Page 13 of They Call Him Reaper

The news only reported my parents as murdered. A cold case, but I found the photos of their mutilated bodies that Father kept in a file on his computer like a fucked-up trophy. He will know how it feels to witness what I saw. If his parents were still alive, I’d return the favor but there’s only her.

The need to electrify her nervous system and expose her hurt to match mine tears at my skin. Someone needs to feel my pain. My heart pounds in ways exertion and killing don’t produce. It’s a rhythm reserved for bleeding old wounds and new, deep hurt. I grab a nearby gallon of water and start pouring it over her. She blows out and shakes her head to avoid the flow. Dropping the empty container, I bend in front of her.

“How about a slow death from electric shock?”

She turns her head to wipe her face against her arm as she shivers from the cool water. The wet shirt makes her nudity underneath apparent, but I’m not interested in her nakedness. After licking some water off her lips, she takes a deep breath and responds since she’s a fan of answering rhetorical questions.

“You’re too detailed and calculating...too methodical to kill me now. I'm alive for a reason. You need me for your perfect plan.”

I know she feels like she’s checked out and is ready for death, but that’s not completely true. Lucky for her, I don’t mind reminding her. Picking up my stun gun, I press it to her side. She yelps from the initial pain, but the current shuts her up. Her eyes grow from the shock, and I deliver another current for the hell of it.

She's partially correct. My plan requires her to live for at least two more weeks. I want him to lose hope so I can rebuild it and take it away. Feeding her is easier than maintaining a dead body on an island. Switching to my knife, I press it to her neck, and she looks up at me with fear and curiosity. Her breath comes out in small huffs as she pants from the adrenaline spike from being shocked. I ignore the interesting arrangement of brown in her irises as I speak.

"No,Gatita. I need your body. A corpse can do. Final warning."

My knife is so sharp that a slight movement from her breaks skin and makes her bleed a little. I take a step back and leave her there. It’s a surface wound so she won’t bleed out or scar. I need to get away from her before she says anything else to make me lose my cool more than I already have.

I’m stripped down to my swim briefs by the time I reach the ocean. The cold of the water is a deep contrast with my hot skin. It shocks my mind back into alignment, easing the urge to yell until my lungs give out. I stop swimming to tread water. The waves crash into me until my muscles scream. My brain continues to attack me with my past, pushing me into memories I don’t want. It somehow intensifies my already strong desire to bury Father. No, rip off his jaw with my bare hands, and then bury him. I don’t know how long I stayed in the water butI’m shivering so hard my teeth chatter. With my body aching, I almost push myself to exhaustion before reaching the shore.

Collapsing in the sand, I heave for breath as I recalibrate and add more salve to my mental and emotional wounds. She caught me off guard and that’s happening one time and one time only.

NINE

Dante

Thunder clappingfrom a distance awakens me. It wasn't hard with the restless sleep I was experiencing. Shards of my past presented as dreams, taking away my restorative rest.

Rolling on my side, I look at my bait. Her head is dipped, hiding her face with her annoying crazy mass of black curls, legs folded and tucked under her ass. It looks as if she's trying to warm herself as best as she can while handcuffed to the wall.

Usually, I wouldn't care, but a healthy hostage makes life easier. Besides, both of us can benefit from body heat. Rising, I push off the covers and unhook her from the wall, but leave her handcuffed. Her eyes are open now, but she's not fully conscious. Like it always does, her body folds into mine, but this time, I’m more aware of the transaction. Her puffy cloud of hair tickles my cheek and delivers the same scent I’m beginning to associate with her. My hand grips onto her cool, soft skin as I transport her to the bed. Her bare ass cheek is a reminder that she refused to get dressed this week, citing that it’s not worth the energy or effort. Sometimes, she puts on one of the shirts I left for her or one of her own. It’s a toss-up with shirts after eachshower, but the theme is apparent. She shifts in my hold and releases a small puff of breath that teases my neck.

A soft sigh escapes her lips when her body touches the bed like it’s relieved to be off the hard floor. Maybe she’ll stop snooping. This is just one of the places I go. It’s not filled with a treasure trove of information on me, just a few tidbits. I just didn’t expect to hear my name on her lips. I’ve had a reprieve, but I need to get used to hearing it. I need a clear mind to take out Father. As if on cue, the little troll whispers my name in her sleep.

I walk around to my side of the bed and climb in, but she rolls so her body is facing me. Watching someone sleep can be interesting. Usually, this is when they’re the most relaxed. For her, some of her inner light seems to still shine through. I should wake her up and pull her back into the crazy with me. Throughout the years, for very brief moments, I’ve wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up “normal.” What would the Dante Orejón who was raised in a loving family be like? The notion is so difficult to conceptualize that it gives me a headache like it does now. My life will never be “normal” without a parallel universe.

I was raised to be this way. This is my normal.

Her eyes arethe first things I see once I open mine. The sun shines on her face as she leans over me, studying me like I’m a science experiment.

“A few scars; two bullet and three puncture scars, to be exact. No tattoos…” Moving the cover, she displays some of my nudity. “Anywhere.”

She falls back on the bed when I cover her face with my palm and push her back. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Swinging my legs over the side, I sit up and roll my sore shoulders. She blows hair out of her face and studies her handcuffed wrists. “I take it we didn’t have sex last night.”

“No,idiota.You would remember.” I push off the bed, and I feel her looking at my bare ass.

“Are you a virgin, Dante?” she asks like she wasn’t on the verge of getting killed yesterday for using my name. She’s my most interesting hostage.

I fight the impulse to act out from the pain my name causes. I must get used to hearing it. I’ll allow it.

“No.”Your dad made sure of that. “Now shut up.”

She clamps her lips but watches me disappear into the bathroom. Her fascination is dangerous for her. She knows I’m capable of killing her in any way I want, yet the interest I saw on her face when she thought I was just a bartender peeks out even in her reduced state. It’s like she only has three settings: scared, blank, or horny.

Her questions continue to conjure up memories I don’t want to visit. Leaving the spray cold, I step under the icy water and take deep breaths until my breathing normalizes. I know she’s not doing it on purpose. They are just questions that spring from her mind and out of her mouth, but they chip at my composure.

Even now, the water falls down on me like frozen rain. I’m staring at my bamboo wall, but my mind is twenty-one years in the past.

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