by Anna Sanders
A shredded corset littered the floor. Then skin tight leggings. Then a frilly underwear set.
“You expect sympathy from me? No, my love. You were already dead when you decided to cheat on me.”
Deja’s screams were becoming worse and worse. Dante watched the exchange with horror, as if what the poor woman was enduring hurt him just as much as it hurt her. He screamed with her, pulling his hair at the roots, sobbing openly, kicking and punching the walls, tossing whatever was within his wake.
“Dante, stop this!” Her pained voice wavered. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want!”
Dante stopped. He held his hand up, and all ceased. “What was that?”
“I’ll marry you! I’ll stop sleeping around, I’ll do whatever you want! Just please… Please, stop this!”
Dante knelt before the bloodied and battered daevor. She was sobbing face down on the floor, her naked body riddled with shallow knife wounds. He lifted her face by her chin. “Say it again,” he commanded.
“I’ll marry you!” She choked on the foam bubbling from her throat, her nose ran, she was an entire mess.
“Say that you love me.”
She paused. “I love you.”
“I don’t believe you, Deja.”
“I do! I love you!” she insisted.
“No, Deja. I don’t believe you anymore.”
Taking the chance of but a moment, the daevor sprung her wings and tossed herself out of the still open trailer door. Dante bellowed in betrayal as she took to the skies. With all of her might she propelled herself upward, her red wings pumping furiously, all of her efforts pushing her up and up and up…
But she did not get far. Dante stopped her, his white wingspan shadowing the moon, and she tumbled as he took out all of his pain onto her. No matter what she did, her plummet was erratic, and she hit the ground hard enough to knock all of her remaining energy out of her. Her head hit something hard, maybe a stone, and the world tilted dangerously. She did not move from the ground.
Dante was out of breath. “You never meant it! You never cared! You never understood! I thought you were different! You’re just like everyone else! You need to die like everyone else!”
The gang reappeared once more. Their eyes were cloudy, as if their actions were unknown even to them. Their forms reflected in her dark eyes as they descended upon her.
When the gang arose, Deja Rowan had stopped breathing.Dante curled himself around the limp, lifeless form of Deja. He cried and cried, wishing that he could die along with her. His fingers shook as he moved her hair from her face. Her eyes were still open, her mouth agape. She was still beautiful to him. And so still. The softness of her cheek was still alive, even if her heart wasn’t. The curve of her bottom lip, busted, but still so gloriously lush. Her vivacious form was riddled with wounds, but even the wounds bled with beautiful color.
He brought her closer, enveloping her. Why didn’t she know how much he loved her? Why didn’t she know that he would always love her?
She would know now.
“This is a very serious case,” London Iragall said. “I don’t know if, in all of my career, I have ever heard of a daevor being killed by a human. Perhaps on accident, a gunshot or something just as wilily, but this was…”
Orion Merrick finished the other chancellor’s sentence. “Deliberate.”
“Hang on now,” Esteban Chaves cut in. “That’s a bit egregious.”
“How so?” London said.
“Well, we’re talking about a young woman with the Touch. Do you really believe that someone would purposefully murder her? What would the motive be?”
“At this point it, doesn’t matter. Deja Rowan has a noble familial background. They will want justice, and it is our duty to see to it.” Orion sighed as he looked again at the evidence before him. “Though I do not know where to begin. Does anyone know anything about her personal life? Who her friends were, if she was dating anyone—”
“I have already taken the liberty of asking those exact questions,” Esteban interrupted. “Everyone who had any contact with her said that the girl kept to herself. She did not mingle with those that she worked with. She was a loner.”
Orion looked at the other chancellor calculatingly. “Odd.”
“Well, those with the Dark Touch are known for being cloistered. Just look at their communities, branched off from all contact with humans and cryptids alike. Deja Rowan lived in the Florida community. It was in her nature from the start.”
“You have done your homework in this case,” London said.
“I’m merely doing my duty as a chancellor. After all, this crime did happen in my jurisdiction. I have a special interest in it.”
“Very well, Esteban. Bring me more information on this gang. Find out where they are, and do hurry. I’m getting calls from her parents every hour on the hour. The quicker we handle this, the sooner we’ll all sleep better at night.”
London Iragall and Orion Merrick walked away side by side, still talking to one another in an undertone. Esteban Chaves’ face remained lighthearted and passive until they turned a corner. Then a darkness spread over it, from eyes to lips, dourly. He folded his arms behind his back and straightened his spine.
Yes. He was merely doing his duty as a chancellor. And as a father.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anna Sanders is a simple soul originally from southern California. Her interest in writing began at the early age of 12 years old after having an eccentric and exciting English teacher. Her hobbies include hiking, killing zombies in video games, cooking, and obnoxiously singing showtunes. For the past six years, Anna has been an avid participant in the annual NaNoWriMo challenge.
She currently resides in Carson City, Nevada with her husband, their two daughters, and a fluffy behemoth of a dog named Jojo.
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