Written for the horror challenge! Not sure how much of a horror it is but I'm not familiar with the genre :P enjoy!
THEN
Calm down. Just calm down. The faster you breathe the tighter the chains. They're tighter, tighter, just breathe, breathe count down from three, three two one, threetwo threetwo threetwoonethreetwoone three, three . . .
There was a long history in Kendall's family. A dark, twisted, tragic history.
I'm of sin. Maybe I don't breathe because I died long ago. Demons live through death. They burn in fire and dark and crawl back up to touch me, they are me . . . I'm sin. Calm down. Calm down CALM DOWN CALM DOWN CALM
he's watching me, taunting me. he's smiling and he's waving and my hand touches the glass. I want to claw the flesh from his face until he drips red and he dies, he falls and smashes into pieces until there's nothing left of him and I win. I can't win. he is me, I'm him, he's smiling but I don't want to smile, I want to scream. I can't scream, if I scream He'll get me. Not him, no the other Him. Him, Him, the one who consumes me. He is me too, I think. Sometimes I don't know, sometimes I can't tell. What's real, what's not real. If he's me or I'm him or He's me or He rules me, I don't always know. It's harder when I can't think straight, I can't focus. The pain of Him inside me, consuming me, ruining me with His Hell, His claws and teeth. He is a man of Shadows. Shadow Man. I hate Him. I tell Him I hate Him He laughs at me and tears His claws into my chest and CALM DOWN HE'LL HEAR YOU
I hate Him but He brought me to life. Do I thank Him? No, I can't, not when I wish I was dead. If I was dead I would be free. Except I wouldn't, that's not right, I'd be in Hell with the rest of sin, where thousands of Hims will be there to eat me forever, because I'm dead and if you're dead you can't die again. I think. I don't know.
He brought me to life because I was dead. Maybe you can die again. My mother she pleaded with Him. She gave me to Him so I could breathe, so I could live but this isn't living, this is worse than living. What is living? I don't know. It must be better than this for people who are good. Not like me. He killed her. I know He did. He broke her body and she fell into the dark, she sank into the dark. He says it was me, I know it wasn't. I would never kill her, even though I hate her. She left me with Him, she should have let me stay dead. But I miss her. I wish she was here. But I killed her. No, He killed her. I don't know. Calm down. Calm down. Keep breathing. Tomorrow is another day. I have to be normal. Pretend you're normal. Pretend you're not sin. They'll laugh at me again. They don't know who I live with. What I live with. Who I am what I am. They don't know. If they knew they wouldn't laugh. They'd scream and run. They'd come for me with crosses. I wish they would. Better than living. Better than being in shackles. Shackles. They hurt. They hurt me.
Kendall fell against the stone cold steps, unable to stand any longer. The door at the end of the room, the handle was beginning to creak. Whimpering, he crawled up the steps to the pane of glass, to where he sat behind the glass. No, he wasn't behind it, he was in the glass. he was the glass. he moved like Kendall moved and dressed like he dressed but he always smiled, he always smiled and he waved and he laughed while Kendall cried. he was what he was supposed to be. What he could have been if he wasn't a sin, if he wasn't made of sin. He would be happy. But not like that, not manic, not evil. He would be happy like a bird, like a song. Not like him. he was happy, but he was happy because Kendall wasn't. Like Him. They were both evil. He was evil too. I'm evil too.
I see him, he's so beautiful. So pretty. So pretty. Not like me. I'm ugly. Sin is ugly. I could be pretty if I was good.
"I hate you," he hissed, fist slamming against the mirror. His shackles left scratches down the shiny glass. It was covered in scratches, everywhere. Sometimes he tried to scratch out his face, but he always found another way to be seen. he smirked and waved in the glass and Kendall wailed, slamming his hand against the glass again. It hurt to hit it but it felt better than to look. "Get away," Kendall screamed, fists pounding against him as he wept. "Stop looking at me!"
"You can't get away from him."
Kendall cowered, falling away from the glass and down the steps. He jumped to his hands and knees and scampered to the corner, his chains dragging, him falling, Him looking at him. The Shadow Man. He always smiled when he looked at him. Except when His face changed, when it contorted and twisted into something disgusted, something that was repulsed to look at him.
He's so evil. But He hates me. I must be bad, then. I really must be bad. I'm so evil, if evil looks at me like that. I'm more evil than He is. No, how can I be? He's of Shadows, I'm of flesh. I can't be that bad. I can't be. But I am. I am. Calm down.
