Severing Sanguine: A Companion Book to The Fallocaust Series Book 2 (73 page)

Maybe my eyes itched because I hadn’t blinked in so long – though if they only knew the realizations I had come to while I was staring off into space they wouldn’t have blinked either.

The problem I had been trying to crack while I was lying in that bed had been solved. I knew what I had to do not only to protect myself from my family, but from Jasper.

I sat up in bed; the light was still dangling above my head, swaying back and forth in the stagnant and pungent room. It coated my black-eyed friends in a soft, yellow glow.

I smiled at them, and Barry smiled back. Then I rose to my feet, my muscles aching from being stationary for so long, and stuffed Barry into my satchel. I put him beside the old clown mask, hearing the several tooth caps I still had rattling around the thick denim cloth.

Then I walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway with the living room in front of me. The kitchen was behind that with its boarded windows with shreds of curtain still sticking out between the boards. Blue curtains.

I put the satchel in front of the door but grabbed Barry and slipped on my shoes. The living room was dark; all of the electronics had been shut off to conserve power. The only light that was on was the one in my bedroom, shining yellow in the darkness but it was nothing but a sunburst in my eyes. I shut off the light and picked up half of my stuffed animals, juggling them in my arms until I could fit six of them. That was half, I had thirteen in total.

Snoring reached my ears, a faint rumbling that told me I was the only one conscious in this house. The lights were unconscious, the electronics sleeping; tonight it was just me, just me and my friends.

Silently I walked to Mouse’s bedroom. I opened the door and let it open wide. I looked inside and saw Mouse sleeping with his blankets pulled tight over him. His brown hair was spread across his dirty pillowcase; the white fabric and splayed-out brown hair making it look like he had gotten shot in the head.

For several moments I only stood and watched him, remembering the first time I had laid eyes on Mouse. He was a friend at the opiate den, who got me drugs and warned me that Giuseppe was going to try and keep me there to make money off of me. I remember the gaunt skeletons of the men laying on the soiled blankets, how they looked like survivors of war with their unhealthy, filthy skin and their hollow, vacant eyes. I would have been like them eventually, or perhaps not – my family would have found me in time.

Mouse, Mouse… your real name is Frank but I called you Mouse.

I laid my stuffed animals in front of the doorway, facing Mouse’s bed. Then I went back to my bedroom and grabbed my other stuffed animals. I laid each one in the doorway, facing Mouse. I wanted them to watch.

I always did like the audience.

When everyone was in their seats I walked back to the kitchen.

I grabbed a knife, a long knife. One that Mouse had used to cut our sandwiches in half. It still had mustard on the tips of it. Julia had always been bad at washing things.

I picked up Barry, who was sitting at the front of the crowd, because he had been there first. I hugged him to my chest, excited about what I was doing for my friends, and for him too.

Because I think I knew my Barry would come back when I was done.

With a smile, and his song echoing in my head I wound his butt and held the winder. Then I set him down in front of the others and I let the dial go.

And he sang his song, a song I hadn’t heard in so long.

Daisy, Daisy

Give me your heart to do.

Mouse jumped under his blankets, but the several thick comforters made it hard for him to move. He took one look at me, standing in the doorway, and his prominent eyes opened so wide he really did look like a Mouse.

“Sanguine…” Mouse gasped. He tried to shift out of his blankets, but it was too late. I was too quick, I was too fast. I was –

– half-crazy, all for the love of you.

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

I can’t afford a carriage,

I straddled him and pressed my knees against his shoulders, pinning his arms down. Then I raised the knife with a smile and twisted it back and forth in a taunting manner.

I could feel the adrenaline speeding through my veins leaving in its wake such a tense feeling I felt the tightness in my jeans come back. I grinned in spite of myself, and as Mouse gasped and sputtered I snatched his chin and wrenched it back, exposing the dirty nape of his neck, and pressed the cold blade against the skin.

But you’ll look so sweet,

Upon a seat,

Mouse screamed when I started to saw through his skin. I pressed his chin back as far as I could to make the neck tight, but as the blade drew back and forth towards his windpipe, I found myself able to press back farther and farther.

“PUMPKIN! NO! NO!” Mouse shrieked.

I watched his eyes but, so I wouldn’t be seen as selfish, I turned his head towards the door so my friends could see. By now his neck had a large gap in it, and his screaming had been reduced to nothing but pleas, spits, and hacks, every cough bringing a spray of blood onto the grey-blue blankets and the fitted sheet that was only done up on three corners.

Of a bicycle built for two.

I pressed down on his face as he coughed, and held the knife tighter. I stuck the tip into his windpipe and dug it in hard, trying to find the sweet spot. I put some weight behind it before giving it a hard jerk and, sure enough, with a groan and a rush of heat, a pressurized stream of blood shot from his neck and sprayed across the room, coating my friends and leaving a mosaic pattern on the dingy carpet.

Satisfied and content, I watched Mouse die; his eyes bugged out, showing more white than colour. They were staring like a fish out of water and his mouth was opening and closing like one too. Open and closed, open and closed. A fish needed water but he needed air; I could hear the whistle-like wheezing from his exposed windpipe.

There was so much blood – it was everywhere. It was streaming down and coating the sheets, it flowed like a river.

It was so pretty! I wished Crow was here to see it.

When Mouse’s mouth had stopped gasping, I yanked his hair back and continued slicing.

“SAMI!” a horrified shriek pierced my ears, threatening to take with it my pleasant mood just from the sheer earsplitting sound. I looked up and saw a black figure in the doorway, its arms out like it was a monster but they were shaking with fear.

She was stepping all over my friends like she was Godzilla; her bare feet kicking them all around like she didn’t care that they were in the middle of a show.

Then she ran.

