Page 44 of Written in Sin
“You think dying will give you some sense of honor?” I spit blood from my mouth, landing right beside him. “You’re going to die either way, Harold. So why not be useful for once?” My nostrils flare, and I want to choke the life out of him with my bare hands. “What did you do with her?!”
“I had someone come and get her. Zedediah…” He spits blood out of his mouth and it lands on my shoe. “She’s gone.”
I don’t wait for another word. I just lift the gun and pull the trigger. The shot is louder than I expect, bouncing off the walls like thunder. His head jerks up before it drops onto the ground like a stone. Blood and bone hit the floor and splatter up my legs, hot and wet. Some of it hits my mouth, but I don’t flinch.
I stand there, feeling the barrel that’s still warm in my hand. My ears are ringing. Harold is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. He was a tool my father used, and he had to go. The probability of her being “safe” is probably high. But it isn’t enough. She isn’t safe if she isn’t with me.
The pain rushing through my body only fuels me at this point, and I don’t stop to wipe the blood off before walking out the door.
Time to find Daddy Dearest.
When I walk into his office, I breathe in the scent of iron as I scan the room. The record player’s arm is raised. His table is knocked over, his trinkets scattered over the floor, and he’s laying in a thick puddle of blood. I lower beside Fenris causing a rotten stench to waft over me. He isn’t moving, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.
I hear a notification go off and turn my head, looking up to see his laptop open. There’s a pop up flashing in the corner. I pull myself up and walk over. There’s a video being uploaded so I click on the open tab. A sudden burst of pain rushes throughme, and my knees buckle causing me to hold on to the ledge and brace myself against his desk. I lower my body to the chair, my eyes locked on the screen as it starts to play. When I attempt to mess with the volume I realize it doesn’t have sound.
I watch in horror as Catarina steps into the room. Fenris gestures for her to sit. Her movements are stiff. I know my girl. She’s trying to mask her anxiety. I watch the way she looks around the room, searching for a way out. The video skips and I hit the thirty second rewind, thinking it was a mistake, but it does it again. There’s footage missing. How much is cut out, and why?
I press the resume button and see his hand reach out before his long fingers tighten around her wrist. She flinches and pulls away, but he doesn’t let her go. He pulls her closer to him, his body leaning into hers, and I can almost feel the pressure he’s putting on her.
She stiffens, but she doesn’t stay still. I watch her fight back, her hands push against his chest, trying to create distance. But he’s too strong. He pins her to the floor. I see the desperation in her struggle. My girl. My father forces her down harder. I reach for the screen. There’s a tremor taking root in my fingers. I want to reach in, pluck her out, and save her.
I want to stop watching. I pause the video, burying my face in my hands. My cheek stings from the tears pooling in my wound.
Pressing play again, I can almost feel him tear her from my grasp, something I never deserved in the first place. My eyes flick to her left, and I see it. The ram’s horn. It must’ve fallen during their struggle. She pulls it from under the sofa and without a second thought, plunges it into him.
She doesn’t stop until he’s a broken heap beneath her… She stares at him, blood dripping from her hands. Her eyes scan the room, like she’s waiting for something. For me.
I watch Harold walk through the door right before the video ends. I look at my reflection on the black screen, staring into his eyes. The man who made me, destroyed the person who saved me.
I really thought I was finally something someone wouldn’t need saved from. When she looked at me, did she see his face? Could she tell the difference? I stand faster than I should when I hear a wet cough. My head feels like I’m on the cusp of passing out again, but the pure disdain I feel allows me to push through. I stomp over and glare down at the pathetic excuse of a man while flashes of the damage he caused replay in my head.
“Are you here to defend—” He tries to suck in air. “Her honor? Just wait until Harold finds her.” He attempts to raise his hand up. “I bet you can smell her o—” He coughs again, cutting off whatever filth he planned to spew. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to bury my desire to cause him pain. My knees slide in his blood when I kneel down beside him. My eyes trail his body, taking in the image before me. The blood is the only proof I have that he is, in fact, human.