"Why do you want to get away?" He asked, eyes lighting in happiness, in evil. He laughed. "Without him." He pointed to the glass, where he was pressing his hands to the glass and smiling, fluttering his eyelashes. Kendall curled up. "Without him, you have nothing. Except me. You always have me. Always inside of you."
"I had my mom," Kendall wailed, covering his ears, rocking back and forth, crying. His voice hurt. "I want my mom."
"You killed her."
"N-no, you did—"
"YOU KILLED HER."
I didn't, I didn't.
"You ripped her to shreds and devoured her flesh, you licked up her blood, you need her blood. Because you're poison."
I'm not poison. I'm poisoned. Not poison, poisoned. Poison. I don't know.
"You made me do it!" he shrieked, tugging harder at the chains. But he couldn't move further, his wrists bled and he couldn't move. His skin oozed dark red and dripped on the floor.
"We're one and the same. You know that. Look at you. Look at me. Both sinners. Both sin. But I'm not a killer."
"You are!" Kendall roared, covering his face. Oozing red and salty tears. Metal and salt. Metal and salt. Blood and water. "And I'm not you. I'm n-not . . ."
But I am. I know I am. Look at Him, look at me. Hair like gold, like gold that rusted, gold that rotted. Can gold rot? I don't know. Eyes green, green like deep water. Like the dark. The dark evil where she sank, where she was ripped. By Him, by me? I don't know. He has my face. Or do I have His face? I have his face. he's still smiling. Stop smiling. I don't want to smile. I can't smile. I don't know how. Leave me alone.
I'm so alone. I have no one. But I have them. I'm not alone. I'm never alone. When He's not with me, he is. When I'm away, I'm pretending to be pure, they're not with me. But they're still there. Still inside me. I'm never alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone . . . threetwoone . . . three . . . two . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Knight, like a hero. Knight, a tragic hero. A fallen one.)
Kendall remembered the day she left him with Him. No, that wasn't true. It was stupid. He was stupid. He was too young then, too young to remember. But he imagined the way it must have happened, he imagined it all the time. Her pleading with Him, holding him in a cradle maybe. Or in a bundle in her arms. A bundle of joy. What a joke.
"Please!" she would have pleaded, even wept. She was supposed to love him, after all. "Please take him, bring him to life. Please!"
"If he becomes mine."
His. His.
"Anything. I need him to live. I know you can take care of him . . ."
Ha. He took care of me, sure. He took care of you too.
He was older when she died, when she was thrown into dark. But still too young to remember. But he imagined that too. Tried to remember if it was really him who did it, or if it was Him, like he thought. No, he knew. It had to be Him. He could remember if he tried hard enough. He could. He could.
"Don't, please, NO!" she wailed, she would've wailed, would've choked as He pressed his claws into her neck, ripping it open, letting her blood spill over the floor. Letting it drip between the cracks in the floorboards before He reached into her chest, into her stomach, ripped her, ate her. Kendall sobbed, trembled as he remembered. Or imagined, he didn't know. He wasn't the one who did the ripping. He loved her. He hated her. She left him with Him. No, he loved her. He didn't know. Don't know. Don't know. Can't remember.
(PALMWOODS TRIAL ABANDONED AFTER DEATH OF VICTIM)
School, school is bad. School is good for good people, but not for me. I'm not good. They know it too. They laugh. They play tricks. They point. Play tricks like demons. They don't know real demons. They don't know real monsters. They don't know Hell. If they knew. If they knew . . .
Kendall hated the hallways. Hated the crowds of people who hated him. They were scared of him, but still they laughed. He knew because their jokes stopped when he looked at them, when he walked to them. Then they ran in fear. Fear of the devil. Fear of evil. He was evil. I'm evil.
Then across the hall, he saw him. Saw someone new. Someone who didn't laugh. Someone who didn't run.
Who is that? That Boy. Who is that? I don't know his face. His face is new.
(The Boy was new to town. From a city of sunshine and starlight and beautiful people, plastic people. An actor whose dream was not to act, but to live. No more acting like living, just living. Going to school. School was good. He saw a boy across the hall, another boy. A boy with green eyes, with eyes deep with darkness.)
He's looking at me. That Boy is looking at me. His eyes, they're like summer. What's summer? Summer is a happy time. Not for me. Why is he still looking? He can't look. He can't know. I have to go. I have to go.
He turned and ran, ran away from That Boy. Away from the eyes that pierced his evil soul. He couldn't let him see the dark, couldn't let him see the bad.
