Page 120 of Madness Behind the Mask
I want to fight for my husband who is clearly so tired of this war. I pull him into my arms and hold him tight. But...is it foolish to think I can break a two thousand year cycle? Am I just being naive, wanting to try to bring us peace?
Thirty-Nine
ALERIC
25SEPTEMBER1949
“Oh, Murder Victim NumberTwenty-niiiine…it’s time for yourappointmeeeeent.”
Her fear calls to me, telling me exactly where she is.The slamof her heart against her rib cage leads me down the hall.I track her through the smell of her sweat, the sound of her harsh breaths, the strong beat of her heart that calls to me on a sense humans don’t have.
Istompmy feet extra hard so she can hear my every step.I phase in front of her, just out of sight any time she takes a turn I don’t want her to take, making her spin on her heels or dart through a door. I’m herding her tomy bedroom,to my ensuite,tothe baththat is nearly full.
I received such wonderful news tonight. My son’s dead, as is his wife, but that’s only okay news. Thewonderfulpart is that they died because of Sau. My little lioness is growing her claws, and I’m growing hard at the idea of her draggingthem down my back.
Up ahead, Murder Victim Number Twenty-nine bolts into my room. I give her a second before I open the door behind her. She throws a vase at my head,then yanks open the ensuite door.I phase into the bathroom, keeping myself in the corner so I can seethe fear in her eyes.
She screamsfor all she’s worth, but hergazeisn’ton me. She probably doesn’tevensee me at all, her attention on thesevenpeople hanging upside down abovethered-splattered,white cast-iron, enameled bath with brass feet. Their throats are slit. Blood pours from them in various speeds, the one to the left running the slowest, only a few drips now, the one to the right still gushing a bit in its freshness.
She’s frozen in horror, but only for a moment.Then she slams the door shut and flips the lock.She backsaway, tremblingand mumbling some sort of prayer. I wonder if she’ll plan on hiding or if she’ll try to take downthe last freemeathook in the ceiling and stab me with it.If she stands on the edge of the tub, she can reach it, and it’s on a pulley, so she can easily remove it.
But my bath is getting cold, and I cannot be bothered waiting. SoI step up behind her, my footsteps now utterly silent.
She backs into me, screams, then turns, and I laugh as she trips over her feetand crashes into the floor. Her arms comeup as if they’re enough to shield her.“Please...please let me go! I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anyone!”
“I can getyour silencewith you dead. The first rule to bartering, kid, is to offersomethingIdon’t already have or can’t easily get.”I reach down and grab her leg. She kicks me with her other foot, but she’s young,probably still in school,and has no real weight behind her blow.
I haul her up upside down, then reach over to grab the last free hook.Number Thirteen is basically empty, his drops no longer dripping, just pooling on his face, waitingfor gravity to do its thing. Once she’s up, I’ll lower him to make way for one of the other humans down in the cell.
“Wait!” she screams as I pull the hook lower, the sound of its cord going through the pulley an ominous creak. “I can get you more victims!”
I pause. Glance down at her, a smile curling my lips. Oh, I do like this one. I cock a brow. “Oh?”
“Yes,” she blurts frantically. “I know where there’s a drug den. No one will miss them.”
I chuckle. “Now why would I kill my own clients?”
Her mouth opens and closes in her panic. I press the meat hook against her calfmuscle, running the metal up and down her leg.
She screams. “Wait!”
I stop, delighted with her willingness to sacrifice others so easily. “Yes?”
“I’m a prostitute. I can get you johns.”
“Before or after you fuck them?”
“What?”
“I want to know if you’re asking me to be your pimp? If so, I want a cut of the money.”
“You’re getting their lives!”
“Kid, look around you. I’m filthy rich. You don’t get this rich by passing up opportunities.”
She glances around as she hangs from my hand.The amount I spent on renovating this bathroom was more than the average worker makes in a year. She doesn’t need to know about stone qualityor the cost of artisan craftsmanshipto realize that. It’s in its spaciousness, in the details carved into thedoors of the sink–two Chinese dragons making the African blackwood come alive–and the mirror hanging above it –an art piece of birds and foliage carved into the blackwood edges. It’s in the light fixture, in the white marble sink, and the gray stone of the floor.
Taking this all in, she huffs out a breath,lookingvastlymore annoyed at the fact that she’ll have to give up some of her hard-earned money than she does about dying. In fact, she looks like she’s consideringtellingme to stick my offer up my ass and hang her.
