Prologue #2
Seeing the heirloom meant to shackle me breaks the spell that’s been gripping me.
“But you’re free now—you’re free, and you set them free. They won’t suffer the same fate.”
“W-w-i-i-shy?” my mother splutters, screeching in pained, uncontrollable sobs, forcing my attention away from my doubt, as if she doesn’t already know the goddamn answer.
This fucking question—this fucking one-word question. Three fucking letters that flip a switch.
My eye twitches, hearing it again, as a memory from earlier, jackhammers against my skull, jolting me into the scene from earlier tonight.
“Are you sure we should do this?”
Three sets of eyes land on me as Griff’s question hangs in the air like a beacon of light at a crossroad, waiting for your decision—ready to consume us if we don’t make the correct choice.
Before I can tell the dummy it’s too late, a whoosh of air tickles my unmasked face. “What are you, fucking stupid?” Rick asks, his Freddy Krueger mask still affixed to his face.
Fredrick choosing to be Freddy is both hilarious and corny. But like his namesake, he has a penchant for haunting children—the sick fuck.
The glee on his face when I explained the plan should’ve been enough to put an end to this ridiculous idea.
But it didn’t, did it?
Refusing to argue with myself over an option that is no longer on the table, I swivel my head to the asshat in the Ghostface mask splattered with the blood of Leigh—my baby sister. Her four years on this earth—cut short because she was born into the wrong family.
A flicker of guilt begins to tug at the ends of my heartstrings, determined to loosen the intricately woven resolve pumping through my veins.
They had to die.
Why?
The stupid question rattles around the part of my brain, desperate to give a reason for my descent into madness.
Why—
It’s a bit late for these questions, but that doesn’t stop the bombardment.
Was there no other possible solution?
Could I have spared my siblings?
Why did I enlist my friends’ help?
Why did I start with my siblings?
Why did their deaths have to be so brutal?
The whys gnaw through the lining of my gut, traveling to my blackened heart before they’re swiftly snuffed out. And with it, the sliver of compassion I possess disintegrates in the vat of acidic rage coursing through me.
You saved their innocence.
I chuckle at the voice that pretends I’m the antihero in this story.
You did it to save them. It tries to whisper. But I know the all-consuming truth. Its nails burrow—deep—deeper, flowing until I’m shrouded in its darkness.
I am no hero…
There are no heroes in this story—just villains in capes, masking as the superhero while vying for total and utter destruction.
Huffing, I drown out the whispers, refocusing on the idiot before me. “Should we do this?” I hiss. “Don’t you think it’s too fucking late for a should-we-fucking question?”
Griff’s confused green eyes peer back at me as if I asked to explain quantum physics.
Rubbing my forehead, I remind myself that this plan is dummy-proof. I have so many contingency plans if any of us fuck up, but I’d prefer not to need any of them.
“Stick to the plan,” I instruct, looking over the prone body of my eleven-year-old brother on the floor. Blood pools around him as fear is permanently etched into his skin—his last moments filled with confusion and fear.
They were all like that. Evander, Laurel, Mikayla, Foster, Ashleigh, and Tati. Each face scrunched up their noses and furrowed their brows in shock when we entered the rooms. My name, the last words spoken before I—
My eyes instantly snap shut, cutting the memory short, but their innocent faces with their unanswered cries for help crack me open. The temporary relief they felt when I walked into their rooms, while confusion marred their foreheads.
Gritting my teeth, I force the images away. Killing them may be my only regret. Animosity towards myself for being the reason my siblings are no longer in this world—indignation at the two waste of atoms that are the very catalyst for their deaths.
“No,” I hiss, and my father’s laughter fills the room, bouncing off every wall—mocking me.
“You didn’t save them, Mikah.” The surety in my father’s decree punches me in the gut. “Are you understanding now, son?” My father’s question is a challenge. He knows something I don’t, and I can’t help but feel I played right into their hands.
The word son slices through me faster and deeper than the knife affixed to mother’s face.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, irritation engulfing me.
“But that’s who you are, Mikah. Our son.” My father spews the word again, gleefully.
It’s only then that I realize this is no longer a plea for their lives. It’s as if he knows he is dying here, and for the first time, I genuinely question if this wasn’t their plan from the very beginning.
“No… no… no. He’s bluffing,” I mutter low enough for only me to hear the doubt bearing its full weight down on me.
Peering over to him, I snap, “Randolph J. Gordon III, tonight you die, and I will reap your and your wife’s soulless carcasses into acid so there is nothing left of you to mourn.