(That Boy watched him go, felt something strange. Something fearful.)
He'll be afraid soon. They're all afraid. They should be. They should be. I feel strange . . .
(Who are you?)
I'm bad. Too bad. Too bad for him. That Boy would die. He, He would tear him to pieces and feed them to me. Or to him. No, he's in glass. Just to me. He wants me in pain. I deserve pain. I'm evil.
Why did That Boy look at me?
Kendall didn't know what kind of place the house was, what kind of house. He thought about that a lot too. Thought about how it felt to step through the gateway, over the threshold. How he felt the drag of the air leaving his lungs.
Where do I go? I think it's a special place. A halfway place. Yes, I think so. Between Hell and the world, the rest of the world. It's ugly, it's all ugly. Except the roses, outside, the red roses. They're beautiful but sometimes I think I see blood on them. He loves the roses, takes good care of them. I don't know why He loves them so much, why He adores them, but I'm afraid to ask. Never ask Him questions. Maybe the bodies are buried beneath them. I stopped to smell them once and He got mad, He got really mad. He smashed my skull and my face against the glass where he hid until I passed out, until I couldn't feel. When I woke up I was in so much pain, so much pain. I was so torn, so broken. He said not to ever go near them, I would ruin them with my evil, He said. I'm so evil I kill the roses. He's not evil enough, I'm evil enough. I kill all things good. I think. I hate Him but he's right, he's right he's right I'm evil evil CALM DOWN
School. School still. Pretend you're good. Pretend. Pretend.
It always happened the same way. Kendall walked home, home from school. Always on time, exactly on time. He had to be on time or He got angry, He got vicious. He made it worse than normal. Tore him harder. pierced his soul with greater strength, greater rage. Always be on time. Always on time. Doesn't matter. No friends to be with anyway. No one. No friends for bad people. I'm bad. I'm bad.
So he arrived, on time. And when he opened the door, He was there. Waiting. The house was dark, a house of Hell. Blood on the walls, blood on the floor. Chains and hooks to hang victims by their necks, through their throats. Did she ever hang there? Could he remember? He didn't know. Someday I'll hang there. When He's done with me. When will that be? Soon I hope. No I don't hope. I don't want to die. I don't want to live.
And when he arrived, He pounced on him, stuck His claws deep into his belly. And Kendall screamed, Kendall writhed and wailed and whimpered as He ripped the guts from him, shredded his skin, milked his blood and devoured him, devoured it all. And when He was done, when he was full, he pushed it back in, pushing harder, stuffing it, filling him as though it had never been taken. Stitching him up with claws, long claws and fingers. Needles, sharp claws like needles. And then Kendall lay there while He rested, rested because He was full of him, full of pain, his pain. Then there he was, in his room again. In chains. And he was there too, giggling, tapping the glass and taunting him. Always taunting.
But today was different. Sort of. he still taunted. But instead of cry, Kendall covered his ears and thought about That Boy. That wonderful Boy who didn't run. He must be so brave. Is he a soldier? Is he an angel? It hurts less when I think of him. I don't know why. I should think about him more. More . . .
It feels good. I like it.
(PALMWOODS SUSPECT SLAUGHTERED)
(One of his friends, he told him to stay away. He said Kendall was crazy, Kendall was twisted, Kendall was violent. He scratched another student's face once, he said. The student had tried to speak with him, tried to be friendly. But he was wounded, he was torn. Because Kendall was crazy. Kendall was twisted. Kendall was violent.)
There's That Boy. Why does he always look at me? No one else looks at me. He must be horrified. He must be. There's no other explanation. I'm not horrified. I'm enchanted. Don't leave. Keep looking at me.
(Kendall was hurt. The Boy knew that. But he didn't know how.)
His eyes are good, they're kind. I can sense it. Kindness is rare, that's what I think.
(The other friend, that other boy, said Kendall went to speak in the health office every week. They tried to get through to him, they tried to understand him. But he didn't want to be understood. He didn't want to be helped. He said he was fine, he said he was normal, and good. He was fine being crazy, his friends said. He was fine being twisted. He was fine being violent.)
I don't know kindness. I could if I talked to him. But I don't know what to say. What do I say? He's walking away. Don't go. Don't go . . . .
(But The Boy didn't believe that. He couldn't believe that. He's not like that. I know he's not like that. But how do I prove it? How do I show it?)
