Page 3 of Last Breath

“My name’s Lucy.” She points to the man with disgust. “He called me Maxine.”

Holding out a hand to Lucy, Malachi helps her off the floor. “Well, Lucy, he won’t hurt you again.” Finding comfort in him, she steps into his arms, wrapping herself around him.

Growling into his gag, I sneer at the piece of shit before I kick him hard in the ribs. He thinks he’ll make it out of here alive. Short chance of that. He deserves everything I do to him and more.

I can’t tell you how often Tress would beat and starve me, leaving me in the cold at night like an unwanted pet, all because I didn’t fit into his life.

Sure, my soul was tainted, my heart reshaped into the dark soul I am now, all because of someone imposing their crude horrors upon another, but I won’t let it happen to someone like Lucy.

I have no remorse in doling out death or damage to those that do it in turn. I feel like a vindicator.

A savior.

The prince of broken souls.

Turning to Lucy, I ask her as softly as I can, “Lucy, should I kill him, or should I let him live? He would go to jail for what he’s done.”

At first, she’s silent. Schooling her eyes on her dirty feet, she wiggles her toes. You can see the thoughts cycling through her little brain as she tries to decide. She obviously knows right and wrong, but justice is an overriding factor in her decision.

Pushing back from Malachi’s chest, she stares at the poor excuse of a human being. When she looks up, her eyes are steely and strong.

Defiant.

“He shouldn’t have a choice. I didn’t when he took me from my family, when he thought I was his to own.”

I love her answer.

Walking away from the jerk who’s whining, I growl out the words, “Stay there, asshole.” Like he has a choice. My favorite bone handle blade is stopping him from even considering a deep breath.

Brushing my fingers over the laid-out blades that sit neatly in their holder on the table close by, I select the best one, the blade that will end him. It’s a thin, single edged five inch that I’ve honed to paper thin sharpness. Sliding it out of the leather, hearing it sing to be released, I grip the handle lovingly.

“Let’s finish this then, shall we?”

Chapter 3

Malachi

After the final stroke, the final cut along the disgusting man’s neck, I saw that Salem was satisfied. His anger and ire had cooled for the moment, knowing he had vetted out the judgement he saw fit.

The deep slashes had caused arterial spray throughout the space. We were all covered in the blood of someone I wouldn’t even consider a human being. We never even asked his name, but it didn’t matter, as he was evil. He was worth no less than a used gum wrapper on the floor.

The thing is, the two of us were only looking for a place to stay for the night. We have no home and no place to call are own. When we stop at dank, dark, rundown homes, it’s to find a place to hide out, not to find friends, and not to find the likes ofhim. The last thing we want to be is memorable.

Salem’s present and future are tied to his dark past. Without his wretched father’s intervention, Salem could have been an amazing soul, but his childhood shaped both of us. Now, any time he sees darkness taking hold, he personally feels that justice must be vetted out.

Today, I don’t disagree.

Looking at the garbage strewn around the filthy floor, the empty cans and chip bags, the room lacks anything that a child should have. I can’t even imagine being Lucy. Stolen, raped repeatedly, treated worse than the trash on the floor, she’s still strong. That’s good. She’ll need that strength in the years to come to get over what’s happened. Otherwise, she’ll be no better than Salem. He allows the world to show him only darkness. He comes to expect it.

Thankfully, the death of this asshole bleeding out at my feet has given Lucy her freedom. We can only hope she’ll now live a normal life. Yes, he stripped her of her innocence and her childhood, but maybe after some time she’ll find solace.

It’s up to Lucy to repair and move one.

Going out to the car earlier and pulling out an old sweater of mine from the Impala, I gave it to Lucy. Wanting to wear something without reminders of her captivity, she’s in the bathroom changing out of the scrubby clothes that he’d held her in. We’re waiting on her to leave this rundown shack of depravity.

Looking to Salem, leaning across the table, moving with regimented intent, he’s on to his personal cleaning ritual. Each knife has a story, a character, each knife an extension of himself. It’s a part of how he copes. The destructive nature of him has an effect and a causality. Everything must be set out, timed, lined up and completed in an exact order.

This house, this stop, it wasn’t expected. Normally, its death and we move on. That didn’t happen. With this untimed interlude of saving Lucy, Salem’s changed his pattern. We were only a few miles from our last encounter when we decided to stop for the night. Coming in the back, hiding the Impala in a side barn, our intention was rest, not retribution. The rundown house set back from the road was the perfect place. Not knowing we were here to rescue a child, things took a turn.

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