Page 4 of Karma

No one knows exactly why it happens, but the townspeople share an understanding of the bare facts: you don’t want to be on the streets on October tenth. You don’t want to get caught outside on this night every decade. Horrific shit happens, and the police tell people nothing. Less than nothing. They claim it’s a cult or a group of serial killers, but it’s too chaotic. It’smayhem. I don’t believe they know what’s going on any more than we do.

But I know enough, which is more than some.

Ten years ago, I lost my father on this night. I was supposed to have the rest of my life with my dad, but he was taken from me when I was only ten years old. They—whoevertheyare—put nails through his feet, hands, and forehead. The worst part? The forehead shot didn’t kill him. He’d stumbled back home so I could find him gurgling and wheezing on the porch stairs.

I was the one who pulled the nail from his head, though it took all the strength in my tiny body. Once I’d pulled the metal spindle free, blood poured down his face and the gurgling stopped. No one outright blamed me for my father’s death, but the way the doctor looked at me after my mother spoke to him told me all I needed to know. The unknown assailants had driven the nails into him, but I had been the one to kill my father.

I was fucking ten. How was I supposed to know to leave the nail in place? There’s not exactly a class or after-school special on what to do if your dad stumbles home with a six-inch bolt of metal through his skull. Regardless, none of it would have happened if these assholes—whoever they are—hadn’t involved my father in their little crucifixion cosplay.

I stare at the mountains surrounding the town. Giant peaks that rise toward the sky and paint a picturesque scene. How does something so beautiful exist in such an ugly place?

I wipe away a tear and rip down the vanity mirror to assess the smudged makeup encasing my dark eyes. The green flecks throughout my irises were more visible when I was happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve been happy. I ruffle my brown bangs, trying to bring some normalcy to my face.

“It’s okay, Allister,” Sam says as he gives my thigh a gentle squeeze. “We’ll solve this tonight. We’ll find out who they are.”

Sam uses my full name, and when I’m thinking about my father, it holds more poignance. He named me after the little boy inWonder Woman. Alistair. My mother complained it was a boy’s name, and they compromised by calling me Allister, Alli for short. I wonder if any of them knew I’d one day make the same wish as the little boy in the movie.

“It’s been a decade,” I say. “Whoever comes out tonight probably won’t be the same people who killed my father.”

“It doesn’t matter. If they’re part of a system, they’reallguilty. Look what they do to this town!” His hand reaches past me and gestures toward the deserted streets.

I want to agree with him, but even if we cut off the monster’s legs, they’ll just grow back. Until we can access the head of the beast, we’re fighting a futile battle. Yet I still plan to wield a weapon and do as much damage as possible.

A few people meander up ahead, and I point to them. Don’t they realize the severity of the situation? Why are they just milling about as if they have all the time in the world? We were out this way this morning, and it seems there are more people on the street now. They shouldn’t linger.

And neither should we, but here we are.

Sam slows the car and pulls up beside a homeless man. He stands against a brick building, cupping a brown bag in his hands. Dirt encrusts his exposed skin, and his hair is a rat’s nest of tangles and grime. Judging by the glassy look to his bloodshot eyes, he’s three sheets to the wind already. He may not even realize the danger he’s in.

I lower my window and lean toward him. “You have to go somewhere safe tonight!”

“What?” He cups the shell of his ear, squints, and tips the bottle against his mouth.

“It’s October tenth, a decade since the last killing spree. It’s not safe out here! You have to go somewhere tonight!” I raise my voice, almost yelling.

“Nowhere else for me to go.” He takes another swig of whatever hides behind the thin brown paper, resigned to his fate.

“Shelters?” I ask.

“Full.”

I look at Sam, but he just shrugs and begins to pull away from the curb. “You warned him. That’s all you can do.”

And it’s not enough. This man will be dead by midnight, and I can’t save him.

Panic begins to soak through me. I’m warning others to retreat to safety, yet I don’t plan to heed my own advice. Sam and I are looking for danger instead of hiding from it, and we have our own murderous intent. We’ll kill anyone who doesn’t look afraid, though they’ll be engulfed in fear by the time we finish with them.

I’m prepared to die for our cause, but I’ll be damned if I don’t take a few of those fuckers down with me first. If I can survive the night, even better.

It’s the only way I can stop feeling this way. After ten years of guilt and misery over what happened, shedding their blood is the only thing that will make up for the loss of my father. I’ll torture them like they tortured him, and then I’ll leave them to gurgle on their daughter’s doorstep.

I pull a knife from a sheath on my belt and run my finger along the blade. A sharp ache zips over my skin as the metal breaks through. Blood rises to the surface, leaving a red streak on the once immaculate metal.

Bringing my finger to my mouth, I let my tongue drift along my skin. The metallic tang hits my tongue and makes my eyesroll upward. I love it. And I’ll love every drop I wring from whoever we catch tonight.

I sheathe the knife as Sam pulls the car into the driveway. We enter the house without speaking, both of us knowing we need to prepare for what’s to come. I retreat to the bedroom and change into something dark.

When I walk into the living room, Sam is cleaning his pistol. Gaudy curtains hang in the windows, blocking any hint of outside light or life, but I know it’s getting dark. That’s why he’s getting ready for tonight.

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