Why did people hurt? Why did they feel pain, why did they hurt. Why did they hurt themselves, why did they hurt each other? Why does he hurt me? Why does He hurt me? Why do they hurt me? Who did I hurt? Not her. But who. Tell me. Who?
Why do they hurt
Me?
(The Boy saw how Kendall took the notes stuffed into his locker at school. How he read each of them one by one, in plain sight of anyone passing in the hallway. And many of them looked, they stared. Some of them snickered as he tore up each note one by one, letting the pieces of paper fall to the ground in freely floating little feathers. Then he just stood there, every time, for a minute, if not more. Finally, when the bell rang, he remembered why he was at his locker and hastily grabbed whatever he needed, slamming it shut hard and taking off down the hallway. He always walked close to the far wall, so he never brushed off anyone.)
I hate them. I hate them. They don't understand. If they knew, they wouldn't laugh. I want to kill them. No I don't, I'm not like Him. Am I? I don't know. Why are they so mean?
(The Boy watched him, wondering how people could be so cruel. How his own friends could be so cruel. Sure, they didn't put notes in his locker, or so they claimed. But they laughed at him. They said he was crazy, like the others did. They told stories about the things he'd done, how he'd attacked a teacher and a classmate on separate occasions. They didn't try to find out why, they didn't try to help. They only laughed. I want to help. I want to help him.)
(PALMWOODS GIRL CAUGHT ON CAMERA)
Maybe if I go talk to him. Maybe if I can try to make him see. Make him see that I'm burning, that I'm dying. No, how can I tell him? He'll be frightened. I don't want him to be frightened of me. I'm frightened of me. I'm frightened of Him. and him. But not of That Boy. How could anyone fear someone so good? So beautiful. Beautiful like him. no, he's beautiful in an evil way, a bad way, a mad way. That Boy, he's beautifully kind. He's beautifully worthy. He's noble.
Kendall's legs trembled, they shook and they quaked when he saw That Boy standing there, looking at him again. Kendall looked too, he gazed, he adored. Enchanted. Talk to him. Make him see. I can do it. Go now. Now. Now—
"Hello." And there he was. Kendall didn't even realise he'd walked to him. He thought he was still trying to find the courage.
That Boy said something, something Kendall didn't hear. He was too busy, thinking of how to ask for help. How to beg for it. I live with a Man of Shadows. He's evil. He's killing me. Help me. Help me.
(The Boy asked how he was. The Boy asked if he had friends to sit with, friends to be with when the bell rang. Said he was new, he didn't know many people. Maybe Kendall could be one of his new friends. He didn't care what the others said.)
He's so kind. No. I can't be with him then. Not when the bell rings. The bells of Hell, have to get back, back to the hallway place, back to Him. He'll come if I don't. Come and rip That Boy and all his friends. He'll slaughter them. I can't let it happen. I'm good. Not evil. If He was in my shoes, He'd let them all die. Not me. I'm good. Am I good?
"I want to," he whispered, he hissed. Like a snake. "I want to. But I can't."
(The boy frowned at the fearful look in Kendall's eyes. What was he thinking? Why did he look so crazed, so frightened?)
"Why not?"
The words cut through him. Don't ask that. I can't tell you. I can't.
But I do. "He won't let me."
(What? Who? I don't understand.)
"He, Him."
Stop talking. You'll give too much away. Keep talking. Tell him what you need.
"He's inside of me. All the time. Always. It's His fault I'm this way, His fault—"
His fault.
(Who?)
"—He does bad things makes me do bad things and I have to go back to Him, I have to. I come here, just here but people hate me here—"
(I don't hate you.)
"And H-He Killed . . ." Can't breathe. "He killed—"
(The Boy heard voices calling him by name, across the hall. His friends, he grimaced as he turned and saw them. Not now. Not when Kendall stood before him with his face pressed to the lockers, hands clenched so tight the skin over his knuckles was pinched and pale. And bruised. I didn't notice that before. But I have to go. They don't understand. I have to go, for now.)
"It's okay. Go." You can't help me anyway. I should've known. No one can help and no one wants to. It's okay. I deserve it.
I deserve it.
(The Boy and his friends walked together as the bell rang out, the bell cried for the end of another day. They didn't understand. They were cruel. They were ignorant and blind. Kendall wasn't crazy, nor twisted, nor violent.)
Time to go. Home again. Home to Him. Home to Hell. Metal and salt.
(But the Boy didn't know what he was.)
