Page 57 of Madness Behind the Mask
“Beg me, you fucking piece of shit,” I growl as I thrust the knife in and out of him. Blood pours from his ass and hand as tendons and severed fingers drop from him. I hold his wetgaze, forcing his eyelidsto stayopen. “Beg me like Olivia would have begged you were she able to speak.”
I pull the knife out, then jerk out the shredded mess that remains of his hand. “Beg me like Sau would have.”
I shove thebladein to the hilt, then twist it. He spasms before me, blood spraying out his lips as Iclearly rupture his stomach. He won’t live long if I don’t heal him, and I growl my displeasure at my reckless thrusting.
Leaving the knife in him, I turn my head to the ensuite on the other side of the room. He’ll have a healing wand in the cabinet in there – a pre-spelled wand that anyone past their ascensioncanuse. It’s not as good as having an actual healer, akin to adoctor fresh out of college rather than an experienced surgeon,but it’ll save his pathetic hide.
Standing, I stride towards the bathroom,but I keep my power onDavid, locking him in place. I don’t wanthimbouncing on the blade while I’m gone, giving himself a quick death he doesn’t deserve.
I open the door and step in, my eyes shifting straight towards the cabinet.But they pass over the sink to get there, and a streak of pink running down the outside of the bowl stops me.
The world caves in on me, squeezing me like I’m in agiant’s fist, my rib cage crushing my lungs as I see it for what it is.
Poorly washed off blood.
My head pounds as my vision tunnels on the pink.
It is not uncommon for a man in this Family to come home covered in blood. Not uncommon for his bathroom to haveitsplattered across its floor and walls.
But there is something about this particular streak that makes every hair on my arms and neck standon end. It is a sign of a task interrupted. A late night secret hurriedly scrubbed.
My stomach pounding, my heart having been squeezeddown there to bathe in its acid, I take a step forward.
My eyes scan the bathroom in a slow, terrible arc.
Until they land on thetoilet. Both of its lids are down. A man rarely ever closes one lid, let alone two.
My throat tightens as I listen to David’s broken pleas,finallyrealizingwhatis missing...
The crying noises of a baby rudely awakenedcoming through the walls.
Istop in front of thewhiteporcelain,the blood in my face draining at the sight of the blood onit. A smudge along its rim. A fingerprint evidencing the crime I’m about to find.
My lips parting as my lungs claw for air, I reach forward and lift the lid.
A broken scream comes from me as I drop to my knees and stare at the crammed, lifeless, wet form of Olivia.
She’s been shoved in face first, hidden to be disposed of later, her clothes ripped from her, her thighs rubbed raw, great big patches torn from her skin. I reach in the pool of pink and pull her out, crying and screaming as I hold her to me. Her wet, twisted form reeks of pain and suffering. Her spine is broken. Herrectumhas prolapsed,pulled from the rough thrusts of a –
I scream over the thoughts bombarding my mind. Theknowledge. The pain.
She is still warm despite her wet body.
Dead only a few minutes.
Killed, perhaps, when I knocked on his door, David panicking and needing to hide her.
For the first time, I curse my telekinesis. If I was not able to detect David’s illusions, would he have killed my baby girl? Or would he have simply hidden her cries and her broken, bleeding body? Healed her after I left…
Has he done that before?
How many times...
Tears flood down my cheeks as I struggle tobreathe. Istroke hersoft tufts of hair that will never know the full length of her mother’s.My throat burning, I scream againas I clutch her to my chest, wishing with every part of me that her little heart will thump against mine.
But it doesn’t.
It stays as still as her.
