Page 49 of Terror Tuesday
Without the lovebirds noticing, I follow a few feet behind.
As they push through the gate, I slide in right after, letting it clink shut behind me. Carl doesn’t even notice as he opens the side door carelessly, cocky, and cracked enough so that I slide a gloved finger in to prevent it from shutting. Their voices echo in the small stairwell while I hide in the shadows.
If this place is anything like ours, Malik, a junior, is probably located on the third floor. Inhaling deeply, I take the steps two at a time. On the landing, I pause and listen.
There. Malik’s voice again.
Carefully, I pry open the heavy wooden door, rolling my eyes at the ostentatious surroundings of red velvet carpet, brocade wallpaper, and overly ornate furniture.
He strolls toward the end of the passageway, away from me, without noticing anything amiss. With one eye through the gap, I monitor as he enters the last room at the end on the left. Perfect. The ones on the corners should have balconies. Clean entry and exit.
The sconces are dim, casting dancing shadows, and golden mirrors line the path, only escalating my paranoia to new heights. Passing one, I catch a glimpse of myself and startle. Ilooklike a fucking killer. All blacked out, even my face behind the cloth that hides it. Hides me.
Vanq Wysh Veil doesn’t exist.
Until now.
A shrink would probably say this is my way of dealing with moral ambiguity. Split my persona. Pretend these hands don’t belong to me. Sacrificing bodies for the greater good and putting on a mask to cover up what I can’t face inside myself.
But only those privileged enough to truly know me…get to see therealme.
Fuck everyone else.
When I reach his bedroom and turn the knob, I’m almost embarrassedforhim that it’s unlocked. He’s in an adjoining bathroom, taking a piss. And while he’s there, I flick off the overhead light, then press my back against the wall next to the open doorway, so I can grab him when he emerges.
It’s as if my heartbeat thuds through my ribs to the surface behind me. I can almost hear the pictures nailed to it rattle with every rush of blood through the chambers in my soul. All the things I’ve done. Every man I gutted—by order or by choice. Every girl I failed to save. The vehemence I bury just to survive presses against that wall with me.
Soul…Do I even have one left? After everything?
Maybe once I complete my final task, I will. My dying wish will be that Olivia could love me even though I can hardly love myself. Would I poison her with that curse? It will be the only way to set her free.
He’s moved on to brushing his teeth. An electric toothbrush buzzes, and the sound makes me delirious.Buzz. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head to get rid of it. Like a fly around my face.Buzz. Every muscle tenses at the sound.Buzz.I’m just going to have to burst in there and take him. Maybe throw him in the tub.
Buzz.
Damn it! Who invented those things? I can’t fuckingtakethis.
Malik deserves to be killed for making so much noise before bed.
Finally, the water drips on, though the blade still shakes violently in my hand.
He gargles. Like a human. A person unaware of the horror about to befall him. What am I doing? Is there a way out of this?
This is what they do.Mano e mano.
The Seventh Society rules us all.
Each moment that passes takes one of my breaths with it. There’s nothing left in my lungs except terrified anticipation. Adrenaline rips through my sweat glands until they seep with some unknown feeling.
Rage? Yes.
Regret? Possibly.
Maybe someone will stop me. Maybe there will be an interruption, and I won’t be able to do this.
Can I be saved?
Malik’s tears injected themselves into the corners of my own eyes.