” But there’s no emotion—his mask has dissolved.
In its place is the man who runs an empire, ready to sacrifice his firstborn son.
The exchange stirs something at the back of my mind, niggling like a gnat flying near my ear. It’s enough to give me pause. “Why is he so calm? Is this what they always wanted?” I pace the length of the room, my gaze flitting around the room, searching for answers that never come.
“Fuck this,” I shout, remembering what I set out to do.
His reaction doesn’t matter—hysterical pleading or stone-cold resolve, they both will never leave this alive. So, now he’s determined to see how far he can push me.
Whirling around, I shout, “Hold this bitch’s face so he can watch his wife die.”
Fredrick is the first to reach me. “Hold her head still,” I order, and he grunts, fisting her hair so tight my mother screams.
Jackson and Griff soon follow, and I rattle off instructions. They quickly move into position around her.
“Hollow out this bitch’s cheeks,” I snap.
Kicking her legs open, I stand between my mother’s legs, glaring down as I watch Jackson and Griff slide their knife and scalpel into her face. The sharpness of each blade is evident in the way they both masterfully carve through her flesh.
“Ahhh! No, sth-th-lop th-isif,” she stammers. The earlier trickles of blood—now streaming down her throat.
Snickering, I mimic her saccharine tone, “Now, hold still, Charlotte, I wouldn’t want you to mess up any of your cosmetic enhancements.” I’m greeted with bone-chilling wails and gurgled, nonsensical responses.
Tilting my head back, I once again inhale her pleas for the second time as the metallic aroma of blood permeates their bedroom.
“Catch,” Fredrick shouts, tossing me a piece of my mother’s cheek.
Opening my hand, the flecks of the bloody cheek splatter on my white shirt.
Because I’m an ass, I dangle her cheek before her swollen-from-crying, tear-stained gaze, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
“Catch,” Griff shouts, tossing me the other side of her face. “So fucking cool. I can see you through the hole.” The giddy idiot squawks, sticking his finger through the hole, tapping the scalpel against her implants.
“This is far better than hunting, killing, and skinning deer,” Fredrick adds.
Jackson pushes my mother’s head from side to side, studying their handiwork. “The holes are the perfect size to fuck.”
A scene from a snuff film I watched just hours ago comes to mind.“I wonder if three dicks could fuck her face at the same time?” I put the idea in the atmosphere, knowing it will land. These clowns are different levels of deranged.
All our eyes meet—the unspoken instructions heard.
“Now the fun can begin. But we have to move. I’m not sure how long she’ll last, and I want to hear her come as she dies,” I announce.
The three of them line up around her, dicks all bobbing in the wind. Precum drips from the tip of Griff’s dick, and with the way he’s excited, I wonder if he’ll last three pumps. This time, Jackson is in front, using her hair as leverage, while Fredrick and Griff stay in the same spot.
Fredrick is the first to test the fit. “It almost feels as good as a pussy,” he shouts, and I roll my eyes. Like he would know. His nutsack just dropped like a month ago. “But her damn teeth are in the fucking way.
Turning, I grab the pliers and hand them to Fredrick. Then, I lean against the wall, conspicuously flaunting my glee.
“My turn,” Jackson bellows, sounding almost like a whine, and Fredrick tosses the bloody tool his way.
Jackson is nothing like Fredrick. He rips my mother’s head back, gripping at the root. “Open that mouth like the dirty cunt you are, or I’ll play golf with your head as the ball.”
Still defiant, Charlotte refuses, and Jackson’s fist says hello to her eye up close and personal. Then, he grabs her mouth, prying it open with wild abandon.
Her sobs turn into hiccups before reaching a pitch I believe is incapable of being heard by the human ear. Tooth by tooth, they yank, and my skin crawls. I can’t begin to imagine the pain of having a screwed-in tooth being viciously ripped out.
I hide my snort as I notice what’s left of her once paid-for, beautiful, pearly-white, Colgate smile. Chunks of tissue are still wrapped around some screws, while exposed nerves, I swear I see twitch, are left unprotected.
Ready to move on, the three of them take their designated positions.
“If you bite, bitch, I’ll make you suck on a brick as I cave in your face,” Jackson warns before slamming his dick between her lips.
They quickly learn three dicks aren’t better than one in this instance.
“Cock jam,” Griff calls out, laughing at his own stupid joke.
“Her pussy is free,” I offer. My smirk deepens when I see the horror in her glassy gray eyes. Tears soaked in blood are indistinguishable as they fall to the ground.