Page 57 of Run

“What?”

“You heard me, Run!” I yell, leaning forward, getting in her overly made-up face, making her jump backwards.

My maniacal laughter bounces off the mountains as I watch her take off through the grass, her bare feet slipping on the late-night wetness. Her dress bellows behind her, all white and virginal, even though the body inside of it is nothing more than a filthy whore.

Run, baby, run.

She disappears into the dark, the sounds of her bare feet on the ground silent when she gets far enough away. I stand, leaning against the bike, yanking off my helmet, and lighting a cigarette. The smoke fills my lungs, and I hum one of mother’s tunes around it, waiting for her to get to the maze. She can’t miss it. The yard is set up so that you go right to it if you’re not on the driveway. It’s set up that way from when father used to play the same games as I am right now.

Ready to play?

Mother: Don’t do this Hedeon. Please. You’re better than him.

Father: She’s far enough away, my boy. Go, chase, and cut.

The part of me that fought them all on the ride into town is quiet. The monster inside, the one who drives me is in charge as I inhale the menthol smoke and blow it out in peaceful little rings that float away in the calm breeze. I’m Hedeon again, destroyer, and ruiner. I’m a God, a devil, a monster, and thewoman running through my property is about to find out what kind of evil happens when I catch her.

Slapping my helmet back in place and grinding out my smoke in the dirt, I take off at a slow jog through the yard. The grass wets the cuffs of my sweats again, and my sneakers squeak under my gait.

“Ready or not, here I come.” I call into the night, almost expecting to hear an answer besides my own words echoed back at me.

When it’s nothing more than my voice, I pick up my pace, running to the maze, saluting my serpents as I pass them and turn into the first path. I can see her footprints in the soil and feel them under my feet. She came this way, like they all do, corralled into a cattle shoot of greenery and flowers. It’s a pretty trip for her, with all the sights and scents of a garden that’s stunning during the day. Too bad she won’t be able to enjoy it though. By morning, when the sun graces the tops of the hedges with its first rays, she’ll already be underground with the maggots and grubs.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are my dear.” I chuckle to myself as I cut through the bushes, pushing the branches out of my way, hearing them scrape on the helmet.

The predator in me has fully taken over, stalking his prey, sniffing the air for the scent of her sweat and fear. It’s sickly sweet in the heavy pre-dawn air as I emerge at the base of the stairs, coming through the vines like a ghostly apparition.

She’s trapped in the same place my flower was just this morning. At the same fountain that already sparkles again in the moonlight. The bugs and filth have been filtered out, and the clean water awaits the next round of excrements.

“No, please no, she begs, backing up until the backs of her knees bump up against the basin, her hand jutting out to catch herself from falling backwards into the pool. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because he told me to.” I say, stalking slowly towards her, watching her eyes dart back and forth looking for a way to escape.

The only way out is the steps behind me, flanked with the stone snakes carved into the vine and brush covered walls. In the dark they slither, the breeze against the vinery making them rattle and hiss, sounding just as evil as they look.

I picked her for a reason. She’s blonde with bright blue eyes and in a white gown covered with shiny beads. She’s everything mother and Lily aren’t. I can’t mistake her for them. I won’t see mother bleeding out as I slice into her.

Where’s your knife Hedeon? You’re unprepared. Useless.

I’m never unprepared, unless it comes to my flower. Even without my favorite pocket knife, the bucket of garden tools under the bench where I usually sit and ponder life has enough sharp instruments in it.

“A spade will do, no?” I ask the voices in my head as I walk over to the bench and lean down on it, looking under it for the metal bucket.

It clanks against the marble floor when I find it, the tools scraping the aluminum sides as I draw out the small hand spade. A little shovel with a sharp point that I use for starting the holes in which I plant my pretty flowers, is a fitting choice for the woman who will become part of the landscape.

“You don’t have to do this.” The chick says from over my shoulder, trying to back away against the fountain, her hands dragging along the ledge of it as she steps awkwardly from me.

“Oh, but I do.”

Mother: No you don’t baby. You have a choice.

Father: Shut up bitch, he always listened to me not you.

My monster:Do it.Do it.Do it.Hahaha!

Mother: H, please no. You’re better than him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I say as they all take over my consciousness again.

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