I smile at him while straightening my posture. I want to keep my distance so he can see what I’m about to show him. I dangle Harold’s gun in front of him. “Harold’s dead,” I sing.
When I look in his eyes, it’s the most satisfying feeling I’ve ever felt. I hunch over before slamming my fist into his jaw, crushing his head against the floor. Agony is written all over his face, but somehow, he pushes it away, replacing it with a grin. I take note of his broken teeth; he’s at least missing five.
I look at his pants around his ankles. There was so much blood it didn’t register at first. I scan over his body that’s riddled with holes. Some are gaping, others formless and jagged. He’s barely more than torn flesh hanging on by threads of muscle. “It looks like Catarina gave you exactly what you deserved.”
He takes this moment to gurgle out his sentence from earlier. But he shouldn’t have. “You can still smell her on my fingers.”
“You talk too much, Fenris.” I reach over and pick up the scrap pieces of Cat’s clothes strewn around. Torn. I start shoving the fabric as deep as I can into his throat, fighting with his gags. He tries his hardest to constrict his throat from accepting anymore. I glare down at him. “You know, I was going to kill you. When you tried to force me into marrying Lucy, Jonah and I were planning your funeral. We had talked about gutting you, putting what would be left of you on display. We were going to burn you, the same way you made us burn his body.”
His eyes hold my stare. The malice is still there even as his body shuts down. He doesn’t have much time left. “But I made the mistake of begging Jonah for your life.” My voice cracks. The words feel like they’re being torn from my esophagus. In a final act of defiance, I cry. I’m a man. I can cry because I feel, and that makes me no less of one.
I wipe my face, smearing blood, snot, and everything in between. “Jonah, Lucy, Jonah Sr… They were the only three people who gave a fuck about me!” I scream, the sound ripped from the depths of somewhere hellish. I inhale, and the smell of him, the scent of his blood, makes me sick.
“Even after Jonah had to watch you slaughter his father, he still gave me that. Jonah still let me believe I had a ‘father.’ He let me keep the only blood relative I ever knew existed.”
“But you aren’t a father.” I spit on him. “That’s for Jonah Sr.”
He shifts slightly, like he’s trying to roll onto his side. It’s pathetic and barely a movement at all. I lift my leg back, sending my boot into his face. The crunch is almost offensive. I revel in the sound before allowing the pent up despair to spill out. “I had to watch you destroy my best friend. I had to watch you strip Lucy of her humanity. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” I lean into him, gripping his shirt and yanking him closer. Hisbody is shutting down, he doesn’t have long before his senses stop working, I want to make damn sure he hears me. “I wonder if Hell will roll out the red carpet for someone like you?” I ask as I force him onto his stomach. He tries to stiffen, preparing for what’s coming.
Incoherent mumbles come from him, so I slam my fist into the back of his skull and grab a fistful of hair, pulling his head back. “I made the mistake of begging for your life once.” I lower my mouth to his ear, my voice a whisper. “I’m not going to make that mistake again.” His ass is exposed and I laugh again. It starts slow, before it becomes hysterical and unhinged. Maybe I’m losing it, but I can’t seem to care. The only thing I care about is finding her.
I lean back on my knees, outstretching my arms, mimicking his movements like I’m preaching to our congregation. “Behold! The mighty Fenris.” I look around the room at the invisible audience. I had planned to force him to beg for salvation, tell him to repent, give him a chance to purify his soul before it was cast into the lake of fire. But the memory takes hold and I feel something shift. It’s like Lucy’s soul has wrapped itself around mine, guiding my hands. As if I’m letting her suffering guide me, I center myself behind him, between his legs.
I pick up the bloodied ram’s horn and pause, remembering that in the days after he killed her, I memorized the words he spoke to Lucy before he began brutalizing her.
