Page 28 of Buried Beneath Sin

When I don’t react, Dad’s bravado melts away. The red of his face vanishes as anger turns to fear.

“Look, I know I wasn’t the greatest dad, but it could’ve been worse, right?” He tries to laugh but the sound is hysterical. “I’m just a man. I got flaws. I-I’ll turn things around. Why don’t you guys stay here for a bit, and we can work something out?”

I look at my brother and ask him, “Sound like something you want to do?”

“Nope.”

“Thatcher, Sagan, my boys, please. You don’t have to do this,” Dad whimpers. “I can be better.”

I pull my hand, and the needle I’ve grabbed a hold of, out of my pocket. Lifting it up to my face, I tap it to mix together the ingredients inside. When I’m done, I look at Dad.

“The only thing we want is you dead and gone.”

“You can thank your lucky stars this has to look natural,” Sagan growls, grabbing the back of his shirt as Dad tries to make a run for it. It’s a poor effort. With Sagan’s hold on him, he’s not going anywhere. As I step up and pop the top off the needle, I smile and say, “Tell the devil we say hi.”

15

BEATRIX

It's silent.

There's no shouting, no swearing. Glass doesn't shatter in the other room, nor comes the hard thud of a book or a fist hitting the wall. There are no sounds of weeping or heavy sobs either. Even the house, as if suspended in disbelief, doesn't make a noise. There aren't any natural creaks in the floorboards and the wind that usually makes its way through the walls, causing a draft, doesn't whistle.

The silence isn't oppressive, heavy, or thick. I didn't know what to expect but to be able to breathe easy after making such a dark decision wasn't something I thought I'd be able to do. As I stand in the foyer, right where the police officers had left me, I marvel at the silence. It's never this quiet. Not even when Patrick and my mother slept. It was as if there was a humming of corrupted energy always shifting through the house, beating at me and keeping me from peace. That energy is gone now. For once in what feels like an eternity, when I suck in a deep breath, my lungs fill completely. A vice has dropped away from my heart, allowing it to beat properly.

Tears well up as I stare, unseeing, at the front door. They spill over and roll down my cheeks, unhurried in their departure. Hasair ever tasted this good? And is it warmer in here? Where is the permanent chill that seems to always linger in my veins? Its absence is noticeable.

Standing there, I wait for this odd catharsis to pass. Surely guilt will descend upon my shoulders to crush me. My heart will lock back up as the reality of what I've done comes crashing over me. Soon my stomach will twist, and the small lunch I had will make an appearance as horror makes me ill. Coming home to find Patrick keeled over the kitchen table and my mother lifeless in their bed—I should feel responsible. Iamresponsible. The EMTs think Patrick died of a heart attack or an aneurysm; they'll be doing an autopsy before bringing him back for me to tend to his body. My mother's death was no mystery. It was clearly an overdose.

“It's unfortunate that their deaths happened on the same day, but fate is funny like that,” one of the EMTs had said as they carted out their bodies. “We'll be in contact soon.”

Fate. Fate had nothing to do with this. It was me.I'dasked for help, and it came in the swift form of death. It's my fault two people are dead. I have to feelsomething. Well, something other than an inordinate amount of relief. Seconds tick by. Then minutes follow. Still, I don’t feel regret. Not even in my smallest toe.

My head falls back slowly, and I close my eyes to savor the silence. More tears roll down my cheeks. These come a little faster than the first few. Suddenly my chest clenches, and for a second, it's hard to breathe. Is this it? The moment where I crumple to the ground and am consumed by the guilt of my misdeeds? I suck in a sharp breath, and my chest… relaxes. As I let it out, a strangled laugh works its way past my lips. It starts off almost breathless, but the sound grows louder and stronger as I realize there's no one here to tell me to shut up or to drop dead.

I'mfree.

Free of my mother's vices and bad choices in men, free of Patrick's cruelty and poor hygiene and shitty financial decisions. My laughter turns hysterical. I can't stop it. I don't even try. I allow the noise to fill the silence. This ismyhouse.Mylife. And anything terrible that comes from it now is because of my own decisions.

But I didn't get here by myself.

The thought settles me. My laughter dies away as I consider this. I'd asked for help and the devil responded. Where's the fear that should come on the coattails of that realization? Turning around, I look up to the second floor, half expecting a shadowy figure to be there watching me. But there's nothing and no one there. I take a shaky breath. The devil hadn't only come to relieve me of my problems, he came to devour my soul straight from my body. At this, my pussy inappropriately reacts. It clenches on nothing, and a ripple of desire rushes up from between my legs and heats my cheeks.

Maybe that's why I don't feel bad for killing Patrick and my mother. I have no soul left to feel anything.

Tearing my gaze away from the second floor, I look to my left, right, and then straight ahead down the dark hallway. Just because I can’t see him, doesn’t mean he’s not here. Apparently, he’s been here all this time, lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. Is he here now, watching? Or has he taken what he wanted from me, fulfilled his end of the bargain, and vanished? Disappointment, heavy and cold, nearly wipes away the buoyancy I feel. It's followed by a strange loneliness.

Yes, I was terrified as a stranger pinned me down and took what he wanted from me a few days ago.

But that terror... it was twisted with something else. Knowledge perhaps? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have known my stalker wasn't going to kill me. Why else wouldmy body cum so hard over and over again when I’ve never done that before in my life? It had to be because I trusted him. How else had it been so easy to succumb to such a merciless and salacious attack? Just thinking about it... A heavy shiver rushes through me and the warmth in my veins increases tenfold. Patrick managed to pin me down and rape me, yet my body never responded like it had with a complete stranger who’d demanded payment for the dark deed I’d asked him to commit.

My stalker can't be gone. I want the flowers and cryptic notes. I want to be touched like that again. I want to be saved over and over, to feel this peace inside of me. I'll sell whatever I have to the devil if only he stays.

“Hello?” Desperation has me calling out before I can consider the consequences. “Are... are you here?”

There's no answer. I don't know if I expected one or not, but I'm neither disappointed nor satisfied. Licking my lips, I take a step forward. Then another. Aimlessly, I wander the large empty house, searching for the devil that lurks in the shadows. Each room I check, I half expect him to jump out and yell surprise. But it doesn't happen. By the time I get to the third floor and stand in the middle of my mother's room, it hits me that he's not here.

I stare at the dirty mattress my mother and Patrick would lay on. The sheets are old and have lost whatever color they once were. The carpet is even dirtier. Standing in here, I expect a wave of guilt to hit me. When it doesn’t come, I turn and leave.

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