Page 37 of Anathema Codex

Lauren was fifteen when he started with her, at least shelookedolder—but I was twelve. He had no excuse, and after four years of that shit I finally decided to get out of there and see if the rest of the world was as tedious and miserable as that house in Chicago.

Brian never saw the knife I'd taken from the kitchen, and I made sure to go for the neck so he wouldn't make too much noise. As I knelt down beside him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights coming through my window, I was completely mesmerized. The sheer surprise in his eyes, the way his mouth opened and closed, the choking sounds coming from the hole in his throat. It was the first time I'd ever felt alive... watching him die. But before the light went out in his eyes, I put my fingers over his lips and whispered, 'Shh, shh, shh.'

I don't know if he got the joke, or if there was enough blood getting to his brain to actually recognize the creativity of me using his own words against him—but I guess I'll never know. Dead people aren't exactly talkative, and I didn't have time to linger anyway.

I'd already packed a bag, using the nice backpack Brian got the time he decided he wanted to be 'outdoorsy,' Although, where he expected to do that in Chicago, I have no fucking idea. It's a good backpack though, it’s lasted me all this time, and I'd filled it earlier that day with everything I needed to walk out the door. Adding the knife I'd used on him felt like the final piece.

Well, technically not thefinalpiece. That was probably the two containers of gasoline I poured over the living room and around the front and back doors. My last goodbye to that foster home was the strike of a match and the quiet close of a door.

It's impressive how fast fire can spread when there's an accelerant involved, and when I stopped down the street to watch beside someone's truck, I felt a real smile when I first saw the smoke, the flickering light in the windows. I've looked it up at a few public libraries in the year or so since I walked away from there, and gasoline is one of the most common accelerants used in arson.

It was a disappointing thing to learn. To realize I'd done something so... average.

But, it's fine. I'm not a firebug. I didn't get tingly in my pants watching the fire eat the house and the rest of the idiots inside. It wasn't even fun watching people leave their houses in a panic, and I didn't stick around long enough to catch the attention of the fire department or the police.

No, the only thing that made me feel alive was watching Brian die, and that knife was the first one I added to my collection.

When I started hitchhiking, I used to think about him a lot. Wondering if killing someone who hadn't been such an asshole to me would feel different. Could it possibly feel better? Would it feel the same? Or would it just be... boring. Like everything else.

Fortunately, the world outside of Chicago is full of people just like Brian. I wasn’t on the road long before I got the chance to test my theories. When the asshole made it clear what he expected for the ride in his car, all it took was letting him have his fun the first time he made a move, not fighting or making a sound, just like with Brian—and then it was easy to slice him open while he slept.

I used to remember his name, but I don't anymore. I just remember the way his intestines spilled out of the hole in his skin like some kind of weird jack-in-the-box made by an evil clown while he desperately tried to put them back.

The bad news was that I killed him in the car, which smelled pretty terrible even after I rolled his body into a ditch.

The good news was that I felt more real watching him take his last breath than I had with Brian. I think it was the lighting.

So much easier to see with the sun out.

Still, not every ride is a bad one. Sometimes people feed me, give me money, rent me a room at a motel that they don't plan on sharing with me. I'm sure if I wasn't pretty, and if I didn't play the lost little girl, I'd get a lot less of the nice kind of help. But those rides are good. Easy. I let those people live as my version of a thank you—even if they don't understand just how gracious I've been. The bad rides all end the same, but at least I get a vehicle that I can drive until it runs out of gas, along with whatever cash or useful shit they've got in it.

Riding with Aftyn and Willa hasn't been good, but it hasn't been bad either. It's just been... boring.

There was so much potential for them to be interesting, for us to have fun one way or another, but they're too caught up in whatever bullshit they've got going on between them. Friends, not friends. Lovers, not lovers. It's like some terrible sitcom that I was the single unwilling audience member for.

Time to unsubscribe.

Sighing, I stumble upon a trail and follow it until I touch road again. It's narrow, black, and looks similar to where Willa parked her car, but I've been walking for a while so even if it is... they're nowhere nearby. Walking along the edge of it, I eventually see a campground sign pointing to the left and I head toward it. Campground might mean people camping, which could mean food, and although I'm pretty good at ignoring the twist of hunger in my belly, I'm also not stupid enough to pass up a chance to find someone else who might let me hitch a ride—and feed me in the meantime.

There's a dark blue SUV parked all by itself at the head of a trail that promises camping sites near the lake. Crossing my fingers that they're here to camp and not just hike around, I move down the path until I see a bright green tent through the trees. I'm already warming up my 'vulnerable and helpless' voice when I realize their campsite is empty. No voices, no fire going. Risking a peek into their tent, I can't believe my luck when I see plastic bags of food and a pair of duffel bags.

"Let's see what you've got for me," I mumble and drop my backpack. Digging through their shit, I find some clothes in the girl's bag that might fit me, and some protein bars and snacks to shove in my pack. The gallon jug of water is tempting, but I don't want to carry it. So, I just refill my water bottle and sit down on the ground to drink my fill, eating a couple of protein bars while I listen to the trees and keep my ears open for the return of these idiots.

Ten minutes later—nada.

Huffing, I put their shit back together, zipping their duffels shut so they won't know I messed with it if I can find them, and then I close up their tent and head toward the lake. Just as I come over a rise, I see them, and my skin prickles, goose bumps rising on my arms as I see two people lying near the water. And, well... they're definitely not sleeping. No one really lays face down in the mud, or face up in it with their torso shredded and their pale limbs smeared with red.

There's a reason red is my favorite color, andthisis why. It just looks so pretty in every shade. The paler streaks of it on his arms, the dull red where it's stained his clothes, and then that deep, almost black hue where it's pooled in the holes on his stomach.

I'm so distracted by the sight of the two, that it takes me longer than it really should to connect the dots—or, rather, to connect the blood spatter.

We've been out here for a while now, and I haven't heard another vehicle. As far as I know the only people in this area of the forest are me, these two dead fucks, and the unfriendly not-lovers. Grinning, I look over at the knife on the ground and decide I should add it to my collection.

A keepsake.

But when I bend down to pick it up, I see something even better amidst the blood-stained dirt and leaves. A little glint that turns out to be a ring. The same ring that was on Willa's hand when she reached back for her phone.

Maybe they're more fun than I thought.

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