(ATTACKER OF PALMWOODS GIRL DISCOVERED)
If I wasn't evil none of this would be happening. Only the evil are punished this way,
(The Boy walked and swung his hands back and forth, warm in his coat. He saw a house he'd never seen before, stopping in his tracks. He turned to look. The house was surrounded by a spiky metal fence, spiked like teeth. Like claws. The gate was slightly open and creaked faintly in the wind. The grass was slightly overgrown, the paint peeling, the door scratched. But perfect, lined on either side in soiled beds, were dozens of roses. Not a weed in sight. They were so neat. The curtains on the top windows were shut. Then he saw Kendall. He saw Kendall slowly trailing up the front steps, to the front porch. He saw him reach for the door handle. But the door opened before his fingertips could reach it.)
He opened the door and He was so tall, so terrifying. "You took too long!" He roared, Kendall's hands burning with black fire, red fire as He gripped his wrists, binding him in shackles again. "Where were you?!"
"Please, I'm sorry, you're hurting me," Kendall whimpered, quaking and squirming as He pulled him past the threshold, back into his prison, chains clinking. As he left the light of the world behind he saw him. That Boy, watching him.
I can't let him see me like this. He'll be horrified. He'll be disgusted. Don't look, don't look at me. Pretend you didn't see. Leave me here to die.
"Go," he mumbled, eyes on That Boy.
"This doesn't concern you," He snapped, sneered at That Boy. "Get out of here."
"Kendall!"
"Go, I'm okay!" Kendall shouted back, trying to sound angry, trying to sound like he hated him being there. Which he did. I'm good. I'm pure. Please believe me.
"Don't make me come out there, boy," He roared and the ground shook, the world shook. Kendall whimpered. That Boy looked at Kendall, he swore, he whispered, "I'll save you." He spoke with his eyes, those kind eyes. And he ran.
He'll save me. He'll save me? He'll save me. I believe him. No I don't. No one can save me. Don't pull me, it hurts. Stop it, I'm bleeding! Stop it, stop it, STOP
The chains bound to place. And he was alone. Except for him. he was laughing. Laughing harder than ever before.
(The Boy sprinted home. Before today, he had no idea he could run so fast. His heart in his mouth. His feet aching. But still he ran. He ran until he reached his room, until he'd locked the door and shut the curtains, until he'd hidden himself safely in the corner, on his bed, face in his knees. What to do. What to do? What could he do about what he just saw? Tell someone? What if that made it worse? What if Kendall, what if Kendall died? Got killed, by that man. How could a man treat a boy so cruelly? What to do. Do nothing, say nothing? But if it got worse. But if it didn't get better . . .)
He's not a man. He's a monster. A monster He is.
Don't be afraid of monsters, she used to say. Monsters can't hurt you. They're all in your head, not under the bed.
If only she could see me now.
(The Boy's friends said Kendall looked at him an awful lot now. He'd encouraged him, made him think he wanted his attention. Biggest mistake he could've made, since Kendall was crazy. Except he wasn't. But he did look at him a lot. The Boy thought all the time about Kendall and the man from the house. Who was he? He had a terrible feeling in his belly, in his heart. He knew the man was bad. But he didn't know how bad. And he didn't know how strong.)
(Kendall was watching him again.)
I need him. I need him. Save me. Please. Save me.
I'll keep looking until you do. I can't talk not again but I'll look, I'll watch. Is that bad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't go.
(I want to save him but I don't know how. How can I defeat something I don't understand? I can't, that's how.)
Why is He laughing at me? Don't laugh. This isn't funny. Nothing's funny about how I feel. How I feel about That Boy, the Boy who will save me.
"No one can save the damned," He hissed. "No one can save the cursed."
No, That Boy can save me. I know he can. He has to. Please. Save me. Save me, please.
He left, left Kendall with him. He wasn't always sure who he hated more. Him, him or me. Who's the worst? Who's the baddest?
He is. he is. he's . . . . WHAT ARE YOU DOING
Then he was there, in the glass with That Boy. And he was laughing, he was touching That Boy and holding his face. he was leaning in and tearing it apart. That Boy, he fell. "No!" Kendall wailed, hands tugging, pulling at his scalp in agony. "Stop it! He's kind! STOP!"
STOP STOP STOP I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. CALM DOWN. CALM DOWNTHREETWOONEICANTBREATHE STOP SMILING. STOP.
