Women Scorned

by Angela Alsaleem

  “I won’t hurt you,” Camilla said again and lay down. Rest. She didn’t need to sleep but she needed an escape from her new reality. She turned her mind inward and found more blackness as she drifted in a state more like death than slumber.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The gory mess of a body sprawled across the shed floor looked just as dead as when Libitina had found her. The chest did not rise and fall. The hands did not twitch with dreams. Libitina huddled in one corner of the shed, clutching her shivering dog. Rest had not found her as she’d wished. Instead, she sat there worried what Camilla would do if she dared to close her eyes. The walking corpse’s mangled face would haunt her nightmares forever. Libitina suppressed a gag when she noticed white matter clinging to one of Camilla’s fingernails. Eyeball, eyeball, it’s an eyeball, her mind yammered.

  “She said she wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered. “But how do I know?” I can’t stay with a killer, she thought. And that’s just what Camilla was. A killer. She took men’s lives in one of the strangest ways Libitina had ever seen. She had to get away from this creature. Didn’t want to end up like her other victims. But what could she do? She could try leaving again. But that didn’t seem to work. Then again, she had no other ideas.

  She stood, attempting to creep away.

  Camilla stirred.

  “Are you still here?” Her gory face swiveled in Libitina’s direction, fixating on her.

  * * *

  “Please say you’re still there,” Camilla said with a whine she hated for the weakness it represented. But she couldn’t deny the fear welling within her at the thought of being alone. “Libby?”

  “It’s Libitina,” came the reply.

  Camilla wanted to cry. She hadn’t left after all. “Don’t leave,” she said, sensing Libitina’s voice from somewhere above her. She reached toward the sound and grasped the air with brittle fingers. She found herself crying.

  “I won’t go,” Libitina said.

  A puff of dirt and the rustle of clothes let Camilla know her companion now sat nearby.

  “Help me.”

  “How?”

  “I just want it to stop.” She died and died and died…

  “What’s happening to you?”

  “I don’t know.” The green-eyed blonde sewed her eyes open, cut off her nipple with scissors, slit her wrists and let her bleed, raped her with a bottle, cut her with a razor.

  “If you can’t tell me, then I can’t help you.”

  “I see everything,” she whispered. “I can feel them dying. I hate her. I want to kill her but I can’t. I can’t go near her.” Her body shook with sobs. She needed to feel the comfort of someone holding her, telling her it would be okay, but understood no comfort would come.

  “What? Who are you talking about? What do you see? Who’s dying? The men you killed? You feel them?”

  “No!” Her scratchy voice ripped from her throat. The flesh on her face pulled and moved as she grimaced. The bitch pulled her hair, spat on her, throttled her. “The women they killed. I feel the women. And there’s one. She’s the worst. She’s killed so many. What she’s done… she’s awful.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Just don’t leave me.” She twitched as the nightmare grew in intensity. Losing herself in this altered reality.

  “Maybe we could find you some help. You’re bleeding. You need a doctor.”

  “No. If I was going to die, I’d have done it a long time ago.” She longed for peace. She sat up further. “Listen, I need you to guide me, to help me find someone who knows what’s happening to me, someone who knows how to help me. There has to be someone.”

  “We could wrap you up so you don’t look so bad,” Libitina suggested. “You look awful, you know. Really gross.”

  “Really? How bad?”

  “I can hardly look at you,” she said.

  Camilla hid her face in her hands and moaned. “Wrapping me up won’t work,” she said. “People can’t see me anyway unless I will them to. Don’t you get it? You’re the only one who sees me all the time. You have to help me.”

  “Is that why you’ve been following me?”

  “I haven’t been following you. I’ve been trying to find a way out of this, but I keep getting drawn to these men and… and that woman. It’s what they’ve done that draws me. Something about the horrible things they’ve done. I feel them. The women they’ve killed. I feel them dying over and over again, but when I take their breath it goes away and I feel alive again.” Stabbed, beaten, broken.

