5. Cain
Cain
Iwas parked three houses down, the engine cold and the lights killed. It was a routine now—a ritual of sorts. Watching her bedroom window was how I ended my days, ensuring that the world stayed outside and June stayed safely within.
Then, the movement caught my eye. Two silhouettes, fluid and quick, tumbling out of the side window like mice scurrying from a hole. They darted into the darkness of the yard, hushed giggles lost to the wind.
I leaned back, a slow, dark, sinister smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Naughty girls.
I didn’t start the car until they were well down the road, and even then, I kept the lights off for the first few streets.
It was easy to follow them, they were so consumed by their own sense of rebellion that they never thought to look back.
They were amateurs. To them, the dark is a veil. To me, it’s a hunting ground.
At the theatre, I watched them from across the street as they joined the crowd of rowdy teenagers.
I watched them wait out the door guy. The second his back was turned, I observed the clever little dash they made straight into the horror screening.
Annie was too young to be in there without an adult, but lucky for them, I’m the only one paying attention.
Inside the air was thick with the scent of artificial butter and the hum of twenty restless, rebellious kids. An almost unbearable combination.
I moved through the shadows of the back row, silent as a ghost. I took a seat at the very end of their row, sinking into the springs of the chair.
From here, I could see the curve of June’s neck, the way her eyes widened at the screen, and the way she leaned into Annie during the jump scares.
They were so innocent—so blissfully unaware of the danger sitting only metres away, watching them with more intensity than the screen ever could.
The screen offered a fake nightmare, I was the real one, waiting until it was time to strike.
The thrill of being this close, of sharing her air while she remained oblivious, ignited something dangerous in my blood. It was a predatory instinct. She was mine to watch, mine to judge, mine to protect. And mine to eventually kill.
When the credits finally rolled and the lights flickered to a dim lowlight, I let them exit first. I followed at a distance, my boots silent and undetectable on the carpet.
Outside, Annie spotted a group of friends, loud, energetic kids from her school.
They started moving in the direction of the park, a typical post movie hangout.
I watched Annie specifically. I liked her. Not for who she was, but for what she did for June. June was happy when she was around. She laughed more, her shoulders dropped their usual tension. And most importantly, Annie wasn’t a bad influence.
I stayed under the cover of the trees, a shadow among shadows, watching the group gather under the dim streetlights.
As long as they stayed within my sight, the world was in order.
But if any of those boys got too close to June, or Annie, the movie would be far from the scariest thing they seen tonight.
I watched them from the outskirts of the park, across the grass, the glow of a cigarette lit up June’s face. My jaw tightened instantly. I wanted to storm over there, rip the poison from her lips, and drag her back to her room where she belonged.
But I didn’t. I sat in stubborn silence, fascinated by the mere fact of her existence. She was a firefly in a jar I hadn’t quite closed the lid on yet. But the day was coming.
Then, they drifted. Annie and June moved deeper into the trees, towards the looming skeletal frame of the transmission tower that dominated the parks edge. A few minutes passed. The silence of the park grew heavy, unnatural.
Her scream shattered the silence, tearing through the night like a bolt of lightning.
It was June.
My walk quickly transitioning into a run. My run became a blind, panicked dash as I crashed through the park grounds. I expected to find a harasser, a drunk, or even just an argument between her and a friend. I didn’t expect this.
“Somebody help! Call an ambulance, please! Annie!”
I broke into the clearing under the tower. The scene was a chaotic blur. In the middle of it all, June was on the ground, cradling Annie’s limp body. She was inconsolable, choking on her own sobs, her voice a heartbreaking sound of grief.
I snapped out of my shock, the need to be near her overriding the horror. I dropped to my knees beside them.
“Cain! Cain, please help me! Oh my god, Annie!” June’s eyes were wide, glazed with tears and trauma I never wanted her to know.
“What happened, June? Tell me!” I commanded, my hands already moving to Annie’s neck, searching for a pulse that was terrifyingly faint.
One of the boys was nearby, babbling into a payphone.
I ignored him, positioning my hands on Annie’s chest to begin compressions.
The technicality of CPR felt hollow against the weight of June’s hysterics.
All I could think of—the one thought that looped like a taunt, was that I should have stopped them.
I should have driven them home after the movie.
“She fell,” June choked out, the words barely escaping her throat. “From the tower… one of our friends… he dared her to climb it… Oh god, Cain... Annie!”
She continued to scream, a sound of pure, soul shattering grief. I looked down at Annie. Her eyes were half open, fixed and lifeless. A dark, sluggish trail of blood leaked from her nose and mouth, staining the grass.
I am not a religious man. I haven’t looked towards the sky for help in a lifetime. But as I pumped my palms against Annie’s ribs, I found myself praying to a God I knew had long ago, abandoned me.