"I've. Had. ENOUGH!" Kendall roared. He grabbed hold of the chain around his wrist and pulled, chest heaving, grunting as he tugged and pulled and panted and wailed. "NO MORE!" NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO
The chain broke free from the wall, plaster flying around the room, dust rising as the shackles fell from his wrists and he kicked them away, trembling. His eyes fell on his mangled, torn wrists. But he could see them. He could flex them. That never happened, not at home. He could move. He could run.
No. I won't run. No running. No more running. No more hiding.
he was snarling, he was scratching at the glass now. he was scared, Kendall could tell. he was angry. This was the first time he didn't see him smile. "Smile for me," he sneered, picking up the long chain from the floor and swinging it around. "Come on, smile! Smile! SMILE!"
SMILE.
He swung the heavy shackles with all his might against the glass.
SMILE.
It smashed into pieces, shards and tiny fragments dropping to the floor.
SMILE.
he's gone. he's gone. No more smile. No more laugh. I'm free. I can laugh. How do I laugh? I don't know. I have to run. Calm down. The door THE DOOR—
The door burst open and He came in, He came storming in. He saw him, lying in shards. Shards of nothing, of what he used to be. He looked at Kendall and He roared, He screamed. Kendall felt good. He felt alive. No, he felt pain. He was still inside him, He was still holding him. But he could run now. No, not with Him in the way. He could escape. He had to. How? How?
How?
"You can't control me anymore!" Kendall shouted, knees bent. They shook. "I'm free. I broke free. I'M FREE OF YOU!"
Free of Him. Free of Him. Run. Run now.
He ran and plunged into Him, hearing Him scream, hearing Him choke, hearing Him fall. He sprinted from the room, down the stairs. Out the door. Over the roses. Away. Away. Free.
No. No. I still feel Him. I have to get rid of Him. Out of this body. This body. This body, how? How do I stop Him? I can. I know how. Run faster. Run faster or He'll catch you. Run like she did. Run. Run. Run.
("Our chopper is closing in on the scene now, where the unnamed teenager is threatening to jump. Police and paramedics are standing by and the whole stream of traffic seems to have come to a standstill. They're trying to talk him down, we can only hope that they're successful . . .")
This is the place. This is the place where I'll kill Him. He won't survive. He'll be pushed from me. Back to Hell, back to the abyss. Where He belongs. Where He belongs. Where I belong. No, not me. Not me.
I hear a voice. Who is that? So many voices.
Kendall turned. His eyes filled, filled with water. Blood and water. Metal and salt. "You came," he cried. "You came to see me."
(The Boy made a grab for Kendall's arm, ignoring the blood trickling down as he raised it, raised his arm to wave to the water below. The cuts on his hands looked harsh, raw. He didn't seem to even feel them. He roared to him, pleaded with him to come back. But he didn't. Kendall. Please. This isn't real. What abyss? What abyss?)
"Please don't!" That Boy shouted, screamed to him as he reached to hold him. Kendall jumped away, holding on, swinging. The dark waited for him. The dark to destroy Him. For good. Forever. "This isn't the way, Kendall!"
How does he know my name? He's wonderful. I love him. I can't love. I will love. Soon.
"I have to get rid of Him!" he roared, hearing the wind and rain howl, screech like sirens. (Sirens, police sirens. Ambulance.) "Don't you see? This is the only way. But don't worry, I'll be okay. He'll be gone from my body."
"You won't survive!"
"I will. And if I don't, at least I'm free. Maybe I can go up, be with her. I miss her. I miss her." He sniffed, holding tighter. "I have to let go. It's time to let go. I can still feel Him inside me."
"DON'T!" That Boy reached for him again.
But I'm too fast. I'm too strong. I can kill Him, I can break Him. I'm breaking Him now. I jump. I'm flying, I can fly. I'm falling. Falling. The darkness is coming to take me. It's coming now. Here it comes—
I'm broken.
It hurts.
But I'm free.
(Kendall's body hit the water. The standing police officer cursed and roared at the paramedics to be ready as the rescue helicopter descended to retrieve him. Would he still be alive? How could he be? The Boy fell to his knees and let out a dry sob, feeling his body shake like a leaf, the way Kendall's body shook when he wept. Kendall. Kendall. Kendall. Please survive, Kendall. Don't give up. I'll take care of you. Please. Please. Please.)
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . .
It hurts.
. . . . .
My legs. I can't feel. My lungs. They burn.
. . . . .
Is this how living feels? Do I like it?
Someone's holding me. Pull me. Pull me up, away from Him. He's gone. He's gone. It hurts.