Immediately I jumped off of Mouse’s corpse and pursued her, the bloody knife in my hand and tuffs of Mouse’s hair in the other.

She was sobbing, wearing a pink tank top and Hello Kitty pajama pants. She was running towards the door, screaming and screaming. She tried to open the door to outside but it was locked, dead bolted locked. Another scream broke through before she turned around and looked at me, her large eyes wide like her brother’s had been and holding the same insanity inducing fear.

“Pumpkin, no!” Julia sobbed. She dropped to her knees, shaking her head back and forth. “Please don’t kill me, please. Please, Pumpkin, I don’t want to die.”

I wiped the knife with my sweatshirt sleeve and looked down at the red stains it was leaving on the thick fabric. Her sobbing was disruptive to the quiet milieu I had been enjoying. She was like a harpy screaming through the hallowed woods, breaking my much coveted silence.

I needed her anyways. I had use for both of them – everyone had their use in the world and she would be much better off with what I was going to do to her.

“Christ, Pumpkin…” Julia sobbed. I saw she was looking at my pants. I looked down too and saw my penis had become hard, my jeans outlining an obvious bulge in my crotch area. “What are you going to do to me?”

I smiled, and her face dissolved before disappearing into her hands. I knelt down in front of her and stroked her shoulder gently.

“I’m going to help my friends,” I whispered nicely. “You can come too. Everyone can come, Julia. Even Mouse.”

Then, in a swift movement, I drove the knife into her neck, right below the ear. The strength of the blow making her fall to her side and onto the floor, cries of shock sputtering from her lips. I held the knife firm and kept it in its place, pinning the side of her face down to the floor like I was spearing a fish.

She screamed and thrashed but only for a second, then her hands fell and her entire body started shaking. As she died I saw a wet patch form on her backside, and the smell of urine mixed in with blood.

I slowly and methodically twisted the knife imbedded in her neck, and was amused to see her arm twitch and jump from whatever nerve I had hit.

I looked behind me and laughed from happiness when I saw three of my stuffed animal friends had been able to see this show. I pulled the knife and stepped back so they could see. My boots stepping in the growing pool of red that was spilling from her wound like a forgotten bathroom tap.

Well, now it was time to get to work.

I grabbed Julia by her greasy hair, the same as I had done for Mouse before I was interrupted. I sliced through her neck and separated it from her body. It was easier than when I was a child. The spine was always the hardest part but if you stick the tip in between the vertebrae and wedge them apart you can twist the knife and use that as leverage to separate them fully. Once that’s done it really is just slicing through tendons which can be tough but if you have a sharp knife you’ll be okay.

I laid Julia’s severed head beside my collection of friends and finished the job with Mouse’s head.

I stepped back and admired them together. I always thought it was weird how different humans looked once their heads were cut off. Their facial features seemed to change, but I could still tell who they were.

I walked into Julia’s room afterwards and found her sewing kit. I took out the thick strips of leather, and with my knife in hand, I kneeled in front of Julia and Mouse.

Patches would be first, and the other one would be my penguin who I named Sir because he was wearing a little tuxedo. They would be my first friends and my main sentries, the others I would put in a bag and take with me.

I picked up my knife, with the strips of leather beside me – and I went to work.

It was eleven at night. The sun long concealed behind the mountains, not to be seen until the frozen hours of the morning. It was cold outside, and the smoky fog that surrounded me only made it appear colder.

I had never seen fog before. Only in movies had I seen the silver blanket rise from the ocean to wrap itself around the cities it had snuck into. It was ominous and beautiful, with its own unique smell that tasted like winter itself. I liked it and welcomed it, for it felt as if the world itself was trying to hide the dark transgressions that had gone on in the house behind me.

No… it wasn’t the fog trying to hide the horrors from the world. As I stepped outside, fearing nothing now, I realized the fog was a gift from the universe to hide me from the family I ran from. All of this was created for me, a thank you for the terrors I myself had gone through.

I had been patient and this was my reward.

Yes, I had been patient, though in truth I had a lot of work to do. I didn’t want to go outside in the daylight; darkness had to be my cover because it was in that same darkness that I had always felt safe. Night was my friend, fog was my friend. Tonight I was surrounded by friends.

I patted my satchel that had Barry the bear’s head sticking out of it, and slid the clown mask over my face.

Sir giggled beside me. I looked down at him and lifted the mask up.

“What do you find so funny?” I said with a smirk.

Sir shrugged. A little boy with yellow eyes sporting a tuxedo. One who loved to skip around instead of walking. “You look silly in that mask.”

“I think I look mighty fine!” I protested sliding it back over my face. I looked behind me and saw Patches. She was wearing her overalls and spotted long-sleeved shirt. She had beautiful blond curls, and her voice was soft and gentle; she even had red ribbons in her hair. I loved her already like a little sister. I would take care of that one.

“Are you ready too, missus?” I said to her.

She nodded but didn’t speak. Soft spoken and silent, I liked them like that.

I opened the door of the house and gave the entire area one last sweep of my eyes. Immediately the smell of gasoline and blood penetrated my nostrils, the sickeningly sweet and alluring scent soothed my heart and made my mouth water.

I picked apart every last inch of the derelict house before looking down and seeing the trail of gasoline-soaked rags that led to the doorway. There would be someone in Cypress angry that his gas was stolen but I’m sure he would get over it. It could have been a lot worse for him.

Confident that everything was in place I left the door partially ajar. Then I leaned down and touched the rags with my hand.

In an instant a burst of flame erupted from my hand and, like a ravenous, starved dog, it ate the fuel before venomously following the trail of rags in search for more. Satisfied at the flame and its path I closed the door and picked up the bulging pack that held my remaining animal friends.