She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLIV)

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

The room was exactly as he expected it to be, dark and undisturbed.  The door to the basement remained locked from the inside and only a battering ram was going to bring it down.  He slowly pushed the false wall open, careful not to let the hinges squeal.  There were at least two people in the house.  He could hear their voices through the floor, but it didn’t matter who they belonged to anymore. His mother? Megan?  The police?  They were all just faceless shadows to him.  He only wanted to finish what he had started.

His movements were slow and deliberate.  He wasn’t trying to be quiet.  There was enough activity on the floor above him to cover any small sounds that he might make. He crept across the room because at that moment the ‘other’ faltered.  He felt its will slip away, leaving him completely vulnerable to the death creeping outward from his injury.  He felt every ripple of his shirt, every grain of dirt beneath his feet and for the first time since watching Lucy go over the balcony, he wondered just what the hell it was that he was doing.

“Uhn,” he groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Scott?”

He froze.  The voice came from the other side of the door to the basement.  It was whispered so softly that if his senses hadn’t been so finely strung, he might have missed it.

“Scott, please!  Open the door!”

He recognized her the second time, and if he didn’t act quickly, her voice was going to alert those above them.

“Are you alone,” he asked.  His voice was gravelly, foreign to his ears and he couldn’t recognize it to what he knew he should sound like.

“Yes,” she answered.  The relief was apparent in her voice.  For the first time since they were children, he sensed that she was genuinely worried.  As his hand settled on the lock, he paused and repeated his last question.

“Yes, yes dammit!  Now please open the door,” she begged.

Seconds passed as he waited for any sign of the other to reappear and when he was convinced that there would be no interruptions, he flipped the latch.  The door all but knocked him back as she shoved her way through and into his arms, catching him as he began to collapse.

“Oh Scott, I’m so sorry,” she blubbered.  A spew of words flew from her mouth about how she saw what happened to Lucy on the news and about how she was sorry for being such a bitch to him over the years.  Any other person might have missed most of what she said, so fast were the words as she spoke them, but he heard every single one.  As she sobbed into his shoulder, he looked over hers with cold indifference.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, stepping back from him.  Her shirt peeled away from his bloody abdomen with a wet, sticky slurp.  With the other gone, his wound had begun bleeding again in earnest.

“Oh my GOD,” she shrieked.  Her voice was so high that it barely made a noise and her hands shot to her mouth as she turned, bent over and threw up next to the door.

Scott looked down and noticed that the blood had caused a patch of duct tape to peel away from his stomach.  A small length of his intestine was beginning to peek its way out of the wound, pulsing in and out of his body every beat of his heart.  As before, he shrugged and pushed it back in, pushing the tape back over to help keep it in.

As she continued to retch against the wall, he turned and walked over to the table where his project still lay and looked down at it with the tender affection that a mother would afford her newborn babe.  Slowly, his hand reached down and caressed the cold steel beneath his fingers as he trembled with exaltation from its touch.

“Scott?”  Megan hadn’t moved from where she still hunkered with her hands supporting her against her knees.  Her voice was scratchy and trembled as if the effort of speaking was yet too much.

“Scott,” she asked again when no answer was forthcoming.

“What.”  It wasn’t a question, but rather, more of a pained grunt.

“What happened at Lucy’s house?  What happened, Scott,” she asked fearfully.

“She stabbed me Megan.  She took this knife,” he said as he pulled the butcher knife from where he had it hidden, “and she plunged it into my stomach.”  As he spoke, he thrust the knife in her direction for emphasis.

“But…but, why?!”

“Because I threw her off a balcony,” he answered coldly.

Silence filled the room as he lifted the chainmail shirt off of the table and pulled it over his head.  The pain was excruciating, but as the weight began to settle on his shoulders, the ‘other’ also settled back into his nervous system.  As his head popped through the opening at the top, a dark, malevolent laughter erupted from core of his being and the suddenness of it caused Megan to scream.

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