Page 52 of Heal Me

It’s the only merciful thing to do. And Lavinia deserves it. I can give her what no one has ever given me. A way out. A release. Peace. I wanther to have that, and this is the only way.

Even after I’ve decided, I drag it out for two more days. Two more days of her suffering. I hate myself for it, seeing how she’s losing weight, her skin is paling, and she loses the strength to even get her grief out.

On the fifth day, I carry her to the bathroom across the hall, where I sink into the hot water with her. I start by washing her, as if cleaning her could remove her burdens and make her passing easier. But she doesn’t need any help where she’s going. She won’t needmewhere she’s going.

I swallow back a knot that’s suddenly swelling in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, holding her close and kissing her skin. “For everything. Bringing you here. Letting all those horrible things happen.” I can’t even voice any of it. “For not listening to you. But I’ll remedy that now. I’ll do what I should have done from the start. I’ll set you free, my sweet little songbird.”

It feels odd as I mentally prepare myself to end her. Weird, twisty sensations stir inside me, and urgent thoughts keep banging to gain entrance to my consciousness. Killing a girl always comes with a rush of power, but I don’t feel any of that today.

As much as the change bothers me, it also feels right. Nothing has ever gone as expected with my little songbird, so why should it now? Everything about this scenario is different from my usual kills. I’ve never killed a girl out of mercy. I’ve discarded them because they were useless, broken beyond repair, and unsellable, but never because it was what was best for them. I’ve also never done it in a tub, naked and holding her close. Usually, I’ll take them to the incinerator room, feeling the powerful heat of the fire radiating into the space, ready to eat thecarcass, as I choke the girl until she passes out, then snap her neck.

I’ve also never killed someone I care for before. I’ve never cared for anyone.

The thought sends an achy stab through my chest. Grunting, I ignore it and turn my attention to the task at hand—the delicate creature in my arms.

“You won’t feel a thing,” I tell my sweet songbird—my beautiful Lavinia—as I tighten my grip to hold her close. “I’ll shut off the blood to your brain.” I gently slide my hand up her chest, pausing at the edge of her throat. “It will make you pass out.” I dip my head close to her ear. “Then, before you come to, I’ll snap your neck.” I take a deep inhale, branding her scent into my senses. “No pain—no more. I promise.”

There’s a drip on my hand. A tear, I realize as her chest starts shaking and more tears fall. Leaning closer, I kiss her cheek, tasting her salty tears that are now running in a steady stream.

I start humming, one of the songs she used to sing to me, as I trail my hand up higher. I close it around her slender neck—the one I’ll be breaking in a minute. Flexing my fingers, I feel for her arteries, then hold my hand still and slowly press.

A new lump forms at the base of my throat as I feel the strength drain from her body.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, pausing—holding her on the brink for one final moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much you meant to me before it was too late,” I say, then press again.

Her hand comes up to grip my arm at her waist. It’s a feeble squeeze, but that small gesture damn near breaks me. It’s the first movement I’ve gotten from her since I came back to find her broken, hollowed-out, and voiceless. My hands are suddenly sweaty, and a hazy, nauseous sensation creeps in.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Everything curdles inside me as Lavinia’s strength fades. My heart pounds as herhand drops down to float in the water, and my airways narrow as she goes limp against me, unconscious.

I’ve done this so many times that I reflexively readjust my arms, preparing to deliver the needed force to snap her neck.

I place a final kiss on her cheek. This is it.

“Goodbye, my sweet little songbird.”

34

LAVINIA

Bright, warm light caresses my face, and something soft and fluffy envelops me. It feels good. Peaceful.

I imagine soaring between the clouds, free and weightless, having shed all the bodily burdens I carried. I always thought everything would black out when I left the world, that the notion of a heaven or an afterlife was just a ruse to make dying more bearable. But that comforting heat on my cheek and the hopeful brightness beyond my closed eyes sure aren’t a ruse.

I want to go to it, soak up the warmth and see the light. But my eyes won’t quite open yet, and I feel like I’m moving through a haze. It’s okay, though, the haze is calm and free of pain, so I take my time.

Slowly, my awareness awakens, and I start sensing other things too. Fresh air and a faint scent of pine. I imagine trees so tall they reach into the clouds, infusing the ethereal space with the calming scent of a forest. I hope I’ll get to go into a real forest and see more than treetops. Maybe venture into some mountains and enjoy the peaceful view over undisturbed landscapes.

But something isn’t right. As the foggy sensation lifts, the floaty feeling dissipates. The heat and the light are still there, but so are the bodily and emotional pain I thought I’d shed. Cruel memories flash across my inner eye, breaking up thepeaceful clouds and darkening the atmosphere. A heavy and frail sensation tightens around my very bones, and fear and stress creep beneath my skin.

The feeling of being alive.

I know it even before I open my eyes. Once again, faith won’t grant me the sweet relief of death. I swallow hard, keeping my eyes closed even as I’m awake enough to open them. I don’t want to face the cruel world—the small confinement and the perpetually dim light of my narrow existence. I want to hold on to the scent of pine and the feeling of sunlight for just a moment longer before they slip from my grasp and once again become vague memories.

But reality presses on, urging my attention to my body. The raw sensation in my throat. The lack of sound when I swallow and accidentally whimper. The memory of losing my voice.

My eyes snap open, and a silent scream sticks in my throat as the world draws in and my pulse cranks into a hazardous pace. I try to move, but I’m frozen in place—I’ve been ever since I lost the only thing left that matters to me. I can’t seem to remember how to make my muscles work.

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