“Yes.” I sigh, moving as close to the window as I can manage, far away from him.
“Good.”
Suddenly he slides away again, back to his own seat. Fazed, I turn my head and gaze at him, then at the wound on my shoulder, which is still oozing blood. He just bit me and now he’s suddenly done? This was all a trick to get me to be quiet.
“Now we’re both bleeding,” he muses.
From his corner, he smiles at me. He brings his finger to his face and swipes up a drop of blood left on his chin, brings it to his parted lips, and licks up my blood from his finger like it’s a lollipop and he’s savoring the taste.
I cringe a little.
“Now be a good fairy and sit still.”
Accompanying song: “Bad Moon Rising” by Mourning Ritual
Greenwich, Rhode Island – June 3nd, 2013, early morning
There’s no going back anymore. This is it. She will come to know everything.
And I will give her everything … including myself.
Adrenaline still zings through my veins, making it impossible for me to look anywhere else but at her. I don’t even care about the wound on my shoulder. My eyes are glued to her skin, hungry for the blood that seeps from her veins, and I long to feel her pulse quicken under my touch.
Chasing after her with a fully loaded gun with the intent to shoot her if she went too far and was in danger of being caught has me high. High on the hunt, high on her. I love how it feels, so powerful, like I could conquer the world and kill everything in my path. Like I’m unstoppable.
It’s impossible to quit ravaging her. I desire her, her body, her taste. God, her blood was delicious, just like her skin, and her mouth, and her pussy. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to spank her for running and then fuck her right now, right here, in the back of my car. Hard.
But I have to think of her, too. I can’t be just a selfish ass, even though I’m so very tempted to just go for it. If I want to improve and be a better man, I have to start now. Trust is what I need for control, and her trust in me has been shattered. Building it up again will be a long road to walk.
Dawn has come. I tell my driver to stop at a local clinic, and I immediately get out after telling him to lock the doors behind me. Lillith bangs the windows while I walk inside and beckon the receptionist to listen.
“I need a doctor. Now.”
“You can sit in the waiting room over there,” she says, pointing at a few plastic chairs, which look like they’re about to crumble.
Sighing loudly, I rummage through my pocket and take out a wad of cash, chucking it on her desk. “Take it. Now bring me to a doctor.”
She’s speechless for a second, staring at the cash like she’s never seen it.
“There’s more where that came from,” I say.
“I can’t take this …”
I lean on her desk, squinting, threatening her with my eyes. “You can.”
She swallows, trembling in place. Then a plastic smile forms on her face. “Come this way, sir.”
I smile back. “Good.”
I’m an asshole, but I don’t care right now. While she tucks the cash into her pocket, she points at the door. I walk inside and meet the doctor. I throw him some cash, too, and persuade him not to tell anyone about this bullet wound. He takes out the bullet while I bite a plastic tube. There’s no time for the anesthetics to kick in properly. After he stitches me back up, I force him to take more cash as a means to keep him quiet. Then I walk out of there, never to be seen again. I got what I was after, but nobody can know I was here. If the guys from Genesis found out, they’d know that I’m not taking her back to the hospital. They’d realize that I’m thwarting their plans.
No, the best action right now is to lay low and be as inconspicuous as possible. So I immediately get back into the car with Lillith, who looks angrier than a wet cat.
I tell my driver to start the car again, and I throw my coat over the back. It’s then that her eyes peruse the patch on my shoulder.
“So that’s what you were off to do.”
“Had to remove it before it became infected.”
She frowns then averts her eyes again. I lift my finger to move away a strand of her hair so I can see her, but she cocks her head to avoid my touch. She’s still afraid of me; I can sense it. Her sweaty palms shake as she attempts to curb her anxiety. Her eyes skid from left to right, from me to the window, to keep an eye on both her environment and me. She’s desperately trying to lash onto anything tangible, real, as if this is all a dream and she’ll soon wake up.
Unfortunately, this nightmare has only just begun.
She clears her throat and then gives me a look from under her lashes, like she suddenly means business. “So … have you always been into the killing?”
At first, I don’t know how to react. I can’t stop from bursting into laughter, but when I realize that she’s actually serious about this, I stop and frown. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. Since you seemed to enjoy hunting me, I’m wondering if this has become a regular activity for you.”
“No …” I say dead serious, “to the enjoying part. Although, I have to admit that I quite enjoyed hunting you. There is a certain thrill to it.” I lick my lips and I think I catch her quivering from it.
“So you actually do this often?”
“Yes, but not in the way that you think. And I don’t get shot often, either.”
“Oh, really, enlighten me then,” she says, shaking her head, ignoring my last comment. It ticks me off.
“All right, you want to know? I’ll tell you everything there is to know about them and what they do. What I do.”
She looks my way with her brows furrowed as if she doesn’t believe me. Oh, I’ll make her believe me.
I lean in too close for her comfort. “You think that I do this because I want to?” The moment she moves her head, I say, “Wrong.”
