Torture to Her Soul
Page 91
Reaching into the center console, I pull out the small caliber handgun, carefully double-checking to make sure it's still loaded.
It's nearing midnight when I get out of my car and slowly make my way through the woods, watching my surroundings. No motion lights outside, I imagine, since the dog didn't trigger them. I'm thinking there isn't even any electricity.
That makes it tricky.
People take for granted the sounds that surround them. We tune them out naturally, but when they're gone, we miss them. They mask the unknown, and without that buffer, every creak and groan sounds grave and unnatural.
I approach the house, heading around the side of it. I remember the layout from the visit with Karissa. I head to where her old bedroom window would be, recalling her story not long ago about the windows. Her mother made a habit of nailing them shut, but Karissa rejected it and jimmied hers back open.
I try the widow, praying Carmela didn't catch it. It moves easily, barely making a creak. I haul myself up, careful to pull myself inside. My feet hit the wooden floor and I pause there for a moment, letting myself get used to the stuffy darkness.
It's deathly silent.
Once I've adjusted, I stand up, gripping the gun firmly as I stroll toward the door. It isn't latched. I remember. Karissa's bedroom door had always been broken.
I make my way toward Carmela's bedroom, my footsteps so light they don't make a sound. Her door is shut. I grasp the knob, testing it.
Unlocked.
I take a deep breath to steady myself, wondering if this is how Johnny did it, if this is how he felt when he broke into my house, when he killed my wife in the middle of the night. Did he hesitate outside the bedroom door? Did he even for a moment consider backing out?
Or was it easy for him, stepping inside, cocking that shotgun and destroying my life?
Shaking those thoughts away, I turn the knob and push the door open. It lets out an awful groan. The world around me seems to fall into slow motion while I still move at the speed of light. The noise echoes, everything around me crystal clear.
A dog growls nearby as the bed shifts.
Carmela sits straight up.
A second passes.
I stare at that familiar face, into those terror-filled eyes. A lifetime plays out around us, a world of memories and all those missed chances, the flood of what-could-have-been.
Could've been, but never will, because it's too late.
The chance is gone.
I raise my gun.
Another second.
I pull the trigger.
BANG
A single bullet rips right through Carmela's skull, dropping her instantly. I hesitated longer than she even felt it.
The growling turns to frantic barking. I turn the gun, pointing it at the mutt. His ears are laid back as he viciously bears his teeth, coming right toward me defensively. My gloved finger rests on the trigger.
I try.
I try.
I fucking try to do it, to pull the goddamn trigger, but I can't.
I can't do it.
"Fuck," I curse to myself, dropping the gun, abandoning it. The clank of metal against the floor makes the dog cower briefly. He whimpers before growling once more, terrified but protective, following me through the house as I head for the front door. I unlock it, opening it, holding it open for the dog to run out, but he backs away, staying in the foyer.
I consider leaving him there.
I almost do.
But I can't.
Again, I can't do it.
Karissa's voice echoes in the back of my head.
She loves him.
He's innocent.
On a whim I reach down and snatch ahold of the dog, lugging it outside with me. He barks and wiggles, frantic to escape my grasp. The second my grip loosens, he rears back, bearing his teeth as he clamps down on my forearm.
Pain shoots through arm and I instinctively let go. Shit. The dog hits the ground and I expect him to run, to escape, but he just stands there, growling some more.
Shaking it off, I do what I need to, improvising to ignite a spark, sending the porch of the house up in flames. I watch the fire spread, my thoughts drifting, a strange numbness running through me.
The affects of watching death used to linger for hours, making my fingertips tingle and my heart race, my body twitching as I tried to come down from it, but there's nothing today.
No euphoria.
No adrenaline.
Nothing.
My heart isn't racing. There's no life inside of me.
I'm a monster.
Karissa was right about me.
The only thing I feel at the moment is the throbbing of my arm and the stream of blood from the fresh wound running along my skin.
I can't believe the mutt bit me.
I save his life and this is the thanks I get?
I wait until the flames start sweeping through the house before I walk away. The dog follows me to my car, growling, trying to intimidate me. I have no time to dawdle, no time to waste. Someone will see the fire and call it in, and I can't be here when they come.
Nobody around here can know I exist.
Opening the back door, I snatch a hold of the dog and throw him in the backseat before he can bite me again.
Dr. Carter's once again half-asleep. He stands at his front door, blinking rapidly as he gapes at me under his dim porch light. "Another?"
His voice is gritty, full of disbelief.
He didn't expect to see me again so soon.
He thinks my body count has risen again.
