chapter two: minds without fear
"You're on your own this time, kiddo. I'm only here to observe."
Disgusting. Twelve years old and being made to kill a man with my own two hands. Oh sure, I could have refused to go along with it at any point, either then or when I was playing assistant to my uncle during one of the many kills he'd taken me on in the past four years, but fear is a powerful motivator. And after seeing what my Uncle Cal was truly capable of, I feared him above everyone else; even the law.
I nodded to my uncle, organizing and stowing all the necessary tools away in the SUV under my uncle's watchful eye. I could feel myself slipping back into the familiar emotionless persona I fell into every time I participated in a hunt. And at the same time my emotionlessness scared me, I felt... excited. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we pulled out, heading to our destination. I could picture my intended victim's face in my mind, as I'd memorized how he looked from the photos I'd found of him on his facebook profile. Thank God for idiots who don't know to change their privacy settings.
It felt like forever, but in reality it was only a few minutes before we pulled up into the driveway at our intended destination. I quickly pulled the stack of papers I had brought along from the dash of the car, and brushed my fingers over the side braid I had carefully woven my hair into to ensure it was still intact. I grabbed a pair of empty glasses frames and perched them on my nose, completing the look that my middle school uniform created. I slid out of my seat and practically skipped over to the door of the house, rubbing my eyes and staring at the door unblinkingly as I rang the doorbell, waiting for the sole occupant of the house to answer death's call. I wasn't quite disciplined to the point where I could cry on demand, but at least if I made my eyes red, it would look like I had been crying in the last few minutes.
The sound of footsteps approaching the door seemed to echo the pounding of my heart. I started to turn away when the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with a moustache and a touch of grey in his dark hair. He looked to already be in his sleep clothes for the night. I attempted the subtlest lip quiver, and felt success when I saw the look on the man's face. Pity, sadness, and the faintest hint of arousal that would have been invisible to someone who hadn't been looking for it. I stared down at the step I was standing on, scuffing my foot on it a bit and acting abashed.
"Sorry to bother you so late," I asked. It was only nine o'clock at night, but I knew normal parents wouldn't usually let a twelve-year-old girl out by herself this late, let alone let her go up to strangers' houses when it was already dark out. I quickly grabbed one of the papers I clutched in my hand and held it out for him to see. "Have you seen my dog? She ran away and I can't find her!" I put on my best distraught look, waiting for him to buy it or see it as an opening.
He glanced at the picture, then back at me. I could see the yearning in his eyes, despite how he was trying to hide it. It probably worked on all the non-predators. Too bad for him I wasn't raised to be a sheep. "Where's your mom and dad, kid?" Ah. Asking all the important questions, I see. Trying to find out if he'll be suspected if I go missing, if someone knows I'm here.
I sniffed, looking down so my bangs shadowed my eyes and he wouldn't see that even though I rubbed my eyes, I wasn't actually crying. I tried to make my voice sound shaky with emotion. "My dad went to the police station to see if somebody saw her or something. He told me to wait for him, but I just wanna find her. She's my best friend!" Take the bait. Take the bait. Just fucking take the bait.
"Hey, hey. It's gonna be okay," he said, putting his hand on my head. I didn't dare look up now that he thought I was crying. He'd notice something was off. He was a sharp one. "In fact, I think I might have seen her earlier. Why don't you come in for a second, you look like you could use a drink. I'll take you to the spot where I saw her after."
I hugged him around the waist. "Oh, thank you, mister!" Most uncomfortable thing I've ever done. Ugh. Even the thought of touching him disgusted me. I had to let him think he'd caught me, though. I had to let him think he was the one in control. It was crucial to my plan.
He chuckled, drawing me inside. He must have felt like the spider luring the fly into its web. I suppressed the smirk that threatened to blow my cover as he closed the door behind me.
"Here, I'll get you that glass of water," he said, grabbing a glass from the drying rack. He hesitated with it for too long, acting like he was wiping off the condensation, but I could tell he was adding something to the glass before pouring the water into it. I used the sound of the rushing water from the tap to cover my quiet footsteps as I approached him from behind. "So, how long have you had your dog?"