“If you don’t want to do it, then why would you?”
“Refusing is not an option. Not with them.”
“So you just do as you’re told?”
“You don’t know what I do,” I scoff.
“I know that you’re robbing me of my freedom. What do you gain out of keeping me prisoner?”
“I gain you. And I took you out of their claws, but if they find out that I am keeping you close to me, they’ll kill me. The things you know, the things you forgot, they put you in danger. The things that I’ve told you put you in danger. They don’t want that information out.”
“I have no idea what you mean. I don’t have any information other than the fact that they fucking used Ashley like a sex doll and made me watch! That they fucking killed my mother and my pet!”
“Shhh …” I say, placing my finger on her lips. If she yells, people on the street might hear her. They have ears and eyes everywhere.
“No!” she mumbles. “The world should know this.”
“No, see that is what you don’t understand. The world won’t know about this, because they would prevent it from ever getting out. That’s how bad it is.”
“And you participate in all of this?” The way she looks at me, like I’m even more disgusting than before, twists my soul. I hate the way that she looks at me, and I knew this was the only outcome … if only I hadn’t fallen for her, then she’d be free.
I’m selfish for wanting her, for needing her the way that I do. But I cannot let her go anymore.
It’s time to come clean.
“Tell me. Tell me everything,” she says.
“You want to know? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you all about my fucked-up life. But know this—from now on, you are mine. Forever. No freedom. No way out. This is it. You want to know my dirty secrets? Fine. You’ll become a part of them.”
Accompanying Song: “Speak in Silence” by Hannah Cartwright and Ross Tones
16 years ago
Numbness to death started at a young age for me. There is no choice but to feel indifference toward killing.
It’s become a means to survive—a means to accept and cope with the world and the consequences that my actions have.
I was five when muggers killed my mother.
One shot was all it took to take the breath from her lungs and mine.
I stood there, watching it unfold, doing nothing to prevent it. I barely knew what was going on. All I saw was a group of men running toward us, grabbing my mom’s purse while she screamed at me to run. So I did. Except that I didn’t get far. I stood behind a tree and watched from a distance. They murdered her when she wouldn’t surrender her belongings. And for what? Twenty bucks?
Scrubbing the stones outside my house, I still feel guilty thinking about it. I just stood there with my hands clamped around the tree, horrified at what was happening. I cried for hours. Only after days did I realize that it would not bring her back. The police never caught the thieves, and I always believed that it was my fault. I couldn’t tell them the details they were looking for. I saw nothing. I remembered nothing. Only her death.
And my father’s fury.
He blames me for everything.
Of course, he knows that I wasn’t the one who killed her, but still he blames me for not doing anything to save her. I didn’t just lose my mother that day. I lost my father, too.
I dip the brush back into the bucket and throw some of it over the stones, covering them with water and soap before continuing my sweep. Sweat drips from my forehead and my muscles are cramping. The red stains are almost gone. Just a little more, just a little longer.
I need to finish this. I’m not allowed inside if I don’t.
This is how it always goes after a hunt. I clean up all the mess that’s left of the deer and brush away the blood from the butchering. I guess it’s become some sort of tradition, but this is the only one that I’m happy with. Hunting is the only time outside when I’m actually keen on proving to my dad that he can be proud of his son. There isn’t much else that he likes about me. He hates that I like books, reading, and chess. Hates that I don’t take after my brother.
Oh, yes … my brother … my father’s prodigy.
I sigh, pushing my brush. I shouldn’t be jealous of him, but I can’t shake it either. I will make them see me in a different light one day.
As I stand up, I look around. The blood and remains are gone, so I’m done here. My stomach is rumbling and the smell of fried deer meat has my mouth watering. I throw the bucket of water out and return it to the shed before going inside the house.
The moment I step inside, my father turns around.
“What are you doing in here?”
“It’s totally clean outside. Can I come in now? I’m hungry.”
He grunts. “I don’t believe you.” He steps away from the kitchen and walks to the door, pushing me aside to peer outside. He squints. “That’s fucking disgusting. Get back outside, you rat.”
He grabs me by my collar, and I wince from the alcoholic stench drifting from his mouth. He throws me out the door, almost making me fall over onto the stones. I scramble up and say, “Hey! I did what you asked; I cleaned it. I thought we were having dinner?”
“Dinner is for boys who work their asses off, and you haven’t done shit.”
My father attempts to slam the door shut. Tears well up in my eyes. This isn’t the first night for this to happen, but it’s the first where I decide that I’m not going to take it anymore.
I rush toward the door and put a foot in, stopping him from closing it completely. It hurts, but it’s worth it. I try to push my body through, shoving him aside, yelling, “No! Let me in!”
He growls, “Take your filthy hands off me!”
“You can’t do this!”
He slaps me in the face. It isn’t anything new. It doesn’t faze me anymore. Somehow, I’ve become so angry that I bite him in the arm. The taste of his flesh doesn’t quell my hunger.
