Heartless

Where had the time gone? It seemed that just yesterday, I was dancing through the rain with him, laughing and running from our mothers. It seemed that our intertwined lives and my own flashed through my mind, twenty four years of knowing each other and twenty seven of being alive mingling together in a few seconds. When we met for the first time, that time we went to the fair, where he paid my way for everything and we had our first kiss. When we graduated high school, and when he asked me to marry him. The birth of our daughter, how his eyes filled with tears when he looked at me holding her. A short lifetime of memories and thoughts and emotions took ahold of me, ripping tears from my eyes. 

    Everyone had told us that we were never going to last, that life would tear us apart and spit out the pieces, leaving us unable to stay together. We proved them wrong when our daughter, my little Haliey passed away in the middle of the nights, two weeks after bringing her home. It brought us closer together, our grief, and made us stronger.

     Now, we were in this God forsaken house. The house my daughter died in, because no one could leave well enough alone. They wanted to come poke around, looking for evidence that we killed her. They thought we killed her, killed our daughter. They know nothing, and he thought we should show them that. I, of course, had to come along too. How could I leave him by his self with these people? Who knows what they might do to him without me here. He might need help dealing with them, help with telling them to leave and never come back.

     Their screams interrupted my thoughts, followed by the thuds of something hard colliding with flesh, then silence echoed throughout the building. I sighed, stepping around the corner from the kitchen. He was standing there, just in front of the couch, a glare gracing his face as he looked down at the men laying at his feet. I stepped next to him, our hands finding the others and tangling our fingers. He rolled his shoulders as we stood there waiting for them to wake. Eventually they did, groans coming from their throats and hands reaching for their foreheads.

     “What happened?” One asked, his voice hoarse from screaming. I huffed and rolled my eyes, leaning against my husband. Of course they did not remember. That would make this so much easier.

*  *  *

More screams emitted from the basement. Opened the door I made my way down the stairs, trying my best to avoid the blood stains. There were three men scattered throughout the room, each missing some body part and gushing blood. One was strapped to a chair, his head tied back so he was looking up at the ceiling. Another was forced on the table, arms and legs spread wide and various objects digging into his skin. The last was hanging from the chains, arms lifted and head hung in submission, already accepting his fate. My husband stood in the middle of the room, his gaze switching from one to the other.

          “Hey,” I grinned up at him, coming to a stop less than a foot away.

          He flashed me a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Hey, darlin’.”

          I raised an eyebrow, glanced around the room, and asked, “How’s it going?” His only response was a sigh and a shake of his head; and even though he said nothing, I understood what he meant: not good.

          Muffled groans came from the men surrounding us. We tensed, knowing that at least one of them was waking up and that we had to deal with them. I rested my forehead against him and his arm came around my waist before we stepped away to move towards the men.

          Two hours later the basement was in chaos. Continuous screams filled the air as the last man was tortured, the other two having died earlier. Much to my pleasure – not the man’s though – my husband and I were partnered up with this last one, having no one else to deal with.

          The man in front of us was a mess, simply put. His hair, once a light blonde, was now dark and matted with his blood, which dribbled down his face and onto his chest. At some point he was probably attractive. Now, his eyes were swollen almost shut, his lips cracked and bleeding, bruises littering across his face. Blood coated his entire body almost like water, as if he had just came from a swim. He was panting heavily as he tried his best not to meet our eyes knowing that it just made us angry.

          Before we did anything else I glanced up at my husband. He was already watching me, a sad smile gracing his face. He lifted a hand to touch my cheek and smooth back my hair before placing a kiss on my forehead.

          “It’s almost time,” he whispered. This time it was me to smile with one last look around the room.

          “Do you think that they’ll learn this time?” I did not realize it was me who had asked until he answered.

          “Probably not,” he shook his head, “but I hope so. She doesn’t deserve this. We don’t deserve this.”

          Silently agreeing, I met his eyes. He was already slightly transparent, almost hallow-like, and I knew I looked the same. Yes, it was almost time. We had to get this over with.

          Like every other time, I knew he was going to let finish it. Haliey was my daughter, after all. I did take her death the hardest, and I found more pleasure in punishing those who thought otherwise. So I took a single step forward and the man’s head snapped up to glare at me.

          “Get away,” he spat. I laughed, which seemed to scare him further, and moved even closer. I was right in his face by now and could practically smell the fear rolling off of him.

          “Tell me something,” I muttered, snaking a hand into his hair and yanking it back so he had no choice but to look at me. “Why did you come here?”

          His teeth gritted but when I pulled even harder on his hair he answered. “Because you killed your daughter.”

          “I did not!” I shrieked. My right hand reached back, pausing for just a second so I could say one last thing. “I did not kill my daughter. The man that broke into my home did! The man that killed my daughter in front of me did, right before he did the same to me.”

          The man’s face lit up in realization before my hand snapped forward, plunging into his chest. The shriek he let out cannot be explained, it is simply the noise any living thing will make when it’s dying painfully. I found the organ I was searching for and yanked, bone and muscle and sinew attempting to stop me. Still I pulled, until my hand was free and I was clutching the organ every living thing needed to live.

          “Done,” I said, not even bothering to conceal the hatred that coated my voice. I turned to look at the man standing beside me, but I could hardly see him. I felt his touch though, no matter how light it was.

          “It’s time. Let’s go home,” he murmured. Feeling his hand wrap around mine, I looked around the room. The men lay there, blood and gore spilling onto the ground. I could feel my anger slipping away when I heard my daughter, the feeling being replaced with a smile.

          “Let’s go,” I agreed. And as the sun’s first rays hit the house we were already gone, slipping into the second world only known by those like us.