Page 38 of Last Breath

That day, I understood the consequences. I understood that there were rules and regulations to the love that Salem doles out. That his demon ruled his mind and that Malachi and I had separate parts to Salem’s whole heart. Days like today is when I knew what was in control—this was Salem’s devil at work. We’ve been on the road for a few months now and the damage that day created—not only in my need to pee on a white stick, but in the way his mind doled out retribution had changed our lives.

I’d become darker, enjoying more of Salem’s demons and their overriding needs, but Malachi had to be our cages—or jailers, containing our serial tendencies, sometimes.

“Sal? Where are you, love?”

“Over here. In the freezer section.”

Looking over the racks and shelves, locating the freezer area, the arterial spray is noticeable. After that day, the rules of engagement had changed in Salem too. No longer did the victim have to be evil and the darkest of humanity that roamed this earth. Now, the victim could be what his demon saw fit as a wrongdoer.

Kissing me sweetly on the forehead, Malachi says, “I’ll get the car.” Shaking his head, he started away. He used to be the controlling factor, now he’s only a balm.

With a tight smile, I start toward the back of the store. I can’t remember if the store was full or empty when we entered, but I doubt a rest stop like this would’ve been empty. Glancing out the window, I see the various vehicles. There are at least three truckers here, gauging from the rigs parked out front, and more from the cars.

Walking down the aisle toward Salem, the damage is apparent. It’s messy.

Picking up a bag of chips off the shelf, humming my own special tune, I pass the scattered products on the floor. Wiping the edge before I pull the top open, then tearing out a chip, I’m humming through the chew. The song sedates me.

Moving toward Salem, I see the blood splattered on the shelves. There’s a pool of it coming across from another aisle, and arterial splatters are all around. The smooth movement of the thick substance as it creeps reminds me of an inchworm as it shifts.

Touching it, interrupting the surface, the blood coats my digit. Smooshing it between my finger and thumb, I’m always amazed by the shades a single liquid can showcase with a little intervention.

Watching where I step, tiptoeing over the body of an elderly gentleman and a young couple, I don’t bother checking for pulses. It doesn’t matter. If they were alive, I’d make sure they weren’t for much longer.

Rounding the corner, I find Salem staring down at a portly truck driver. “Hey, love. What’s going on?” I ask him, taking in the scene as I chomp on the sweet and succulent morsels.

In a serious tone, Salem kneels by the body, tearing into the man’s throat with his blade. “Just finishing off. You wanna go here?”

“We’re out of time, Sal.”

“There’s always time, Joy.” Lifting a blood drenched hand, gripping me gently by the wrist, he pulls me toward him. Bowing down beside a young woman, checking out his partially finished handiwork, he asks, “What’s her name, Joy?”

He wants to play our game.

Looking down on the maimed body, the matted hair, and the blood soaking through her sundress, I think carefully before I answer. “Fay.”

“One,” he says.

Scrunching up my nose, I make a second guess. “Beatrice.”

“Two.” Slowly rising off the floor, Salem stands in front of me with a quirky grin. He enjoys that we play this now.

I think hard about my last guess. “I choose...Mary.”

Huffing out his disapproval, Salem purses his lips. “How is it you guess right only on the last, huh?”

Stroking his gore covered hand down my chest, Salem kisses me long and hard. It’s greedy, needy, and warm. My once white shirt is ruined, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll just steal another. Why? Because I love the way Salem is with me. When he’sthisSalem, that is. The Salem that is here, not the one in his head where conversations make no sense and the darkness is so heavy, it’s like digging through coal.

Breaking the kiss, I hear a groan. With a glance over his shoulder, I turn toward the opposite aisle.

Someone is still alive.

Turning, looking at Salem, there’s a seriousness to him. “Do somethin’ about it, Joy.”

With a feeling akin to the sweetest euphoria, I smile wide. Salem has always finished off his own handiwork, and knowing how he doesn’t share, I thought it best to just watch from afar.

With a peck on his cheek, I take the knife from him and move toward the victim—my victim.

Rounding the corner, coming face-to-face with her, I see fear alight in her glower. She groans, knowing her reaper is closing in.

---