Page 49 of Babalon

Shoving the door open, she immediately starts to scream, which unluckily for her, doesn’t bother or deter me one bit.

Closing and locking the door behind me, I flip my knife in the air a few times, always catching it by the handle, as I contemplate on how I want to end her life but still get use out of her. I can slice her into pieces, cut her throat like I did her spouse, I could gut her from the pelvis up to the bottom of her sternum—the choices were endless. But no, I have something better in mind.

Flinging the knife onto the counter, I advance on her. She screams and tries to back away from me, but being larger, with longer limbs, I have my hands on her in just a few beats of my black heart.

“No, please!” She cries out as my left-hand twists and knots in her long blonde hair; dragging her along with me as I prepare the large claw foot tub they have in this oversized bathroom. Reaching with my free hand, I wrench the faucet to full blast, turning the hot water on as high as it will go.

As the tub fills with water, and she continues to thrash around, I pull her along with me while I go back for my knife. I need inside of her body one way or another, down to the very fluid that keeps her heart beating.

“Stop begging, it’s pathetic, and it won’t save you.”

In other situations, I don’t talk since they don’t need to know my opinions on what they have done or if they would ever see the light of day again. I only need their fear to continue until the last bit of life fades away.

“Please, I— I don’t know who you are or what you want but take whatever money and jewelry. Just let me go.”

Typical—I want your soul, not your money.

Snatching up my knife, I lead her back to the tub and force her into it. Her screeches from the blistering water echoing through the ornately tiled wet room.

Lord Almighty, if you can hear me, please blanket my ears from her pitiful screams.

Without waiting, I plunge the knife into the skin of one of her inner thighs. She instinctively reaches for the knife, but when she does, I yank it out and do the same thing with the other. Severing both of her arteries. It won’t take her very long to bleed out, so I must work quickly.

“You know what you did. What you let your husband do to your son.”

“I— I.”

“Save it, I have no interest.”

“Did he send you? Shane?”

“Your son? The eight-year-old boy who you’ve allowed to be raped in your home?”

Her silence is deafening while her body starts to pale and weaken. I don’t help her as she begins to crumble into the water; her blood filling and marveling with the liquid in a way that has me drooling. Out of all the problems I have, this is the one I struggle with the most.

“He’s not my son.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, he isn’t, he’s the mistress’s child and we took him in.”

That hits somewhat close to home and fills me full of rage.

“You think that matters? He’s still a CHILD!” My voice starts to tremble with fury, along with my arms and the grip I have on her.

“P— please don’t let me die.”

“I bet your son begged not to be sodomized. Since he didn’t get a choice, neither do you.”

Her knees finally meet the bottom of the tub, the water and blood sloshing over the sides of the bath onto the white floor. What is with rich people and needing everything to be white?

“He deserved it.”

Remember that rage I was talking about, about two seconds ago? It’s blinding now. My whole body is humming with the hunger to cause more pain. She needs to pay. Not only will she burn in the depths of hell, but I am going to make the last minute of her life the most painful it will ever be.

Shifting my hold on her hair, I pull her head towards me then slam it back into the edge of the bathtub. The sudden blunt force trauma knocking the voice from her mouth and the air from her lungs. Her eyes roll in her head like they have lost the ligaments that hold them in place.

Instead of stopping, I repeat the motion over and over until I hear her skull crack, and even then, I don’t stop. The way the back of her head caves in, the bone fragments cutting her scalp from the inside out, make me feel a little better but I don’t stop. I want to see the pink flesh of her brain before I am done.

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