“You fucking brat! How dare you!”
He pummels me again, but I dodge. “That’s it, I’m done. One fucking kid is enough. But a second one who can’t do jack shit is worthless.”
He grabs the shotgun standing right next to the door and then aims it at me.
I freeze.
“I should’ve done this ages ago,” he grumbles.
I stare death straight in the eyes. I can’t believe that this is happening. That my father would go this far. That he would hate me so much that he’d rather kill me than have to spend another minute in my presence.
But it is not my fault.
I may be bad and worthless, but I loved my mother.
Courage washes over me, and I lunge forward, grabbing the shotgun. He shoots, the bullet firing off into the sky. I fight him for power, while he swears at me, but I keep going. I manage to pry the gun from his hand, but in our struggle, it fires. BANG! The bullet goes straight through his chest. He screams out in pain. In shock, I stare at him as he stumbles backward and then falls over. His head hits the cold, stone floor inside. He stops moving and the light leaves his eyes. Blood pools underneath his skull.
My brother rushes down the stairs. For a second, he gapes at me, his eyes widening when they drift to our father.
He yells at me. “What have you done?”
Accompanying Song: “Girei” by Yasuharu Takanashi
5 years ago
For years and years I studied, mastering all disciplines of the Curator Study Program. I was the best in my class, had the highest grades out of all the students who had passed in the last fifteen years, and was granted an award for outstanding achievements.
I was unstoppable.
An uncontrollable force sweeping in to rule.
It was in my head, my heart, and my blood. The desire to prove to the world that I was here and that I was worthy of admiration, love.
It was always about love.
Twisted, awful, despicable love.
I hated it.
I hated that I needed it, that I craved it, and that it never was enough. I did everything that I could to acquire it. I started a business for books, gained investors, built a company. Money flooded my everyday life, and soon the girls flocked to me. They didn’t want the nerd in high school, but they did want the man with all the riches in the world.
Disgusting. The more that I received their adoration, the more I spat on it.
It was never fucking enough.
The world is full of selfish people and I regretfully have to say that I am one of them.
I sought the unattainable. I searched for love by distancing myself from my own feelings, by making this about power, money, and self-worth. But I would not be what I am right now if it wasn’t for my father. Thanks to him, I have no further interest in love. There is no such thing as love—only people with desires and how they fulfill them.
And desires I fulfill … oh yes, especially my own desire to take what I want, fuck a girl when I want, spill my cock wherever I want. Life is too short to worry about arbitrary things like seeking answers to my questions. Why didn’t he love me? Why did I kill him? Why isn’t it ever enough? Why does it matter so much to me?
To be honest, I don’t fucking know.
Which is why I’ve decided to stop questioning these things and just live my life.
Suffice to say, my childhood was anything but normal. There isn’t much about my adolescence that doesn’t make me cringe. I’d rather not think about all the foster families I’ve been through, let alone how awkward high school was for me. Kids find other kids who love books strange. But maybe it was the fact that I kind of killed my father that kept them away from me.
Not that it is any use thinking about it. It’s just that this damned book that I’m reading is so much like my life that I keep recycling memories through my head. It even has the angry brother in it, just like mine, who hasn’t spoken to me in more than fifteen years. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.
Shaking my head, I place the book back onto the shelf and swallow away the lump in my throat. I shouldn’t get so
involved with the books I read, but what can I say? They hit home quickly.
I get off the ladder and look around the library. Gazing at the people with smiles on their faces while they read my books makes me so proud. My life might have been a complete mess-up, but at least I had the audacity to build my own empire from the ground. This is the largest curated library in the state. All of this is mine and mine alone. Everyone who steps one foot inside here has a purpose, and that purpose is mine to fulfill. I’m doing what I’ve always wanted.
Too bad my father isn’t here to witness how great my life has become. In a way, he inspired me to work harder, move forward, and be who I knew I could be.
The man in control. The man with all the power. I craved it all.
What my father took from me all those years ago, I have regained fivefold. Even after his death, some wretched part of me needed to prove to him that I could beat him at his own game. That I could be the son that he’d wished he had. Better. Stronger. Smarter. Cleaner. Impervious. More powerful than anyone he could ever imagine.
And now that I finally am, it’s still not enough.
Those years of suffering have scarred me for life.
However, nothing prepared me for the scars that were yet to come.
Nothing comes close to the imminent dread washing over me as four men step into my library, desecrating my own holy ground.
Their auras are like poison, sweeping in to kill anything in sight. I can smell it from a distance, the stench of power. I recognize the smell; I’ve been living in it for years. However, this particular brand reeks of death.
I watch them enter my private space, their eyebrows rising at the sight of me. I stand still, tall, not intimidated by their blatant stares as they approach. With their gaze, they rip me apart, tear down every barrier that I put up for myself, shred my mask, and see through my soul.
“Are you Sebastian Brand?” the first guy asks.
Swallowing, I straighten my back to keep my posture. “Yes.”
Seize Page 2
