Page 109 of Deliria

‘It is time. Everything is set. Everything is ready.’I write, sending it quickly before turning it off again. I don’t need a reply. I don’t need confirmation.

I toss the phone back where it came from, hastily shoving the wood back in place so no one can detect that there’s anything untoward beneath it.

As I stand, I can hear that hum has become a whirl of blades. Are they circling the house? Trying to hunt me down from the outside because they’re too afraid to come face me on foot?

No, that isn’t it. But it amuses me to think of their fear, his fear, my husband’s.

He’s enjoyed mine for far too many months. He’s enjoyed using me, abusing me, exposing me to all manner of unspeakable horrors.

I flex my fingers, steeling myself for this last trick of the game. My last move.

He won’t find me here. He won’t find me in my room like a good little wife.

No, he’ll find me in the drawing room, waiting for him by the great bay windows with the colossal power of the sea crashing behind me, as if this were a scene from a movie, as if this were some great theatrical moment, and I guess in a way, it is.

Because he still doesn’t realise; he’s still utterly clueless.

Oh, he knows who my family is, he knows who my father is.

But he doesn’t knowme. He doesn’t know the real Scarlett Heath. He only knows the one he created in his head; the sweet, simpering, naïve girl, and then the crying broken creature he tried to turn me into.

Not the one of wrath.

Not the one of vengeance.

Not the one who is going to carve out his god damned heart and feast on his entrails.

Alexander

Where the fuck is my wife? Where is that bitch?

I prowl through the house, stalking the corridors, trying to work out where the whore is hiding. At every turn, I’m convinced she’s going to jump out at me, claw at me, try to gut me with a knife like the very savage that she is.

Or perhaps it won’t be her. Perhaps it’ll be my brother.

I smirk at the notion of it being him, Rafferty. Playing the noble protector, her knight in shining armour.

If he does come for me then I’m ready for it. Ready for him. I’ll gut him like the pig he is, and he can join her out on the rocksonce it’s all over. Their bodies can rot together and what irony it’ll be, that they’ll be there, in death, because he was too inept to save her in life.

When I get to her room, I pause on the threshold seeing all the carnage. It looks like a bloodbath. One of the maids is barely a metre from the door, curled up like rigor mortis has already set in. I stride over, yanking on her body and she rolls over, laying on her back, with her limbs still in that curled up position. Yeah, she’s dead alright. There’s a syringe sticking out from her throat and that tells me the cause, but her face, her face is mangled mess of blood and fuck knows what else. Her eyes are gone. It’s like someone ripped them right out of her, and all that’s left are the bloodied, hollowed out sockets.

My stomach turns, and I swallow down the bile. I’ve never been a squeamish man, but the sight of her mangled corpse makes me want to puke.

A wail from the other side of the room catches my attention. I turn my head and see the other maid, dragging her body like her legs no longer work.

I don’t know her name, never cared to learn it. That’s the beauty of pet names, keeps it easy, keeps it simple. You don’t have to waste any real energy while the girl is all the more softer for thinking you gave her a term of endearment for a reason. Poor thing was never but a bit of amusement when my wife was being a bitch but she did give good head, I’ll give her that.

I squat down, brushing her hair from her bloodied face.

“Al, Al…” She sobs. “Is that you?”

She’s lost her eyes too. Half the flesh on her face seems to have been torn off. I can barely stand to look at her now, and I sure as fuck will not be letting my cock anywhere near her anymore.

I let out a sigh but not for her. Not really. In a way my wife has done me a favour. The girl was getting clingy, needy. Morethan once I’d caught her sneaking into my room when I’d told her I wasn’t up for playing.

I pull the revolver from my pocket, click the safety off and place it against her forehead. She stills, her lip trembles and she opens her mouth to no doubt plead with me. Only, I’m done pissing around today. I’m done wasting my energy on this.

I pull the trigger, blowing her brains right out the back of her head and as she slams back into the floor, I get back to my feet and leave her there.

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