Page 75 of Cruel Devil

No. No. No!

Help me.

Phoebe’s voice. But it’s coming from Athena’s lips, like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

I reach for Athena, even while a part of me is desperately trying to claw myself backward, away, falling over my feet, desperate to escape. I don’t want to look, don’t want to know, I want to wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!

The lights go off.

My hands close over Athena’s shoulder.

Wet, tacky skin.

The lights come on. Glaring bright, solid, no more flickering.

Athena wasn’t wearing clothing. She’s naked.

That clinging red dress isn’t fabric at all.

It’s blood.

It’s blood, and it’s all over her, and it’s coming from her neck where Sullivan slit her throat, and that’s where Phoebe’s voice is coming from, not Athena’s mouth which is moving but because Athena is gasping as she dies.

You’re too late, Phoebe whispers through the slit in Athena’s throat, her sister’s skin moving like a parody of a mouth to form each word.

Athena yells in pain, her hands clapping over her round, swollen belly, sliding over the blood coating her skin.

I don’t want it! she yells, her blue eyes frantic as she stares down at her belly, then up at me.

Get it out! Get it out!

I’m trapped in congealed darkness, my hand reaching for her, but I’m moving in slow motion.

Athena claws at her own skin as I watch, powerless to stop her. Her nails rip through her flesh, tearing open her rounded belly.

Blood-wet intestines spool out of her, slapping onto the floor. She sticks her hands inside the gaping wound and plucks out organ after organ, panicked mewling sounds escaping her mouth like she can’t disembowel herself fast enough.

Get it out, get it out, get it out!

When there’s nothing left but a deep, wet cavity, her stomach splayed open in a thick, meaty curtain, she stands there, swaying.

Satisfied.

You’re too late, Phoebe’s voice echoes from the gaping hole in Athena’s torso.

Athena jerks, whimpers, and screams as a hand slides out of the organic, bloody mess where her organs used to be.

Small and so delicate?—

Phoebe reaches through Athena’s disemboweled torso, her small hand slicked with blood, and grabs a section of my hair.

Pulling me in closer.

Closer.

And closer.

Holy fuck, how I struggle.

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