It has, sure, but I don't need him for this one, just as I hadn't needed him when I killed Johnny. Ray would want evidence, tangible proof that justice was served.
It's nearing midnight when I get out of my car and slowly make my way through the woods, watching my surroundings. No motion lights outside, I imagine, since the dog didn't trigger them. I'm thinking there isn't even any electricity.
That makes it tricky.
People take for granted the sounds that surround them. We tune them out naturally, but when they're gone, we miss them. They mask the unknown, and without that buffer, every creak and groan sounds grave and unnatural.
I approach the house, heading around the side of it. I remember the layout from the visit with Karissa. I head to where her old bedroom window would be, recalling her story not long ago about the windows. Her mother made a habit of nailing them shut, but Karissa rejected it and jimmied hers back open.
I try the widow, praying Carmela didn't catch it. It moves easily, barely making a creak. I haul myself up, careful to pull myself inside. My feet hit the wooden floor and I pause there for a moment, letting myself get used to the stuffy darkness.
It's deathly silent.
Once I've adjusted, I stand up, gripping the gun firmly as I stroll toward the door. It isn't latched. I remember. Karissa's bedroom door had always been broken.
I make my way toward Carmela's bedroom, my footsteps so light they don't make a sound. Her door is shut. I grasp the knob, testing it.
Unlocked.
I take a deep breath to steady myself, wondering if this is how Johnny did it, if this is how he felt when he broke into my house, when he killed my wife in the middle of the night. Did he hesitate outside the bedroom door? Did he even for a moment consider backing out?
Or was it easy for him, stepping inside, cocking that shotgun and destroying my life?
Shaking those thoughts away, I turn the knob and push the door open. It lets out an awful groan. The world around me seems to fall into slow motion while I still move at the speed of light. The noise echoes, everything around me crystal clear.
A dog growls nearby as the bed shifts.
Carmela sits straight up.
A second passes.
I stare at that familiar face, into those terror-filled eyes. A lifetime plays out around us, a world of memories and all those missed chances, the flood of what-could-have-been.
Could've been, but never will, because it's too late.
The chance is gone.
I raise my gun.
Another second.
I pull the trigger.
BANG
A single bullet rips right through Carmela's skull, dropping her instantly. I hesitated longer than she even felt it.
The growling turns to frantic barking. I turn the gun, pointing it at the mutt. His ears are laid back as he viciously bears his teeth, coming right toward me defensively. My gloved finger rests on the trigger.
I try.
I try.
I fucking try to do it, to pull the goddamn trigger, but I can't.
I can't do it.
"Fuck," I curse to myself, dropping the gun, abandoning it. The clank of metal against the floor makes the dog cower briefly. He whimpers before growling once more, terrified but protective, following me through the house as I head for the front door. I unlock it, opening it, holding it open for the dog to run out, but he backs away, staying in the foyer.
I consider leaving him there.
I almost do.
But I can't.
Again, I can't do it.
Karissa's voice echoes in the back of my head.
She loves him.
He's innocent.
On a whim I reach down and snatch ahold of the dog, lugging it outside with me. He barks and wiggles, frantic to escape my grasp. The second my grip loosens, he rears back, bearing his teeth as he clamps down on my forearm.
Pain shoots through arm and I instinctively let go. Shit. The dog hits the ground and I expect him to run, to escape, but he just stands there, growling some more.
Shaking it off, I do what I need to, improvising to ignite a spark, sending the porch of the house up in flames. I watch the fire spread, my thoughts drifting, a strange numbness running through me.
The affects of watching death used to linger for hours, making my fingertips tingle and my heart race, my body twitching as I tried to come down from it, but there's nothing today.
No euphoria.
No adrenaline.
Nothing.
My heart isn't racing. There's no life inside of me.
I'm a monster.
Karissa was right about me.
The only thing I feel at the moment is the throbbing of my arm and the stream of blood from the fresh wound running along my skin.
I can't believe the mutt bit me.
I save his life and this is the thanks I get?
I wait until the flames start sweeping through the house before I walk away. The dog follows me to my car, growling, trying to intimidate me. I have no time to dawdle, no time to waste. Someone will see the fire and call it in, and I can't be here when they come.
Nobody around here can know I exist.
Opening the back door, I snatch a hold of the dog and throw him in the backseat before he can bite me again.
Dr. Carter's once again half-asleep. He stands at his front door, blinking rapidly as he gapes at me under his dim porch light. "Another?"
His voice is gritty, full of disbelief.
He didn't expect to see me again so soon.
He thinks my body count has risen again.
It has, sure, but I don't need him for this one, just as I hadn't needed him when I killed Johnny. Ray would want evidence, tangible proof that justice was served.
