Page 95 of Soul of a Psycho

I wasn’t thinking. I was distracted. I never should have disabled the ax. Now I have to do this with my bare hands. My vision tunnels at the reality, the fact that I’ve been caught, and what I have to do. But instead of the typical red, it’s black. The color of desperation as it claws at my psyche. Prison bars merge with sterile fluorescents, bleaching out Sky’s pretty face as I struggle to breathe.

A pin prick of sight is all I have left as I avoid the creak of the first plank and see who was stupid enough to come here. I stand in the doorway, a motionless statue of resigned chaos as my heart sinks.

No.

Everything in me wants to back out and run as I see who’s kneeling by the crate, unaware of my presence, with one of my bombs in their hands. They twist it this way and that, examining it. It’s not a glimpse that can be mistaken, or a chemical powderthat can be explained away. It’s my whole insidious plan right in their face. It’s everything I’ve fought so hard to hide, carelessly displayed for their curious eyes. And their knowledge steals my options. It rakes panic down my spine. It ruinseverything.

The loose wire to my right is suddenly winding around my fist, biting into my skin with each loop. And then the other. So tightly wrapped that circulation ceases. I squeeze and test the tension as a searing tear drips down my cheek. I don’t want to do this. Not to them. But I have to. I don’t have a choice. It’s them or me, and I can’t stop myself. This is what I’ve conditioned myself for, regardless of how wrong it feels now.

A sob rips from my throat as I lunge forward, alerting the one person that was never supposed to die. His usual dopey gaze swings to me, switching from surprise to fear in less than a second. Bobby’s eyes widen at the garrote. It’s the last thing I see etched into my brain as my vision blacks out.

I’m in darkness as I secure the wire around his neck, my body somehow doing what my brain can’t accept. My head is prickling like I’ve been holding my breath, even though I’m gasping. The sound almost matches Bobby’s choking, and my muscles strain against his clawing, trying to cut off the last bit of his airway. He’s no match for me, unfortunately, and my stomach roils as I lift him off the ground. I think I’m saying something, but it’s drowned out by the scuffling of his shoes. I can taste hot tears curling under my lip, and I sputter on them as his nails scratch at my wrists. But my body is locked, trapping his back against me, and I take every gouge unaffected.

Claw me, buddy. Fight. Get free. Don’t let me kill you.

But he’s losing stamina, and I’m too strong. I’m glad I can’t see it, and I recoil further, hoping to block out his wheezing rasps. I sink into the blackness, letting the weight of Bobby’s inevitable death pull me down. I relinquish control and fall. Down. Down.Down. For a moment, it’s blissful. Quiet.Safe. There’s no gurgling or remorse. Nothing. Until my own face appears in the void, set in the cracked mirror from the workbench.

It’s me, but it’s not. I’m not blinking, my pupils blown and glazy, and I’m not sure if they are even focused. There’s a slack in my jaw that I’ve never seen before. I’m usually clenching my teeth, a tendency that follows me even when I’m not angry. But this version of me is loose. Hollow. Chillingly absent.

I watch, unsure why my mind is showing me this, as the void me lifts a hand. My wrist is limp like it’s asleep, and I use my fingers to drag a white substance down my cheek. Paint, I realize as the fumes somehow hit me, as if they are right under my nose. I smear crude streaks across my face, dipping somewhere below, until my skin is bleached in it, and then the white on my fingers is replaced with black.

No. No. No.

Cold realization hits me as void me drags circles around my eyes, giving a sunk-in effect to my sockets. The creepy art comes together, haphazard and messy, but clear. My reflection tilts their head, examining their handiwork, examining the skull they’ve turned them self into.

What the fuck is this? A memory or something I’m conjuring? No sooner than I think it, the scene changes.

I get a moment of reprieve as I realize it’s Sky, curled up in her bed. Her hair is splayed around her, one dainty ankle hanging off the edge. She’s breathing softly as the moonlight glows against the polished floors. But then it starts to move rapidly, time ticking in fast forward, as the moon shifts across the room.

I look down, where the gleam hits my boots.Myboots. In the corner of her room. Attached to my legs that adjust to sink further into the shadows. Have I been watching her?

Suddenly my boots are hitting soil, stomping through muck in the woods as branches whip past. I’m breathing heavily, my perspective careening left and right at the trees. I’m looking for something. Someone. It’s dark, and I’m struggling to see until water comes right up at me.

An icy splash jolts me, and I’m back in the shack.

And at my feet is Bobby’s body.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Cade

Itake a break to wretch in the dirt, using the shovel to hold myself up. It’s the eighth time my stomach has revolted and there’s nothing left, but it’s like my body is trying to expel the black tar that is now my soul.

I only wish it could.

I’ve been heaving over a half-dug grave for hours, and it hasn’t changed a thing. No amount of remorse can save me. I tried praying. I got down on my knees in the shack and begged over Bobby’s body to any god that would listen for his life. But the only thing I felt was the devil’s breath on the back of my neck, hot and impatient for collection day. He’s finally sunk his teeth in me, and he’s never going to let go.

My fate is sealed.

I wipe the back of my dirt caked hand across my mouth and then spit, the soil gritty between my teeth. It’s under my nails, in my hair, and down my shirt. Every muscle in my body is burning with fatigue, and I’m dehydrated, but I can’t stop. Not now. That respite I hoped for is gone, and I’ll never be able to rest my head on its pillow. With the die cast, there is only one outcome now.

I stab the scoop, hands trembling, and add to the growing mound on my right. I avoid looking left, at the sheets and the outline beneath them. He’s probably cold by now, stiff andpallid, and the realization causes a fresh bout of razor tears to spill down my cheeks.

He’s never going to be warm again. He’s never going to wear that stupid fucking parka or blush when Callie kisses him. He’s not going to graduate and go to college for environmental conservation. He’s not going to be anything but cold, and I’m dreading, downright terrified, of the moment that the hole is deep enough and I have to drag him into it, to feel his lifeless body in my arms.

I turn and heave again, choking on bile that burns the back of my throat. Of all the fucking people,hewas the one that never needed to die. He didn’t deserve it. Not him.

A hot hate for myself rings its hands around my neck, cutting off my airway and suddenly choking me. My vision spots as the forest sways. The shovel falls from my grasp, and I hit my knees, my body wracking and desperate for air. Panic claws at me as I fist the dirt, my heart thumping in my eardrums. I don’t deserve the air. I don’t want it. I don’t want tobreathe, but my body fights for it, regardless. Why should I get to when Bobby can’t?

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