. . . . .
Where am I?
"You'll be okay," That Boy murmured softly above his head. There was a light above him, it outlined his shape in a glow. Like an angel. He's an angel. He must be.
I'm in a church. I must be. He's brought me to a sacred place. It's so peaceful here. It's beautiful.
"Hold on. You'll be okay. Kendall . . ."
He felt a few faint droplets of water touch his face, cooling it. He heard murmurs, let his eyes drift shut. So, that's what it was. He was blessing him. Freeing him. He really was from Heaven.
I can hear the choir singing. What are they saying?
("We need to keep him stable until we get there.")
What?
("How did he survive? It's a miracle . . .")
I don't understand. It doesn't matter. I'm free. I'm pure. I'm good.
. . . . .
. . .
I'm so tired.
I . . . I remember.
("You're a curse. She killed herself because of you. You killed her. You killed her!")
I hear it. I hear her voice.
("My darling, your mommy loves you so much. Dearly, so dearly . . . but I can't be with you anymore. Your daddy will take care of you. I'm so sorry, Kendall. I'm sorry.")
Why are you sorry? Mom . . .
("Earlier today a woman committed suicide by jumping from New Town Bridge downtown. Emergency services rushed to the scene but didn't make it on time to stop the unnamed woman from jumping into the river. Water Rescue services pulled her from the river, but later it was confirmed that she died on impact. We can now reveal that this woman was the victim in last February's Palmwoods Nightclub case, which was to go to trial within the next two years. Here we have a statement from the chief investigator of that case, Arthur Griffin . . .")
No . . . that can't be right. I don't understand.
("No, please, it wasn't my fault . . .")
Abyss . . .
What did she do?
("You're disgusting. You're evil.")
I'm from Hell. I'm evil.
Victim of what?
("Daddy, please . . .")
I must be.
("I am not your father. I didn't create you. Hell did.")
I . . .
("Mommy loves you, Kendall. She loves you so much. But I can't be in this world anymore. Be a good boy.")
I'm not?
NOW
The Boy listened, watched as men in doctor's coats and men in dark blue shirts talked about Kendall, what they said about him. He watched a man in a white coat check his watch and wait for someone else to come, someone who had the answers. That Man from the house, the one he saw before, the one who dragged Kendall past the threshold and roared at him to go away, to run away – he was gone. Not run off, not escaped. He was ripped open, cut in the face and chest and neck like a butcher's pig. The Boy turned to the TV set on the wall and saw a woman in a pale pink suit, telling him too. Except he wasn't supposed to listen to the men. But he listened anyway.
Kendall's legs were broken. His lower spine was shattered. He was lucky his guts hadn't been torn up from the inside. His skin was red, purple, yellow, but not from the fall, not from then. From before. He was barely waking. He was confused. I'll come back. I'll come back when you're rested.
He wanted to send his best wishes. But he wasn't supposed to be listening.
("A man living on Rocque Avenue in Sherwood, William Knight, has been found dead in his home. Sources say that the police rushed to the house to search for his body after his son, who was in hospital after his jump from New Town Bridge, gave them reason to believe that he'd killed him. William Knight was indeed found dead, we've learned, in what they believe to be his son's bedroom. He was stabbed and slashed several times in the chest, neck and face with a large mirror shard. As police investigated the home, they claim they found many hints to indicate that William had been abusing his son. We go now to the chief of the investigation, Mercedes Griffin . . .")
There was a long history in Kendall's family. A dark, twisted, tragic history.
NEWLY DISCOVERED: ROCQUE AVENUE VICTIM, WIDOWER OF PALMWOODS GIRL
That was what The Boy learned, when he searched the family name. Her name didn't come out until after she jumped. Before then, no one could no. It was for her sake. But after she jumped, she wasn't around to be safe anymore. She was about as safe, or as unsafe as she could ever be. It was strange to think about.
FRIENDS OF VICTIM: "THEY NEVER WENT THROUGH A PATERNITY TEST"
Roses were her favourite. I remember now.
The flashes blinded him; making him blink, scrunch up his face in discomfort. What is that? Is it the sun?
"You're being really brave, Kendall. We're almost done."
Brave? Me?
No. Wrong boy. Wrong boy. Not me. I'm not brave.
Or am I? I don't . . .
I don't know. But I don't care. Don't care, me? Strange. Very strange.
"Okay, you're all done. Let me help you get your gown back on and I'll leave you to rest. Are you in any pain?"
