Page 15 of Like Grim Death: Part One
Elijah doesn’t respond before he pushes away from the stone column and turns toward the inner courtyard of Alexandria U. It’s his sign he won’t give me anything else.
“Samson,” I call softly as he takes a step in black brogues, toward the grass. “Who did it?”
Elijah shakes his head once and doesn’t look over his shoulder at me as pinpricks of rain start to drop amongst the grass, but he does respond. “Scrawling Latin in silver on corpses is an RC speciality, but I’m still on the fence. If you figure it out, be sure to let me know.”
In the darknessof the room, standing by my bed, I hear something. My pulse flies and I press a hand to my chest. I know it’s okay.I know I’m fine.It was the floor creaking, maybe a branch scratching the window. Nothing more. Rain is asleep, safe and sound in his crib, just across the hall. Lucifer insisted we move him there only days ago. I still have the bassinet beside our bed with a lilac-colored fitted sheet, just in case, but his feedings are five hours apart now, and it’s manageable.
Still, in the night alone in our home, a shiver drifts down my spine as I stand frozen by the bed. Monday night with a full moon, I’m usually not by myself. Lucifer only has Council on Sundays, but tonight, everyone was called in for fuck knows what.
I’m alone with Rain.
It’s storming outside, rain beginning to lash against the windowpanes. Thunder rumbles every so often, and even with our heavy drapes, blue-violet forks of lightning flash inside the room. My mind races, nightmare scenarios of men in robes, coming up the stairs, guns in hand.
The fear squeezes my chest as I try to blink the paranoia away.
I pull open the top drawer of my nightstand and my fingers close around the leather handle of the switchblade, my thumb on the trigger. I stride across the room in nothing but my oversized tank top and sleep shorts. My eyes feel heavy with the need for sleep, the hardwoods are cold on my bare feet, and my mind is fuzzy because I’m not thinking clearly and haven’t been for a while now.
Every night, I see him in my dreams.
My dad.
Even now, as I step out into the hall, sweeping my eyes to the left, the right, soft motion lights flickering on with my appearance, I canfeelthe warmth of his blood on my skin. The gunshot rings inside of my head.
Did you regret it? Did you ever love me? Ever wonder about me? Even once? Did it eat you alive at night? Did you ever think about all the men who touched your daughter,Daddy?
My muscles feel tense, my mind conjuring the worst memories as I hurry to my son’s room. I push open the door, gripping the knife tightly with my free hand. Inhaling, I catch the scent of lavender swirled together with Rain’s innocent, baby smell.
Lucifer says he smells like me.
I’m positive I’ve never been so innocent in any sense. It was all stripped away from me before I got a say.
But I’ve started to take pride in being grown from evil.
It’s how I survived.
A dark angel nightlight casts a faint purple glow inside my son’s bedroom, and my gaze immediately goes to his black crib. He’s on his back, and I can see through the spokes he’s still inside his purple sleep sack, his arms bracketing his beautiful, peaceful face.
Still, I cross the room, my palm sweaty as I tighten my grip on the knife, and I reach inside with my empty hand, pressing it softly to his warm chest. Only when I feel his breaths underneath my fingertips do I start to relax, the smallest measure.
He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s—
“What the fuck are you doing?”Those raspy words cause me to jump, and I spin around, holding the knife up at an angle, ready to drive it into someone’s heart.
Inches from me, my eyes find vivid blue ones, piercing through the darkness of the room.
“Lucifer.”I breathe his name out with relief, my body immediately softening as I start to lower my hand. But before I can, my husband has crossed the space between us and he’s grabbing my wrist in a tight grip. He slides his fingers down my hand, pulling the knife violently from my hold. I take a quick breath, surprised at his hot wave of anger, but before I can say a word, he’s stepping close to me, cornering me against the crib, the railing digging into my spine as he presses the blade to my throat, the steel cold on my skin. He forces my chin up, so I’m looking into his eyes, and I don’t see love right now.
“Answer me, Lilith.”He snarls those words, and my chest heaves as he stares down at me, dressed all in black, skeleton bandana around his neck.
My hands are clenched into fists, my knees feel weak, and my heart drums hard in my chest. “Get. The fuck.Off of me.”I think of a knife to my temple. The scar on my brow. A glass bursting against the wall.Shut the fuck up.How many times did he say that to me?
Not anymore, but now…this.
We haven’t broken the cycle. We’re just spinning in it.
He presses the knife closer to my skin, and I wince, expecting pain. It doesn’t cut through me, not yet, but his other hand comes to my hip, under my tank, and I feel the coldness of his fingertips. “I need you to know something, baby girl.”
I clench my teeth together, and my fists, my nails forming crescents in my palms.
