Page 9 of Karma

After abandoning the car, we cross the massive lawn. Dew transfers from the lush grass to my shoes and soaks through my socks. Lovely. Adam spots several cameras, then swats them with the bat to disable them.

We’re met with a roadblock at the front door. Wide iron bars attached to a solid frame prevent us from getting inside. Rich people have such luxury.

Undeterred, we head toward the back of the house, but the same metal bars obscure every entrance. Even the windows are covered in iron. Luckily for us, they missed the small window leading into the basement.

I use the ice pick to shatter the glass. It’s a tight fit, but both of us make it through after a bit of wiggling and a few cursewords muttered under our breath. Once inside, it’s cake to break through the basement door and enter the main areas of the house.

The Arlows are understandably freaked out by the time we make it up the stairs. Their panic likely began as soon as the cameras went out.

“Oh god,” Mr. Arlow says, clutching his wife and daughter to him.

“Yes,” Adam says, a creepy smile crossing his face. “I am God.”

Mr. Arlow pulls a small pistol from behind his back, but Adam isn’t afraid to call his bluff. He draws his handgun and sends one well-aimed bullet into Mr. Arlow’s gut. His family screams, and both his wife and daughter move away from him as if they’ve been shot as well. Blood oozes from the small hole in his nightshirt as red begins to spread through the material. His wife leans forward and tries to hold pressure to the wound, soaking her hand in crimson.

“The Exodus sends their regards,” Adam says.

Mrs. Arlow grips her dying husband’s shirt and stares into his wide eyes. “I thought you said they approved of us leaving?”

Mr. Arlow shakes his head. “I didn’t think they’d do this. I’ve invested so much into them, Janet. I thought I’d earned my peace.”

“Let’s see how peaceful you feel while I fuck your wife in front of you,” Adam snarls, ripping the woman away from her husband.

“No, please!” she screams.

Adam wrestles her to the couch as the daughter rushes forward and grabs the back of Adam’s shirt, crying for her mother and begging him to release her.

“Take care of the kid!” Adam yells.

I don’t enjoy the thought of watching what Adam plans to do to this woman, but it would be better than killing a kid. Unfortunately, no isn’t an answer here. Not with them. Not even if I invested all my money in the society like this sad sap.

I grab the kid by the shoulder and rip her away from Adam so he can be Adam. She kicks and screams, catching me several times in the shin, but I won’t be deterred. I drag her into their massive kitchen.

When she sees the ice pick in my hand, she goes to bite me. I look into her dark eyes and discover a strength I can’t help but envy. She’s a fighter.

“Shut the fuck up.” I grip her hair and crank back her neck.

“Let me go, ugly face!”

I raise the ice pick with my free hand and aim it at her, but my resolve weakens. I lean toward her ear, trying to speak to her, but she tries to bite me. There’s no getting through to her when she’s in this state of panic, so I strike the pick forward and cut a hole in her nightgown to snap her out of it.

She screams.

“Listen to me, listen to me!” I whisper, and she stops flailing. I roll up my sleeve and cut into my arm. Blood pools to the surface, and I wipe a hand through it and coat the front of her gown. Then I hold the fresh wound over her and let it saturate her skin. “Scream again, little girl, and make it believable.”

“What?” she asks, her lips pursed in disgust at what I’ve just done.

“I need you to scream like I’m killing you. And then you have to play dead. Okay? Just lie here and play pretend. But you can’t move. Not a muscle.”

She nods and screams. I smash the pick against the floor, and she throws herself to the ground. I drip blood into her dark-blonde hair and mess it up. I hit the pick against the island, put my finger to my lips, and shush her.

Play dead,I mouth.

I’m being weak, but I don’t want to kill that little girl.

My head whips backward when I hear the pained sounds coming from the mother in the living room. I wrap my arm in a thin towel, then lower my sleeve to conceal the self-inflicted injury. I don’t need to hide it too well, though. Adam knows I cut myself each time I kill.

I kneel over the girl and cover her ears with both hands to keep her from hearing the sounds of her mother being railed by “God.” Her screams and Adam’s groans filter through the wall. When they stop, I release her ears and see tears streaming down her face. I wipe them away.

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