  Libitina sighed. In her black world, Camilla imagined her looking around the room, stroking her dog and thinking. Finally, after what felt like forever, Libitina said, “Okay. I’ll be your eyes. But I don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Neither do I, and that’s okay. I know there’s someone out there. I sense her. I just don’t know how to get to her.” She hadn’t thought about this strange feeling she’d been having, but the moment the words tumbled from her lips, she knew truth behind the thought. Someone waited to help them. An old woman in the forest. “I need your help with that. I think I can only see at night. Somehow, I don’t know how it works, but the bats and snakes help me see.”

  Libitina didn’t say anything.

  “Well, let’s get going,” Camilla said. “I don’t have long.”

  “Do you… I mean… should I grab your arm.” Libitina’s voice was hesitant, almost disgusted.

  “You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to. I can follow your voice.”

  Libitina guided her into the day.

  * * *

  Libitina half expected the sun to burn Camilla’s flesh, even though she’d seen the dead woman in daylight before. She looked like a creature that didn’t belong in the sunshine with birds and deer.

  “This way,” she repeated as she guided Camilla through the forest.

  Whatever Camilla sensed, that idea that someone existed who could help, Libitina felt it, too. A benevolence in a particular direction. It stayed constant so she followed it, leery but determined. In the past this instinct had led her into situations she would’ve been better off avoiding. Like this one for example. She just had to open the cupboard with the Jane Doe in it. Why hadn’t she opened any other one?

  Though part of her told her not to go, that things would end badly for her as always, she trudged on, hoping this time would be different, this time she might not be fucking up.

  “Come on, baby,” she said to her dog. “Smile for momma.” Cerberus didn’t move. His breathing came in shallow, rapid gasps. “Hang in there, baby.” Light glinted off water up ahead. “Look, a puddle,” she said and trotted toward it, chattering to her dog knowing Camilla would follow her voice.

  She didn’t look back at Camilla if she could help it. The dead woman gimped along, dragging her left leg. Her head hung to her chest, swinging back and forth. Her hands twitched. Every few steps she’d stop and her body would jerk as if she’d been smacked.

  “There’s another one now,” Camilla hissed at one point in time. “Another woman. She’s been busy.”

  Libitina set Cerberus down next to the puddle. The dog lapped at the water wagging his tail in a slow, back and forth arc. Finished, he sat on his haunches and whined. She picked him up again and walked on. Behind her she heard the splash as Camilla walked through the puddle without a word of disapproval. Libitina wondered if her companion even noticed.

  * * *

  When Rory had walked past Aludra the night before, the connection she’d been longing for surged through her loins. The spirit saw her, felt her. Was it afraid? Is that why it ran?

  Seeing the wrecked body the spirit inhabited made her long for another victim, however. She needed to take Rory today, at sunset. But time worked with her, allowing her just a little room for play before she got back to her purpose.

  She found a woman in a flower shop but the experience had left her feeling disappointed. All the woman did was cry. Her hate made her weak
instead of strong and this angered Aludra beyond anything she thought possible. She killed the woman in a fit of rage, hating her tears, her weakness. Still, the taste of the flower woman’s blood in Aludra’s mouth made her shudder in pleasure.

  Whatever satisfaction she lacked from her latest victim she would have in Rory. Today. The sun shone bright. She hissed at it, then laughed. Darkness suited her tastes better but she needed to close the distance between herself and Rory, had to grab the spirit the moment the sun sank behind the trees. So it was written; so it shall be done.

  As she followed Rory’s scent, she sensed the living woman still with the spirit. The living woman. Yes. She wanted to play with her, wanted to make her squeal. She loved watching how gingerly she handled that stupid animal. How much she cared about it. It made her question how concerned she’d be over her own life. When she caught the spirit, she would play with the living woman. She had time for that at least. She’d torture the small animal, make it scream for her, watch her cry and beg as her spirit turned to hate.

