Author's Note: Erik's history, Part 2. Enjoy and review!

An Unforgivable Act

At age 12, Erik had experienced more horrors than those who have lived to be 80. He had felt the sharp pang of hunger, the cold nights spent on the streets, the pain of constant physical abuse, and the numbness of his battered emotions. He was about to add another awful familiarity to the list: gang life.

Erik was approached by the same group of boys who had terrorized him in the alley all those times. He wondered what reason they could possibly have for wanting him. Out of suspicion, he refused. But their methods of coercion were strong and constant. So out of fear, he joined.

To prove himself loyal to that gang, Erik had to complete a task. He hoped his skills at slight-of-hand would be enough to ensure his spot in the gang. Even though the wallets, watches, purses, and pocketbooks Erik filched elevated the gang's street reputation, they remain unconvinced. No, Erik had to prove himself by committing the ultimate sin: murder. He was to kill the leader of a rival gang, the most powerful urchin on the streets, Henri "Le Chat" Duval.

Erik had often thought of death when he drifted off to the recesses of his mind after unsuccessfully fighting off the alley-way gang. He would lie still for hours curled into himself, the only expression on his face a small, grim smile. For each gang member, he contemplated a murder. One would die by flame; a match would be struck after Erik had spilled oil on his clothes. Another, by water; bricks on his wrists and he would be lost to the depths of the Seine. Stabbing, bludgeoning, shooting…the possibilities were nearly endless.

Erik had one favorite option, though. A method of murder he preferred above all others. The noose. Whether it was a hanging or strangulation, Erik loved the feeling of absolute control. It was he who controlled just how much pressure was put on the windpipe of his victim. He could choose to look into the face of the doomed man or remain the anonymous specter of death. It was he who controlled if the man was to suffer or not. It was up to him.

Erik practiced this form of torture on various creatures he encountered. No wild animals were safe. Not even household pets were entirely out of harm's way. Within a week of starting to practice, Erik was a master of the Punjab lasso. He carried one everywhere, but never found the strength to use it. Even those times in the alley, when Erik felt surges of hate coursing through his body, he could not take a human life. But now, what choice did he have? He could kill and be trusted, or refrain and be ousted. He had to extinguish the life of a stranger in order to save his own. He would kill or be killed.

What choice did he have?

XOX

Ever since Erik had learned he name of his victim, he had studied Duval. He knew everything about Duval that there was to know in a week. Fitting to his nickname, Duval was fast, quiet, and proud, although not very strong. He also had a penchant for drink, pleasurable company, and lone walks in the dead of night. The last would be his undoing.

Earlier in the evening, Duval went out for his usual lone prowl. Like he had earlier in the week, Erik stalked silently behind him, conscious of every fiber in his body. This time, instead of keeping his distance, Erik quickly crept closer until he was a foot behind Duval. "Le Chat", also known for his sharp reflexes, was caught totally off guard by Erik's swift strike to the back of his head. Duval immediately became unconscious and fell to the ground with a thud.

Realizing the need for secrecy and discretion was great, Erik dragged Duval into an abandoned building. He would wait until Duval woke up, about 30 minutes later, by Erik's prediction. Then, the fun would start.

XOX

He looked out the window into the night, the night into which he was to eternally sink. No moon shone. Even the stars hid behind a thick blanket of cloud. The heavens refused to witness Erik's atrocity.

Hidden in the shadows with his lasso in hand, Erik stared as Duval roused. He saw the man turn over and gently cradle his head in his hands. He groaned and sat up slowly. Erik decided it was time.

Not moving from his spot in the shadows, Erik threw his voice to Duval's left ear. He described Duval's death to him in startling detail, causing the hardened gang leader to sob in fear, begging for a chance. For Erik, this request was too ideal to pass up. He would play along.

He told Duval where he could find a blunt object. He threw his voice to the font of the room, giving Duval a chance to find him and survive. Reaching the place from which Erik's voice was emanating, Duval swung furiously. A triumphant smile spread across his features as he heard a dull thud. He gave a guttural cry and started to hammer upon his assailant, thinking he was beating his captor. Erik laughed and threw his voice directly behind Duval. He wildly turned around and swung.

Erik's voice again to the left, to the right, behind him, below him, above him, inside his head. Frustrated and frightened, Duval dropped to his knees, clutching his head and screaming for mercy, tears streaming down his contorted face.

It was time to end the game.

Erik tossed the lasso expertly around Duval's neck. He unleashed a fresh scream. A flick of Erik's wrist and the noose was tight. Duval gagged, his cry silenced by the lack of air, and brought his hands to his throat. Erik smirked and walked closer, yanking the cord simply to hear Duval's strangled cry. Soon, he was standing over Duval, staring into the man's frightened eyes. Pulling the rope taught with one hand, Erik lifted the other to his face. He peeled off the mask, exposing his face to Duval. Unable to scream, his eyes widened in fear. He struggled wildly, trying to escape the bestial man in front of him, but knowing it was pointless.

In his eyes, Erik saw his own reflection. All the hate that he had experienced over his life was channeled into this one moment. He shouted in rage, angry at Duval, the gang, his parents, his life. He yanked the rope one last time. Duval moved no more. The last sight that filled Duval's mind was Erik's disfigured face, contorted even more cruelly by his rage and pain. Duval's death mask was one of disgust and horror.

Tired now after his exertion, Erik surveyed what he had done. Sickened at the sight of the newly lifeless body in front of him, he retched. Wiping his mouth, Erik gathered the noose back into the folds of his clothes and calmly walked out of the apartment building. He was 14 years old.