Chapter 6 Lazarus
six
Lazarus
Father runs from the longhouse, circling to the back where Arn stands, holding poor Timmy’s head in his beefy hands.
Poor, poor Timmy.
Father really should not have left him alone for my axe to claim.
He also should not have left their most precious toy alone in the longhouse.
Foolish, bold man. He knows not what he has done, but he will in time.
I slink along the outside of the longhouse in the opposite direction, sticking to the darkness I know well. I can hear Arn and Father chattering in the distance, both exclaiming their shock and surprise at seeing Timothy this way.
His death will keep them busy for quite some time, I should think.
Enough time for me to do what I have truly come to do this evening.
Carefully, I step onto the wooden stairs that lead up to the longhouse, taking care not to let them creak and moan under me.
My one hand clutches the axe I used to lop off Timmy’s pretty little head, and the other is thoroughly coated in the blood I collected for my own purposes.
I enter the longhouse; the door slipping open slowly, quietly as I lay my hand on the wood.
I press hard enough to leave a handprint of blood behind, grinning as my fingers leave stains behind.
The axe drips a trail I mean to leave behind as I walk through the silent building, heading towards the one open door at the back of the left side.
The Lamb’s bedroom.
The same bedroom I was taken from, blood soaked and cackling with joy ten years ago. How fitting they have given him Ezekiel’s old room.
How disgusting that they have placed their most precious being where he once breathed and carried out his wicked ways.
I reach the open door, and peer inside, seeing this new Lamb seated on the bed. His head is tilted forward, hand clasped in prayer and lips moving, though I cannot make out the words.
It doesn’t matter.
He will have no real use of words after I am done with him; his screams are all I seek. His death at my hand will be a message to a Father who stopped caring about any but himself long ago.
But.
Then.
The Lamb opens his eyes and blinks, sending beautiful tears cascading down his cheeks, and I nearly make a sound of awe.
This Lamb, whatever his name may truly be, is even more stunning up close than he is from a distance.
I have watched him over the past few weeks since I arrived back at this place, and I had noted his beauty, but up close he is far lovelier than I had ever imagined.
He is striking in a subtle way, far from the bold angles and lines that made up the first Lamb to sleep in this room.
His dark hair is messy this evening, hanging loosely about his cheeks, and I wonder what it would be like to grip those wayward locks tight in my fist.
Perhaps that is how I will do it.
Grab his hair, slit his throat.
I close my eyes for a moment, imagining what he will look like when my axe cuts into him, savoring the anticipation of slipping my sharpened blade between his muscles and rending bone away from bone.
Yet, I can’t quite get a grasp of it.
I can’t quite taste the need of it.
I open my eyes and frown at the Lamb on the bed, who has returned to his hopeless praying to a God that is not coming to save them.
His eyes are screwed tightly shut, and he rocks back and forth where he sits ever so slightly as he murmurs words meant for holier ears than mine.
He slumps off the bed, tears still glistening on his cheeks as he lands on the wooden floor below on his knees, but yet he still prays.
He truly believes.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
I was prepared for a Lamb such as Ezekiel. A creature of sloth, vanity and madness, serving only his wicked needs and taking whatever he desires with his wicked hands.
I was not ready for prayer.
I was not ready for him, and now I have lingered too long in his doorway. His eyes open wide as he spots me standing there, axe dangling from my hand. I grip it tight as he opens his mouth, leaping forward to shove my hand over his face and stifling his scream.
“Hello Lamb,” I whisper, slipping behind him and pressing my hand so hard against his lips that I can feel his teeth poking out behind them.
I pull him back towards my chest and grin at the way he shakes.
I don’t know what I am to do now that he has spotted me and I have grabbed him.
I could remove his head, but I have an axe, and swinging at this angle is treacherous.
If I let go of him, there is a chance that he makes a sound and calls for Father before I can kill him.
That will not do. Everything will end before I have done what I came here for.
I mean to leave pieces instead of whole parts.
But still, there may be a way to do it. The Lamb swallows hard, delicate throat bobbing, as I gently let go of my axe.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of cloth with the symbol I’ve been leaving around the compound on it.
I had intended to leave this stuffed into his dead mouth when I left Bright Haven for the night, but I suppose it will do for his living mouth as well.
I quickly pull my hand away and shove the cloth past his lips, muffling the noise he attempts to make.
“Be a good Lamb and shut the fuck up,” I murmur, pressing my hand onto his lips once more. He nods obediently in response, and I am quite taken by it.
I am quite taken with this Lamb.
What if I were to take him?
Knock him out, carry him through the gaps in the fence and keep him captive in my cabin? I could do that instead of killing him right here.
I could kill him there.
Deliver him piece by piece to Father.
I grin as I realize that my first plan was less than this.
It was not as good as this. In opening his eyes and spotting me here, this Lamb has given me a gift this evening, though he does not know it yet.
He blanches, shying away from me where he sits and I reach for my axe, gripping the handle again.
“See you soon, little Lamb,” I whisper as I raise the weapon and slam the blunt end against the side of his head.