  She laughed as she traipsed through the forest, catching up to her prey.

  * * *

  “There’s a house up ahead,” Libitina said. More like a hut really. It had a roof and windows, a door. Mud and bark and maybe some other pieces of wood. A garden grew among the trees surrounding the house, various herbs and vegetables. Around the front, lilacs and lavender grew in large bushes, reaching for the light overhead. It felt odd looking at this house, like it came from a fairytale. In fact, she thought it looked like something a fairy would build, with its roof of dried pine needles and branches. An attempt at thatch. Well, it was shelter, anyway. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney, so she knew someone must be home.

  “Let’s keep walking. It hurts less when I walk,” Camilla said and continued on before getting Libitina’s response. Her shambling steps didn’t take her as far as she’d wanted to go however. When she noticed Libitina wasn’t following, she stopped and waited without turning.

  “No, we need to go inside. My dog is sick. Besides, that’s where it is. Don’t you feel it?” Every part of her turned to the house.

  Camilla lifted her head. Libitina cringed at the wet pop when she straightened her neck.

  Camilla turned her face toward her. “It is,” she said, almost a sigh.

  “Yes. I feel it. This is where we’ll get answers… I think.” She hoped it wasn’t something worse, someone who would answer their questions but make their lives more miserable. What if they didn’t want to know what was happening to Camilla? Ignorance was bliss, people said. So, maybe they ought to remain blissful. But she looked at her dog and his pitiful whines convinced her.

  “Okay,” Camilla said. Then she stopped. “No. That woman, the one I see, she’s following me. I don’t want to bring someone else into this. If she comes here…” she trailed off. Libitina didn’t need her to finish the thought. She knew what Camilla meant.

  But, she didn’t care. “Come on. What choice do we have?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Like?”

  “We could keep walking.”

  “And go where?” Her voice rose, startling birds in a nearby tree. “We are lost, Camilla. I don’t know if you know that. I have no idea where I am, where we are. This house doesn’t have a driveway or a road or anything leading to it. How the hell do you think we found it?”

  “Okay,” she said again. “For your dog, at least.” But Libitina knew Camilla felt the same thing she did. That sense that here would be their answers, whether they wanted to hear them or not.

  They approached the house. The sun was lowering in the sky, just beginning to crest the treetops.

  Chapter Fourteen

  From inside the mud hut, a crone watched through a dirty window as two women approached. The one trailing behind was long dead but somehow still moving. This did not frighten her. She’d seen far worse things in her life. When the woman’s head swung to the side a bit, the crone glimpsed the mangled flesh of her face. She had once been pretty.

  The crone smirked. “The time has come,” she said in a dusty whisper. She looked around, startled by the sound of her own voice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken aloud.

  The living woman carried a dog that looked nearly dead. Some food, water, and rest would be enough to help that creature.

  They approached her house, then hesitated, argued. The crone remembered her baby, so long ago. Was the living girl her baby? No. She wasn’t old enough. Nowhere near as old as her baby would be. And she looked nothing like the father anyway. As she closed her eyes, that day flashed into her mind, the day they’d ripped her baby from her belly, the day they took the child and left her on the cold, stone slab, alone, crying for her infant as their surgeon sewed her closed again. All she wanted to do was feed it, ease the aching in her breasts, hold her daughter. But they’d left her alone. Cast her out. Sent her here to fend for herself, banished forever from the chosen people, made to look like… this.

  She ran her fingers through her scraggly, gray hair and winced at the bald patches. Too young to look like this. Her green eyes stared out through wrinkled flesh. Liver spots covered her face and hands. At age thirteen, they made her look like this, cast her away like a filthy piece of garbage, forbade her to return.

  Well, she’d show them. She knew their plans. As the two women came closer, she smiled and laughed to herself, the sound dusty and clotted with cobwebs. What a day this would turn out to be.

  The one with the dog knocked on the door.