No . . . no. Strange.
"Good, that's good. Hopefully you'll heal up nicely, only time will tell. I hope you like daytime television . . ."
What? What does she mean?
("The Palmwoods Girl's attacker has been identified via the licence plate on his vehicle. Evidence of sexual activity has been found, but the suspect is claiming that the act was consensual, and that he and the Palmwoods Girl were having an affair unbeknownst to her husband.")
Victim of what?
PALMWOODS SUSPECT: "WE WERE HAVING AN AFFAIR"
("Police are investigating a rape allegation filed by a woman who's remaining unnamed. The incident, according to the woman, took place at around 2am Tuesday evening outside Palmwoods Club. She reports that she was dragged into the assailant's car, where he repeatedly sexually assaulted her. Afterwards she was left on the street, where she returned to the club and had security call the police. The police are scanning security footage from the CCTV cameras outside the club, searching for evidence on her attacker.")
Then . . .
("He told me he was sure that her rapist was the father," a friend of the family told us. "Or her lover, we were never too sure. We all told them they should do a paternity test to confirm it but they never wanted to. Too scared to know the truth I guess.")
Now . . .
("Personally, I always believed he was Jennifer and that other man's baby," another commented. "The kid always had this strange look on his face. Messed up like his father, for sure. A lot of other people reckon he was Will's son, but I don't. You can always tell an evil soul.")
You're wrong.
That's not me.
("You can always tell an evil soul.")
He . . . He had an evil soul. My father.
How else could it be that he hurt a child? Or hurt a woman? Hurt . . . hurt someone. I don't know.
But not me.
I never hurt anyone.
His eyes filled with water when he knew. Metal and salt.
No . . . no metal. Salt. Salt. Tears?
I'm . . . crying?
Only the living can cry.
I . . . I'm glad.
SON OF WILLIAM KNIGHT RECOVERING FROM SUICIDE JUMP: TRIAL EDGING CLOSER
What's that sound? I know that sound, I've heard it before . . .
It's music. No, not music. Singing.
I can't open my eyes. My eyes are too heavy. It's That Boy. That Boy is singing to me.
He really is an angel.
No . . . that's wrong. Just a kind boy. That's what he is.
I feel happy. Happy . . . like a song. Like a bird. My heart feels strange. His fingers touch my forehead . . .
"Don't try to get up, Kendall. I'll let you rest some more."
Don't go.
"I'll be back soon. I promise."
Okay . . . that's okay. Please be safe. I wish I could tell him. I'm too tired. He's gone. Let me sleep . . . just dreams, no more nightmares.
WILLIAM KNIGHT'S KILLER RELEASED ON MENTAL HEALTH PLEA: TRIAL OFFICIALLY ENDS THIS MONTH
It's been so long.
SHERWOOD AVE: TREATMENT CENTRE
Did Him loving her make him evil? That's not right. Love is supposed to make you good.
I know what I am now. I understand. I'm not evil. I'm not broken. I'm starting to mend. My spine, my legs, my head. I'm healing. My name is Kendall Knight. I'm a boy, not a sin. I'm seventeen. He wasn't Him at all, He wasn't from Hell. He was a man. Like me, but older. My father. I think. I don't know. He didn't believe it. But the police say He was. He hated me too much to believe. I hated Him too. I killed Him. I don't feel sorry, but they said it's okay. I didn't know what I was doing. I can get better instead. I don't deserve to be punished. I've been punished all my life for something I didn't do. I didn't rape my mother. I don't know who did it, I never learned the name. But it wasn't me. I didn't kill her. She did that herself, like I tried. I tried too. I tried to die. I'm so stupid. Life is better now. Life is good. I can eat. I can see the sun. I can smile. I smiled yesterday. I cried after. It felt so wonderful. Crying felt wonderful too. I cry a lot now, but I like it. Some people smile all the time. They're so lucky. I can be lucky too. I'm going to smile more from now on. I can get better at it. I definitely can. I know I can. My name is Kendall Knight. I'm a boy . .
"Kendall?"
He looked up from where he sat. "You." It felt weird, hearing his voice in full. Not a bare, hoarse, whisper. Not a scream. No shakes. He hadn't known he could speak without shaking. "You're that boy."
The Boy smiled. "I am. I guess you don't remember my name . . ."
Your name? "Tell me." Kind soul . . .
"It's Jett."
Jett. Kendall smiled. And how strange, how remarkable it felt to smile.
"I'm so happy to meet you."