I drew out the needle I had tucked in my sweater pocket and jabbed it into his thigh, depressing the plunger quickly. The rush of powerful sedative hit him before he could react to the unexpected sensation, and the glass clattered into the sink as he sank to the ground. I jumped out of the way as he slumped backwards, heart racing. I cursed under my breath. Too close. I could have been trapped under about two hundred pounds of disgusting pedophile. Too close. I could have been trapped under about two hundred pounds of disgusting pedophile. Too close. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and took the handheld radio out of my purse.
"All clear," I stated, slipping the radio back into the bag and fishing out a couple zip ties to tie his hands and feet together with.
"Ten-four. Be right there."
My uncle's near-silent steps sounded behind me moments later, as I was standing back to critique my work. He nodded at me, eyeing the prone form approvingly, before slinging the man over his shoulder. I had to admit, I was kind of impressed with my uncle's work. He might have been a psychopath, but he was certainly able-bodied. He kind of had to be in order to move his victims. I hoped to one day be as strong as him.
I could feel the emotions lurking at the edge of my consciousness as I stood over the man's slowly-rousing form in our pre-prepared studio. I call it a studio, because when you took out the emotion that the idea of killing another person arouses in a normal person, killing a person-particularly in the long, drawn-out way that my uncle had taught me to do-was like...an art form. It was like self-expression in its cruellest, most base form. The way I drew my knife down the man's limbs, my cuts angular, jagged, twisting; meant to inflict the most pain possible. The way I slowly dug under his nails until, one by one, I had pried them all from both his hands and feet, feeling the same sort of twisted pleasure from his screams and cries for mercy as I had witnessed in my uncle so often before. However, I knew that my feelings were vindicated because of the lack of innocence my victim held. Had he been an innocent, I knew that it would've been hard for me to remain in my emotionless persona. However, since he was not, I found myself...rather enjoying it, to tell the truth. I whistled as I worked, the contrast of my cheerful notes against my victim's tortured screams not going unappreciated by my uncle, as I could see him grinning out of the corner of my eye. Ever watchful, my dark mentor guided my movements without even having to tell me what to do.
He commanded my obedience, as he commanded my fear and respect.
I soon began to grow tired. Too soon, the sadistic part of me whispered. It told me that I should push aside the fatigue and keep going. However, I could feel an odd sensation at the back of my mind, and I knew immediately what it was. My mind was growing tired of protecting me with this persona that I had adopted. It was tired of keeping up the mental blocks that kept my emotions at bay. I dragged the flat of my blade along the pedophile's neck, watching him try to silently shrink away from it in his bindings, having screamed himself hoarse. I paused, watching his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, nervously trying to glance down at the blade in my hand. I gave him an amused look, then slowly smiled.
I plunged the blade into his neck.
The blood poured over his prone form; over the plastic-wrapped table; over the floor. It was a thing of beauty. No it's not, my rational side whispered, already starting to creep back in. I glared venomously at nothing in particular as I tried to force myself to stay in my homicidal persona. If there was one thing I absolutely didn't need at the moment, it was to be suddenly overtaken by my emotions. I needed to wait. Just a few more minutes.
The sound of clapping startled me out of my thoughts, and I whirled, finding my uncle standing there with this sickly proud look on his face. He stepped towards me, taking my face between his hands as he beamed at me. He stroked my cheek with his thumb.
"You were wonderful, Tee," he said, and he kissed me on the forehead. It wasn't until his lips came away bloody that I realized how much blood had gotten on me. I didn't dare wipe it away yet for fear of angering my uncle. He might think it was out of shame, and I couldn't afford to feel shame until I was away from his presence. He brushed my hair back from my face, and I could feel the warm sticky substance against my scalp, as well.
"Thank you, uncle," I said, drawing back into myself and making my face devoid of emotion once again. He laughed.
"My dear... I do believe you're ready to hunt on your own now." His grin was manic. "I look forward to the trophies you'll bring home when you do."