  “Rory has come at last,” the crone whispered and let them in.

  * * *

  Cerberus slept in the corner near the small fire, breathing easily, looking happy for the first time in days. Libitina’s backpack and recorder were next to the sleeping dog. She and Camilla sat next to each other on the dirt floor. They both drank tea brewed from some of the flowers growing outside the crone’s house. The old woman didn’t seem to notice Camilla’s face. Libitina suspected she might be blind, but she didn’t act blind. How could anyone look at that face without turning away? Not only did she not turn away, but she invited them in as if they were expected guests.

  Trinkets hung from the makeshift ceiling, shiny prizes a crow might forage: a candy wrapper, a bit of wire, a glass bead, a razor, a fishing hook, and other things that glittered.

  Camilla twitched, grimaced.

  “I know what you see, child.” The old woman put a comforting hand on Camilla’s head. Camilla leaned into the touch and sighed.

  Libitina eyed the woman, not trusting her yet. Something wasn’t right. Why didn’t Camilla’s face bother her? Why didn’t the woman shy away from her nakedness?

  “You do?” Camilla asked. “What do I see?” A hint of skepticism crept into her voice. Libitina smiled. Good for her.

  “You see women in pain, women dying. You see what they saw in their last moments of torture.” Her voice rasped and grated. Libitina winced at the sound of it.

  “How did you…”

  “I know more than that, child.” When the old woman smiled again, Libitina thought she saw the face of a demon lurking beneath the wrinkles. The sight made her stomach clench and her breath stop.

  I should’ve trusted my bad luck, Libitina thought. I should’ve trusted that things would turn foul. We’re going to get our answers all right, but this woman is crazy. I don’t know how she knows so damn much but something is wrong here. I’m such a fuck-up. She clenched her fist and banged her knee with it, scowling at the floor.

  “Tell me. Do you know what’s happening to me?” Camilla asked. Despite the tattered mess of her face, the lack of eyes for expression, Libitina saw hope imprinted there.

  “I will tell you what I know.” The old crone made her slow descent to the floor, her body creaking and popping on its agonized way. Her arthritic hands curled at her chest, her filthy rags tied and hanging from her body, she looked at the two of them, green eyes glowing in the landscape of wrinkles like two gem
s shining through desert hardpan.

  Libitina listened to the story, incredulous. Camilla didn’t move, her torn eye sockets fixed in the crone’s direction.

  “There are spirits in this world, some stronger than others. You, child, harbor one such spirit. Its name is Rory.” The light in the room dimmed as the woman talked. “Rory is unique. It is split into two halves. One female, one male. You possess the female half. You live, though you are dead. You find yourself drawn to certain people, craving something that exists only on their breath.”

  Camilla made a slight movement with her head, maybe a nod. This part was at least true. Libitina had seen what Camilla did, had seen the results. She remembered the first man sitting in his bathtub, crying and screaming; the man in the house going mad before she got to him; the man in the road cringing as Camilla sealed her mouth over his and inhaled.

  “What is it I crave? What is it on the breath?”

  “The intangible spirit, child. Rory draws it out from the breath.”

  “But why am I drawn to these people? Why not everyone?”

  The room darkened further. Cerberus whimpered and twitched in his sleep, then settled down.

  “Because Rory has a mission. Rory split itself into two halves for a reason. Your half is here to get revenge for women who were wronged before they died, women whose spirits still harbor a grudge. The images you see… these are the spirits telling you their story, showing you what they feel every day, what they can’t get over until they’ve had their revenge. You see, they can’t move on in the spirit world until their wrong has been righted. Rory is trying to help these spirits gain peace. So Rory takes revenge in the best way a spirit can, by stealing its victim’s spirit, leaving them without a way to live forever in the other world.”

  Camilla leaned forward. Her voice just as raspy as the old woman’s, she asked, “So, what happened to my spirit then? If I’m dead, where is my spirit? Did Rory take it, too?”