CHAPTER 50
Eve
I remember. I remember it all.
This man tortured me and brainwashed me into believing that it was for my own good. I did despicable things because of him. I'll do despicable things again. Only this time, I'll do them to him.
I stalk down the wide, empty hall, keeping my footsteps quiet.
I know exactly which room he's in. I isolated the speaker to only sound in the library and the sick fuck fell for it.
The library is the largest room in the house and that's really saying something.
There are multiple places to hide and even two hidden doors disguised as bookshelves.
Once he finds the first one, he'll spend all his time checking the others to see if they're the same.
The door is halfway open when I get there. He has already found the first hidden room and has apparently cleared it because he's back out in the main part of the library, checking the shelves for similar levers like the one that let him past the bookshelf.
I slide a blade from the belt with my left hand and grip the whip tightly with my right.
We have guns in the house, but my aim with a blade is much better.
Thanks to this man in front of me, I threw my first blade around age seven.
By the time I was 14, I could hit a fly dead center.
It's amazing how well you can hone a skill when all you have is time.
I wait for just the right moment as he has both hands on the shelf in front of him.
He catches my movement out of the corner of his eye and turns.
I fling the blade, releasing it from my outstretched hand as I watch it cut through the air.
It slices directly through his right wrist, disabling the hand holding the gun.
"Ah, mother fucker! Son of a BITCH! He continues wailing, dropping the gun to the floor. In the same second, I race toward him, putting myself within reach to employ the whip. There's a loud crack rings out into the room, amplified by the multitude of books.
CRACK!
The whip reaches out, grabbing the sadistic son of a bitch by the throat.
Soft gurgles escape his lips as he struggles to breathe.
Small spikes on the end of the weapon hold it in place on his neck, causing small punctures in the skin and incapacitating this man who, for all these years has claimed to be my father, my master.
Fueled by rage, by betrayal, and revenge, I pull hard on the handle of the whip, dropping the man to his knees.
I jerk hard again, pulling him to his stomach and his gurgling becomes louder.
He's no longer holding the wrist with the blade protruding from it.
Instead, he's grappling at the whip around his neck.
His face is red. His mouth is open and he's trying desperately to take in air.
I keep the whip taught, dragging him toward me.
Yanking him close enough that I can pull him out the door, I begin dragging him down the hall.
They're all there waiting for me once I have dragged him to the end of the hall. My family. No. They were my family. Not anymore. Not now that they know who I am. What I am. I am a killer. I am the threat. It was me all along. I am the slayer.
Threats weren't everywhere, in everyone like I had feared.
The reason that I felt danger...it was me.
There was a threat near but, it wasn't around every corner as I had thought.
It was here all along...in me. I am a danger to everyone I care about.
..everyone who could ever care about me.
I have to protect them. I have to save them from. ...me.
Ada is on the phone with emergency services.
Cotton has moved Cal to the couch and Adam is standing there on his uninjured leg, with stark relief written all over his face when he sees me.
I don't know what to say. I don't know how to act.
I was going to kill his sister. I killed others before her. What must these people think of me?
I can't dwell on that right now. The police are on their way and as much as I had wanted more time with him, this piece of shit can't be alive when they get here.
They're all about to see who I really am, and it will change things between us forever.
Dropping the whip, I allow him to free himself.
He rolls over, coughing and spluttering.
Saliva pours from his mouth onto the floor and his eyes appear to be bleeding.
The lack of oxygen to his brain and subsequent pressure in his eyes caused subconjunctival hemorrhaging leaving the sclera of both eyes stained red.
His face is slowly regaining color as he attempts to get to his feet.
Closing the distance between us, I kick him hard in the ribcage with my booted foot.
There's an audible crack and he cries out in pain, falling over onto his other side.
I pull another knife from my belt. "Why did you do it?
" He doesn’t answer me. He just starts crying.
The little bitch has the audacity to start crying.
"What did you get out of forcing me to kill them?
" My voice is calm, betraying none of the rage I feel.
Still, he doesn't answer. He keeps wailing and I loose the knife.
It lands in his upper body somewhere around where one of Cal's gunshot wounds is. "Why?" I ask again.
"P-p-ple-please. I'm your d-dad. I I-I-"
I loose another blade. This one finds its home in his leg.
Roughly where he shot Adam. He screams louder, this time jerking his entire body at the impact.
"You are not my dad and if I hear you attempt to profess feelings for me that you can't possibly possess, I'll cut your throat.
Why did you do it? Why did you steal my childhood? Why did you steal their lives?"
He doesn't dare hesitate this time. His response is immediate. "M-money. Snuff films. The killings...they were streamed live."
My mouth falls open. The Earth is spinning. I feel a thick pulsing inside my skull and my limbs are heavy. Too heavy. I suck in a heavy breath as tears that had already filled my eyes, spill down my cheeks. Money. He did this for money. I killed those people . For money.
He made me believe it was for survival. When I questioned why it had to be me, he said it would prepare me for when I could leave the bunker.
He brought me the younger ones, the smaller ones and let me 'cut my teeth' on them to prepare for the day when the gas had gone, and we could live above ground.
He was living in a separate bunker just above mine.
I couldn't go to that one because his door led straight above ground, leaving him the first line of defense against attack.
You never truly know how sightless you are until the smokescreen is lifted and you can't imagine how you believed the lies.
I loose another blade. This one, sticking in his trachea.
His eyes go impossibly wide as everything inside me breaks.
He makes strangled noises and reaches for his throat.
He tries to pull out the knife, but I place my boot on it, pushing it further into his neck, imagining the times I did this same thing to others as I watched the light fade from their eyes.
Stepping across him, I'm standing above him, straddling his body.
Leaning forward, I look into his eyes. His frantic blood-red eyes.
Leaning down further still, I whisper in his ear, "I want to watch as these soulless eyes fade to nothing.
" He's using every bit of strength he has left to squirm beneath me and shake his head.
I use my last blade to slice his throat from left to right and I watch as his body stills, and his eyes go dim.
I've seen it before, but it's never been quite as satisfying as it is right now.
There'll be no explaining the way he died but, I don't care.
Whatever comes next is worth this feeling. Revenge is the sweetest thing.
Sirens can be heard coming up the drive now and soon the lights are closing in.
Standing to my feet, I survey the room. It's a mess.
There's blood everywhere. Two dead bodies lie on opposite ends of the room and the people I had hoped to claim as family look stricken.
Cal lays almost lifeless on the couch except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Cotton is knelt in the floor beside Cal and Ada is sitting on the couch with his head in her lap. She's crying and speaking softly to him. Cotton is checking his pulse and looking out the window, hoping to see emergency personnel come through the door.
I look at Adam and he's looking at me. His expression is unreadable. He limps toward me, and I take a step back. Hurt and confusion line his expression, but he doesn't have time to speak before the front doors burst open and police filter in through the foyer, quickly followed by paramedics.
It's over. It's all over. Everything. Including us.