One Hundred Saints (10 page)

Most of the houses were empty, others were occupied by homeless people. I could tell they were homeless cause of how they slept so comfortably on the bare wooden floors.
Maybe they’re not so homeless after all,
I thought to myself with a small smile.

It wasn’t until I reached the very last house in the furthest section of the ward, that I found him.

I had walked up to the window near the side of the house because I was almost sure I heard someone screaming inside. I was scared when I approached, but then I got angry at how dirty the window was and how hard it was to see through it, so I looked around and found a rock.

I took a few steps back, pulled my arm back, and let the rock fly through the window. Even if he didn’t stop what he was doing, and even if it didn’t stop the screaming, someone would know I was there and maybe the sound of the broken glass would draw attention from the other people that lived here.

“Help us!” someone shrieked from inside.

I ran up to the window and gripped the pane, ignoring the pain of the broken shards of glass cutting into my palms, when our eyes locked.

He had a girl in his lap and a knife of some kind up to her throat, and he looked absolutely stunned to see me looking in at him.

“Grimm? What are you doing?” I called out. He looked down at the girl in his lap, then back to me again, before he picked her up and disappeared from view.

That was all I needed to run toward the front door and start trying to push it open. I had to save that girl, no matter what the cost would be.

Grimm

T
he way she looked at me had actually shaken me slightly; it was the reason I had hesitated. But without Emmie’s accusing eyes on me, I was able to get back to work. I could hear her banging and straining against the front door, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to get in unless I let her.

I also knew that with Emmie here, I wouldn’t have time to purify them all through fire, so I would have to defile the disposable ones to make them unworthy of the flame.

I had once made a male martyr who before I transitioned to sainthood, I had cut off his dick and kept it for moments like this. Because I refused to sully myself with the pleasures of the flesh, I would use his manhood to do it. Marie had helped me with keeping it erect and usable after I had sold her his bones. She had some kind of secret recipe she used on it, and I never asked what it was out of professional respect.

I had to move quickly though, because if Reagan died before I had the chance to defile her, then I would be nothing more than a murderer and I refused to hold that title.

I went over to the barrel of salt, grabbed a handful, then went back and made a circle around her. It was my way of letting
them
know that she wasn’t an offering; she was nothing more than a sacrifice as thanks for having heard me so far.

On top of the highest shelf in my special room was a wooden box that was lined with what Marie had called, “a blessed chamois lining” to keep the severed dick safe and ready for use.

I first grabbed the leather gloves she had also “blessed” and put them on, before I grabbed the box and opened it.
Still good as new, I
thought to myself with a nod as I went back to Reagan.

“It’ll be over soon,” I said to her coldly, as I knelt outside of the salt circle and reached for her pants. I pulled them off, then her underwear next and had to turn my face from the stench. There had been more men in her than any of the others I had encountered and the lingering smell that always invaded my senses almost made me sick.

I pulled her to the edge of the circle and pulled the dick out of the box. It took a few tries to pry her legs apart, but when I was finally able to, I shoved it into her. She let out a pained moan, but I didn’t relent. I kept moving it in and out of her waiting for the moment that her body would react; to reach the climax I needed before I knew I could stop.

But how long does this take on a whore?
I wondered, as sweat started to pour down my brow. I hated doing this; absolutely detested it because that’s when the stench would grow strongest, and begin to attach itself to the walls in the room.

“Come on!” I muttered angrily as I continued the in and out movements. She was almost where I needed her to be; I could tell by how easily I was able to slide it into her now. She was wet with desire for something she didn’t even really know she was happening, because her body was dying at the same time.

When she started to breath heavily, when her agonized moans grew louder, I knew I was almost done. What I didn’t expect was her to die immediately afterwards. I didn’t expect her to cum and then take her last breath, but I was happy that it was finally over. I let it fall next to me outside of the salt circle, and sat back on my heels.

I rolled my shoulders a few times and looked at Reagan, who had blood trailing out of her ears and eyes and chuckled.

“Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you,” I mocked.

I sighed and got to my feet. I’d skin her and take out her bones later. He blood would be of no use because of what I had to do to her, but the rest I would be able to sell.

“Oh my God!” someone yelled from behind me.

I
turned around and saw Emmie had somehow managed to get into the house. When I saw the scrapes and blood on her arms, I realized she had probably climbed in through the window. Oh but the look on her face as she realized what I was now ... I couldn’t tell if it hurt me or made me feel more powerful.

“What did you
do
?” she shrieked.

“You don’t belong here, Emily Thibideaux. You’re in a bad place,” I said to her in a low voice I didn’t quite recognize.

“Grimm! What is this?” she asked in fear, as she began to back away toward the door.

“This is me. This is who I am. The boy you knew doesn’t exist anymore. I tried to save you from this, Emily. I told you to stay away, but you didn’t listen to me, and now you see me for what I really am.”

“What ... What are you?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I’m just a man searching for power,,” I replied, walking slowly toward her. “I’m what happens when you get chosen for a journey that you have no choice but to fulfill.”

Emmie’s eyes widened in sheer terror, when I quickly moved past her and swung the door closed. Now I would find out if I was meant to spare her or not; by locking her into my room with me. My special room where the spirits demanded sacrifices and I obediently obliged them.

“I make martyrs and saints. It’s the only way to make sure that I’ll never need or want for anything ever again,” I said to her as I leaned walked toward a very small closet I had constructed, that sat next to the highest shelf in my room.

“Do you know the difference between a martyr and a saint, Emmie? Let me tell you. A martyr is someone who dies for what they believe in; don’t matter what it is. If it’s any belief at all and they choose death over not believing anymore, they become a martyr. A saint is something entirely different; something special. A saint is someone who is worthy, just, and pure. Someone who had done such a great thing in their life, that they deserved and earned the recognition for it. But there have been martyrs that I’ve had that didn’t believe in nothing, so they die for nothing like her. If they don’t believe in nothing they aren’t worth the waste of the salt to cleanse them and prepare them for sainthood.”

By this point, Emily was in tears. She had dropped onto the ground, her hands covering her girlish, beautiful face. Her shoulders shook so damn hard that I could almost swear she would die right there if she didn’t stop soon.

So I did the only thing I knew I could do for her. I opened the wooden closet door, the creaking of the old wood causing her to sob even louder.

I reached in and grabbed my machete; the one that was reserved for the saints; the
worthy
ones and then I walked over to her, crouching in front of her.

“Emily Thibideaux, my very best friend in the entire world,” I said softly, moving her hands away from her face. She looked up at me with reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks and I let out a sigh, running a hand down the side of her face. I used a thumb to wipe away one of the fresh tears that began to roll down her face and looked up into her eyes again.

“Tell me, Emmie. What do
you
believe in?”