Page 16 of Retribution
“Shh, Reese, I’m here. Come on, we need to go.”
“But I’m so tired, sissy. Let me sleep.”
The voice causes an icy finger of dread to slither down my spine. The windows are wide open, the cool air refreshing the stale air of the room, carrying the putrid stench of death and decay outwards.
Rebecca starts humming a broken lullaby, rocking her sister in her arms, stopping to stroke her hair to place a kiss on her brow.
“Love you, sissy,” comes the gravelly voice.
“I love you too, Reesy. Come now, it’s time to go.”
My heart shatters as I switch the light on, watching Rebecca rock the dead girl in her arms. The girl’s eyes, wide open and filmed over in death, show signs of petechial hemorrhaging—she was suffocated. The cold air has slowed decomposition, but the flies circling the room and maggots crawling across the body tell their own grisly tale.
Rebecca looks down at Reese, her eyes growing wide, screams pouring from her throat as she lets go, her sister’s body falling back onto the bed. She looks back at me, her whole body trembling, mouth working as more and more screams pour forth.
“Fuck!” Pulling her up, I sweep her into my arms, the screaming coming to an abrupt stop as her eyes go blank.
“Daddy?” she calls out in a timid voice. “Mommy?”
My mind is racing, thoughts swirling as I try to figure out what the fuck is going on. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead and back, adrenaline kicking in to deal with this unknown threat.
Back in the hallway, I open another door, which is luckily empty. Laying Rebecca on the bed, I toss the comforter over her. Her eyes are still blank, lifeless. Kissing her on the forehead, I promise her I’ll be back. Closing the door, I race down the hall, throwing each door wide, checking inside.
Stepping into one room, I see an older woman, sitting on a bed with her back resting against the wall. Her belly is sliced open, intestines spread out on her thighs. This must be her mother. Closing the door, I continue searching through the house.
Another bedroom reveals a small blonde girl cuffed by her hands and feet to the bed, a long gash opening her from neck to groin.
What the fuck happened here?
The upstairs holding no further clues, I race through the downstairs, avoiding the dining room. Coming across a door leading to the basement, I quietly make my way down the stairs, horror ripping through me at what I find.
A little girl, maybe around seven or eight years old, sits on her knees in a cage. Her feet have been bound and tied to the bars, the same with her hands. Harsh thick thread sews her lips together, a small hole for drinks left open.
It’s the sight of the cups surrounding her that nearly breaks me, for they tell a story like no other. The room seems to tilt and spin as a dagger of agonizing pain rips through my chest. At least fifty cups, covered in Saran wrap, a straw sticking out of the makeshift lid litter the cage and floor surrounding it, the contents moldy and putrid. The small child is almost nothing but bones, having obviously been starved prior to her death.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Rebecca had been trying to feed her.
Staggering back from the heart-breaking sight, I search the room, noting the wall covered in restraints, the bloodied knives and whips and rods littering the floor around it. My monster is scrabbling, roaring, wanting to kill the man that had done this to children.
I am no stranger to punishment—I regularly scour my back with metal-tipped whips, seeking redemption from the Lord for my many sins.
But this? This is something else entirely.
A steel table glints at the other side of the room, and I go towards it with some trepidation. Another child, a young teen by the looks of it, is strapped hand and foot to the table, her legs spread wide, a knife protruding from her heart.
Letting out an enraged roar, I storm back up the stairs, looking for the father. When I find him, I’m going to tear him from limb to limb.
A voice comes from a room, deep and mocking. “You have been a bad girl, Rebecca. I told you that you could never run from me. I will always find you. You were warned, and look what you made me do.”
Skidding to a stop in the doorway of a large living room, I see Rebecca standing by the fireplace, a poker in her hands. She’s facing the sofa, its back to me, and I can just make out a dark head resting against the cushions.
“It’s your fault,” the deep voice comes from Rebecca’s mouth. “You killed your sisters the moment you ran from me.” A tear slides down her face as her head tilts towards me. Still vacant, still unseeing, she clutches the poker as if it will save her from the atrocities in this house.
Slowly I step forward, inching my way into the room so as not to scare her. Once I have a clear view, I see the man sitting on the sofa, his mouth frozen open on a scream, eyes wide and unseeing.
His stomach has been ripped open, intestines and organs littering the floor. Christ. It looks like something was crawling inside the cavity, as if searching for something. Bloody handprints cover the sofa.
The poker clattering to the floor has me spinning around, Rebecca looking right at me, tears streaming down her face as the fog in her eyes clears.
