Page 31 of The Last Feast
It’s then, when she knows she won’t be seen, that she climbs down from the roof and walks the long, cold route to her aunt and uncle’s house. In a use-or-be-used world, she knows someone has to die. If it’s not her, it’s them.
If death will give life to something between us, that’s what I’ll do.
Auguste’s words ring clear, filling her with conviction the entire walk through the forest, over the bridge, into the estate of her aunt and uncle on the opposite side of the dense woodland. They continue repeating, convincing her to come back to him even though her body is numb and the cold air hurts her chest. She finds she wants the opportunity to know what he is to her too, so she continues putting one numb foot in front of the other.
Smoke billows out of the stone chimney of her old home when she reaches the edge of the property nestled between the trees and the private road that keeps the house out of sight. The blinds are dropped, so she can’t see into the living room where her aunt and uncle will be cuddled together on the sofa as they watch the fire, but she can imagine it in clear detail, even down to the gritty texture her uncle’s voice leaves on her tongue.
All her pain at being ignored, beaten, starved, abused in every manner of the word burns through her. Her death was going to be gentle, she wouldn’t prolong her suffering or scream, but theirs will be loud. She’ll make them cry, and then she’ll make them hurt like they did to her.
Snow crunches under her feet as she walks to the front door. Hana expects it to be locked, but as she twists the cold handle, it easily comes away from the frame to reveal her aunt and uncle sitting together.
And a new face.
The little girl sits in front of the fire, just like Hana did on the day she was taken from the orphanage and dropped into this house. She’s been replaced with someone who matches their requirements, a little girl around six years old, hugging a small doll to her chest.
“You are not welcome here,” her uncle snarls as he stands. “Leave.”
“Fuck you,” she spits as she steps inside, slamming the door behind her.
They won’t scare the girl yet; the first night is to make the child comfortable. She’ll be shown to her bedroom, unaware it will become a prison and platform for her pain. Then, she’ll be slowly manipulated into earning her stay, first by the aunt, who will brush her hair and tell her how happy she is to have a daughter after spending so long yearning for a child. Then, the façade of a loving mother figure will slowly morph into an abuser, someone who twists the natural longing of an abandoned orphan for a caring home into a child eager to earn a place in a world only seeking to use them. The pain comes when she feels indebted to them, desperate for the care she was first shown. She’ll do whatever she’s asked to receive it. But Hana ignores her aunt and uncle as she walks to the child—she may not have had anyone to help her, but she’s no longer the child who desired a family now she’s shown her faults to a man who accepted her.
Lowering to her haunches, she rips the doll from the girl’s arms and asks, “Do you want it back?”
The little girl’s large brown eyes turn glassy as she nods.
“Good.” Hana stands, grabbing the girl’s wrist. She drags her to the front door as her aunt and uncle shout at her to stop. Opening the door, she throws the doll as far as she can. “Run. Find your doll and hide.”
When the girl doesn’t move, she pushes her out of the door then slams it on her crying. The loud click of the lock battles the roar of her uncle as he storms towards her. “You stupid girl!”
Turning to them as the small footsteps retreat, she smiles. “Surprise, children fuckers. I’ve decided not to die.”
Her uncle pauses at the glee in her voice, and she looks him in the eye, refusing to cower. He’s never witnessed her like this before, which increases his own fear over what will happen tohimnow that she’s confident in who she is. She’s seen too much, heard them bartering over her body. He reassured those who connected him with Hana that she wouldn’t be able to announce their abuse to the world.
Hana’s joy lessens as she stares at the thick moustache above his lip that always made her feel sick, so she decides she’ll make him eat it before she kills him.
He cocks his arm back and pushes his entire weight behind his fist. When it connects with her cheek, she laughs. It’s loud, booming through the house as she takes the knife from her pocket. She slashes out, catching his forearm as her aunt rushes forward. Her uncle steps back, allowing his wife to take the pain while Hana lets out her rage.
He’s too busy trying to get to the phone, and his hand trembles as he lifts the handset, clumsily dialing the ones who organize the children placed with them.
Hana is busy fighting her aunt; she doesn’t hear him as he walks to the back of the house. As soon as the handler answers, he rushes out, “She’s alive.”
“Put her down until we can collect her,” the man on the other end says before he ends the call.
The lack of urgency fills him with unease as he goes back into the living room where Hana has overpowered his wife. She kicks into her calf, forcing her to her knees before she smiles widely as she digs the blade into her aunt’s throat, dragging it across.
Her uncle watches as blood flows from the cut, followed by the telltale gurgling that’s a soundtrack to death. He’s never truly loved the woman he shared his depravity with. Their bond was built on a mutual interest of hiding their true selves rather than the fairytale notion of love and care. Yet, he can’t help the relief that she’s saved from whatever punishment will come from their misguided arrogance allowing them to believe Hana wouldn’t be a threat.
Hana throws her head back, laughing at the choked sounds leaving her aunt. In that moment, when she’s reveling in being in control, her uncle takes the opportunity to run forward, tackling her now she’s distracted. He’s careful not to cause too much damage, since that would attract more attention if anything in the cabin needed to be replaced, and he uses the pool of his wife’s blood to knock Hana off balance as her foot skids over the slick hardwood.
The knife clatters as his wife slumps, and he rains down blows on the girl destroying his life. He manages to overpower her despite her kicking and punching. It takes more force than it did the last time to knock her unconscious, but he doesn’t stop until Hana is limp beneath him. Then, he calmly stands with her collar tightly gripped in his fist to drag her to the cellar hatch in the kitchen.
The heavy steel creaks as he props it open on the hinge then throws her into the soundproofed metal box before dragging his dead wife to the same box so the handler can dispose of their bodies. Once they’re locked away, he stares at the carnage she was able to achieve in a small amount of time, his breathing ragged and terror shaking his limbs.
That’s always been Hana’s specialty, though. From a young age, she had to find the perfect second to lash out for the maximum impact, because she knew the punishment would be inevitable. The Sisters of the orphanage wouldn’t allow her tobe free for long, and then her aunt and uncle would drug her to subdue her, so she managed to condense her violence into potent bursts.
Now, she’s locked away again, and the contraption will keep her contained when she comes back to consciousness with only the dead for company.
19
