, replaced with burning rage. No one touches my Daddy.
No one.
I vault over the bar in a single move. All I need is to get to the guy, and I'll slice his neck. No, that would be mercy. I'll make it slow. Painful. Until all I can hear are his screams.
A hand clamps around my arm, stopping me. I whip my head, ready to strike, but hear, "Stop. This is not the place nor the time. Do it for Ezrah."
Do it for Ezrah.
The words pierce through the murderous fog. I glance at Ethan, then nod. He lets go of my arm.
I can't believe I almost lost control in front of so many people.
But someone hit Daddy.
I turn back and see him swipe blood from his split lip. Rage surges again. I'll drain this guy dry for spilling even a single drop of Daddy's blood.
Security swarms in, grabbing the guy and escorting him out, banning him too. The ban won't matter. He won't see the sunrise.
Daddy looks at me, then Ethan, and heads our way. Before he can speak, I ask, "Are you okay?"
I reach out, my fingers brushing the edge of his split lip. The only thing keeping me rooted here, not already plunging my knife into the other guy, is Daddy.
"I'm fine. Just a little blood, a split lip. Nothing major."
Maybe not in his book. In mine, it's the greatest crime of all.
He pulls back, and I twist my hands behind my back, physically restraining myself from touching him again.
Daddy turns to Ethan and says, "I saw the guy touch one of the servers. When I told him to leave and that he's banned, he swung at me."
Ethan nods. "You did good. Take the rest of the night off."
Daddy shakes his head quickly. "No. It was nothing. I'm not leaving."
Aww. Is it because of me?
I want to ask, but even I know it's not the right time.
"I'm the boss," Ethan says flatly, "and I'm telling you. Take the rest of the night off." He walks away, his word final.
"Can we reschedule our plans for tomorrow?" I ask, hopeful.
Daddy looks torn, then nods. "As long as you're okay with it."
"I am." I beam because I already have other plans tonight. "Make sure you rest, Ezrah."
Before he can respond, I return to the bar, waiting impatiently for him to leave.
The second he's out the door, I change and slip away too.
Ethan messages me the guy's name and address (because of course, he would know I want them). This will be easy. And oh, so pleasurable.
The hum of excitement floods me. The wildness. The hunt. Nothing compares to this. Nothing else gives me this thrill. This twisted rush where death sits in my hands and I become the death bringer.
It's so sweet.
I love it.
It takes me half an hour to reach his house. My best friend already fed me the security codes. The man is alone tonight. His wife is on vacation, no doubt escaping the beatings he's been giving her. She'll come back to a surprise gift.
But first, I need to prepare a present for my Daddy.
It's always all for my Daddy.
The familiar coldness washes through me. I become someone else. Something else.
Darker. Sinister. Twisted.
I park a few streets away and walk the rest. With my small frame, black clothes, and hat low, I blend with the night.
I slip in through the back, like I own the place.
I take my time inside. I like to know what kind of life my victims leave behind. The photos tell me stories of their life. The books whisper titles that will never be finished. I also enjoy exploring the souvenirs from places they'll never visit again.
It's all part of the sweetest moments.
When I'm satisfied, I hunt him down. It doesn't take me long to find him. He's sprawled on his bed, snoring, and reeking of alcohol. Pathetic.
I grab the water glass by his bed and dump it over his head. He sputters awake, cursing. I don't let him curse for long. My fist cracks against his jaw, the same way he hit my Daddy.
Most people underestimate me because I'm small. That's their mistake.
Once I start, I don't stop. Blow after blow, his face caves, and the image of him striking my Daddy fuels every strike.
No one touches my Daddy.
No one.
The man screams, thrashes, but he can't escape. Once I've chosen a target, they never escape.
"Tell me." I pause, watching him bleed. "Do you know why I'm doing this?"
"I have money! Take it all!"
"Wrong answer, honey." My fist drives into his gut. "Try again."
"Was it my wife? Did she send you? I'll kill her. I'll pay you double what she-"
"Wrong again." I deliver another punch. "One more chance. Three for luck."
"I don't know! I don't fucking know!"
"That's bad for you. Three strikes."
I pull my knife, grinning at his panic. Right on cue, he starts begging. I love it when they beg.
I carve shallow lines into his skin – his cheeks, neck, chest. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to paint. His alcohol-dulled body weakens faster than most.
Normally, this part excites me. But tonight, I'm already bored.
"You touched my Daddy," I hiss. "That's why you die tonight."
"What the fuck? Wrong guy, man. I'm not gay!"
I tsck. Foolish scum.
I don't waste another word. I rip a shirt from his drawer and shove it into his mouth. Neighbors don't need to hear.
From my pocket, I pull another knife. This is my sharpest one. My special one. Reserved only for the chosen. For the ones who matter.
For a heartbeat, I wonder what it would feel like against my own skin. Relief. Release. But not tonight. Not here. My blood is too sweet to mingle with this filth.
I turn back to him. His body is weak and trembling. He can't fight anymore.
Slowly, methodically, I cut off his fingers.
One.
By.
One.
His muffled screams are my background music that makes everything so much better. A lullaby to my madness.
When I'm done, I sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed. The man gurgles weakly beside me, but I don't need him for this part.
It's time to play.
Play!
Giggling, I pick through the fingers. The middle one belongs in the middle. It's poetic. But it might look better on the edge. Hmm, choices, choices.
I arrange the fingers carefully into a heart. Bloody, crooked, beautiful.
It's my present for my Daddy.
A heart.
Made of this scum's fingers.
I hum as I arrange them one way and then another. The heart must look perfect. When I'm done, I stare at my masterpiece. Hmm, something is missing.
Oh! I know what.
Wings.
My gaze drifts over his body. I browse his body parts like they're a toy shop for me to choose from. I settle on what's left of his hands.
I sever both hands at the wrist, arranging them as wings spreading wide around my finger-heart.
It takes longer than expected, but when it's done? Fucking beautiful.
Tadaaaa.
Fingers, wings, blood, and a heart. Perfect.
"Daddy will love this," I whisper.
Maybe I should bring it home, freeze it, and gift it to my Daddy. Would he like that? Maybe. Maybe not. For now, I just snap a picture. Daddy doesn't need filth near him.
Speaking of filth… I'd almost forgotten the guy.
He's still awake, staring at my masterpiece with horror.
"You should never have touched my Daddy."
His lips part, but he's too weak to speak.
I'm bored now. It's time to finish for the night.
Earlier, I spotted bottles of gasoline in the attic. I fetch them, drenching him in it first. His screams are useless. Then I pour through the other rooms, soaking them too.
I strike a match and drop it after I'm finished. Fire leaps very fast and devours him.
I watch, just long enough to know he's gone. Then I spread the blaze through the rest of the house. Before I leave, I slice the hose on the gas line. The explosion will be glorious.
I hurry away, heading to my car. The blast booms behind me, shaking the ground.
It should make me happy.
But it doesn't.
I know what will happen if I go home tonight. The darkness will creep back in.
So instead, I shower at one of my cabins, change clothes, and drive to the only person who can make it better.
My Daddy.