The glossy pictures were in black and white in her hands like black oil with sharp edges. She felt a sharp pain and suddenly something wet on her edge of her fingertip.
"You cut your hand." The man said, stating the obvious. His breath loaded with cheap whisky.
"How much?"
The man peeled a yellow Post It, wrote something on it with red pen and pushed the note towards her through the cold expanse of the glass table.
The note stayed in her hand as if she didn't know how to read the numbers written on it. It surprised her that her hands were steady. Calmly she took out her checkbook and swiftly wrote the same number on the yellow note.
She stood as soon as the check landed on the table, collected the damning pictures and shot out of the room.
She ignored the people outside her door. They knocked, they banged the threshold but she was deaf. On the floor, stark and unforgiving she stared at the pieces of paper that tore her world apart. Her tears had long dried hours ago on the photos falling on two bodies entwined. A man, the man…she knows the line of his body, oh so intimately. But the slim legs wrapped around him were not hers and the face on the throes of carnal satisfaction wasn't hers.
Her blood has stopped flowing copiously from her torn wrist. Stupid. "Why did I do that?" she softly whispered. She wants revenge. She wants blood. Now.
In her grief and loss she thought she heard an answer to her plea. It must be the loss of blood. She willed to listen to that voice despite her waning strength.
Come back….
Why…?
Avenge your honor.
How?
With a little help…
From you?
If you want to…
I want…
Good enough…
Her tears flowed again. In her ribcage her heart grew strong, new skin closed the ragged wound on her wrist. Blood flowed hotly in her body and she was on fire. She rose on steady legs. She has a purpose…The purpose.
I'm…I'm…?
And more…look.
Oh…
Ready?
You bet.
The freedom and the force flowing in her body and soul is pure ecstasy as she was borne by her power; her thoughts guiding her flight passing through solid barricades as if it were made of cloud.
And suddenly there they are…the traitors. They must have felt her presence and they jerked awake, startled, grabbing the white sheet to cover their nakedness, their sin…their betrayal. The man whom she pledged her life to vainly tried to escape her clutches, pleading for his life and promising lies knowing death when he sees it. Their screams of terror fell on deaf ears as she savaged them, her talons piercing soft skin, squirting blood, gore flying.
But she cried dark tears as she let go of his sizzling heart as it beat its last. The whore who was with her dearly departed husband let out a piercing shriek as the heart tumbled wetly on her lap, blood spattered on her face.
She looked at the whore, "Eat it."
"N-no. No!" the whore stuttered, defiant. "Make me!"
"Fine." With amusement her eyes followed the floating heart as the whore was held immobile, mouth open. The gurgling shriek only stopped when the heart was firmly lodged in the whore's throat. She watched until the whore was done with her death throes.
"It's done. Come and take me." She told the entity who promised her vengeance, her transformation.
"Where?"
"To hell. " She looked at it straight in the eye. "I'm ready. I know what I got myself into."
"You're not going there."
"So where am I going?" She was further confused when the entity offered its arm to her.
"How do you feel about a job?" It smiled when she continued to frown; skeptical and wary. "You're hired and I'm retiring." The entity kissed her hand, branding its sigil on her wrist. "You'll be good with it. You rocked the OJT." Without further ado the entity walked away.
"Hey! What's your name?"
"Thanatos."