He would know if I didn't hunt.
Like that, my fate was sealed.
The roof was my sanctuary.
No one ever entered the attic except on the rare occasion that they felt we could fit just one more box of useless shit into the already-crammed-full storage space. It was like a maze just trying to make my way towards the single window leading out onto the roof. A maze that I had run so many times, though, that it felt like it came almost second-nature to me to climb and squeeze my way through the rubbish to the small square pane that led to the one place I could find solitude in my literally psychotic life.
Thirteen years old now.
My uncle gave me an axe for my birthday. Part of a recurring theme, by now.
I had used his axe that night. Well, my axe. I just didn't like to think of it as "mine" when I was in a reasonable state of mind. Acknowledging that it was mine, that I had claimed it as such, felt like it would change everything. Like all of a sudden I would be the killer that my uncle kept pushing me to be. Yes, I killed. But I only did so for survival. If I didn't kill, I had no doubt that my uncle would grow weary of my existence and put me down like a dog that could no longer please its master. Thinking of the weapons my uncle had given me as "mine" outside of my assumed persona when I was hunting was like...acknowledging my persona's existence.
I didn't want to acknowledge its existence.
If I acknowledged it, it would be real. Solid. Tangible. I couldn't afford to do that. When I got out of this lifestyle-because at that point I still believed that I would be able to get-I had to have plausible deniability. Big, fancy words. But they were important. I needed them in order to be able to live a free life once I turned my uncle in. Tell the cops what he did to me, convince them to put me into protective custody, become some nameless person on a beach somewhere on the other side of the country, protected by strong policemen so my uncle could never kill me even if he found me.
Wishful thinking. But hey, a girl can dream.
I saw the shine of headlights coming down the gravel road, and I quickly scrambled off the roof and into the attic, shutting and locking the window before picking my way back to the ladder leading down to the spare bedroom. I all but ran back to my room, sitting down where I had strategically left my homework open to where I had left off, with only two questions left. I always did most of it at school during breaks so that I could have homework as an alibi for when I went up to the roof while my uncle was out. That way, he could never think I was doing something suspicious during my "free time". I had just scribbled down the answer to one of the questions when my door creaked open. My uncle was never really one for privacy. Well, my privacy, anyways. He still had plenty of his own to spare. He stepped up behind me and mussed my hair, and I didn't even bother trying to swat it away; it usually made him angry. Most things did, especially recently. He never told me why, but I had figured out from snooping (a dangerous pastime of mine, but one I couldn't help but partake in) in his office that the police were investigating some of his most recent murders.
"Almost done your homework, nugget?"
He had this thing for calling me nugget. I don't know if he was referring to gold or chicken. My bet's on chicken, though. He always had a thing for insulting people without actually saying an insult.
"Only one question left," I muttered, working out the long division. Ugh...math. Definitely beats killing people, though.
His hand suddenly felt as though it had grown tighter on my head. I kept writing, though. Whenever he saw how affected I was by him, it had a tendency to get worse.
"Say, Tee," he said in an airy voice, "when abouts do you think you'll be going hunting again?"
I fumbled in my writing, but quickly recovered, writing the answer down and circling it. I set the pencil down and folded my hands in my lap.
"I have one planned for tomorrow, uncle," I said in a fakely sweet tone. "Would you like to come help?" It always got him to back down.
"Hmm...tempting, but no. I have golf with Raoul tomorrow." His grip loosened, and he patted my head twice before removing his hand completely. I resisted the urge to sigh in relief. "Have a good night, sweetheart."
I echoed his sentiments in a forced calm voice, gripping bunches of the edge of my shirt under the desk where he couldn't see; wondering when in the seven hells I would escape this so-called life.
A/N: Hate to do this to you itty bitty readers, but this is going down to being updated once a month due to college. Ughh. But it will be updated the first Sunday of every month. :) Hopefully I'll be able to get ahead of my writing when Christmas break rolls around so I can do some weekly updates again after that.
Ciao! Don't forget to review, lovelies!