Fan Fiction ❯ Finding Forever ❯ Part IX ( Chapter 9 )

I had dragged him inside. I wasn't nearly as strong as he was, but I managed. I was drenched down the front in his blood, the barbed wire snagging my clothes. I lay him in the bath tub, not wanting to permanently stain the bed mattress. For a while I was unsure what to do or think. I had graduated. I was on my own. Father had promised to take me out bar hopping tonight, clubbing underground all day tomorrow. He really had been proud of me. I was on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I had to find out who had killed him; who was responsible. I'd wait to go out tonight when the sun fell, when it was cool out, where no one would notice me. My only clue was the knife.

 

I sat, thinking of a plan, how to trace this guy down. I would use the knife Father had been killed with. I would clean it and see if any of the shops around town had any like that, if they had sold any, or if they could tell me anything about it. I'd find the man who had bought the knife, had it customized or bought off the shelf then I'd kill him. Yes, with his own murder weapon. I smiled faintly in the afternoon gloom, the rain clouds converging and starting to drizzle, heavily saturated with water. It poured. Thunder rolled, lightening cracked; the power went out. It was alright though; it was picturesque of my mood.

 

The night fell, as black as coal. The rain had died down to a steady thrum, enough to soak anyone if they stood in it for a good long minute. With forks of lightening silhouetting my frame, I felt my way to the bathroom. I froze in the doorway. I smelled blood still, and death, and I was frightened to try and locate the man's lifeless form, ripping the blade from his body, tangled in barbed wire, and probably cutting myself as well. Nonetheless I didn't want to wait until morning. Slowly, my hands traveling across the countertop, lightly touching the sink and toothbrushes and soap and hair bows and a razor, I found the empty space where the trashcan would be. Closing my eyes and scarcely breathing, I reached out to feel the porcelain tub side.

 

I was blinded, I felt, by more than the storm. Breathing, or trying to at least, I tentatively stretched a trembling, groping hand. I made contact with Father's cold, stiff body, his features forever frozen in a grotesque form, unrelenting. Fingers brushed past his face, his hair damp even, still drying with blood, and it made me choke to envision his marble blue eyes, a clouded, glossy white, shining back with an empty stare, a half grinning smirk, blood dabbing at the corners. Steadying my breathing, my hand fell lightly over the front of my father's body, down his torn and bloodied clothes, pricking slightly on the barbed wire in my hastened search. I felt trapped within an enclosed place but only because of the darkness. I could have been in an open field, but if it was pitch black, I'd be trapped in the small foot by foot square in which I stood. It wasn't a comforting thought.

 

I located the knife, the barbed wire keeping it held in place. I knew there were gloves somewhere in the house, but they'd snag on barbed wire and complicate things, so I used my bare hands instead, tearing the flesh of my fingers and mingling my blood with Father's. I worried if it'd affect my playing the piano. Wrenching the knife free with some difficulty, I stood from having crouched, the weapon wielded in one hand. I felt as though I had killed him. Trembling, I crawled back into my room, throwing the knife on the dresser and flopping down on the bed, my hands to my head as if I had a headache. I felt nauseated, the rush of blood pounding in my head, stomach churning, filmed with a cold sweat, my digits tingling as though they're asleep. I blanched. I'd seen death, I'd witnessed killings, murders. Why did I feel sick now?

 

`I've felt it. Dead. Not death, but someone already claimed by the Reaper,' I reasoned, my breathing slowing from erratic to relatively normal.

 

“Escape.” I stood, wavering, stumbling out the door, grabbing the knife absently as I passed. Lightening flashed continuously, thunder rumbling, overlapping as the sound waves met, making it seem as if the storm was much closer, much larger than it actually was. I found the kitchen in semi darkness, black shadows complimented by tones of grey glow emanating from the window over the sink. I gripped the counter, my vision spinning momentarily. I turned on the faucet, the cold water ringing in my ears, waking me from my mesmer. Blinking, cupping my hands under the chilly water and splashing my face, I first thought I might drown myself, but that cleared.

 

I cleaned the knife using Dawn to erase any hint of my fingerprints as well as the murderer's. I felt numb but I wasn't one hundred percent sure why. The storm battled on fiercely, battering the house like there'd be no tomorrow. For me, there wouldn't be. Since I had seen my father, lying dead in the bed of his truck, time had stopped. It was on pause and it wouldn't begin for a while now. I waited, draped over the couch in the den by the front door, searching as if awaiting my prey which I'd pounce on mercilessly, tearing them to bits, and savagely abating my thirst for blood.

 

`Punishment,' I thought greedily, a smile tainted with sadism tarnishing my look of forlorn, `will find them.'

 

As soon as the morning dawned in grey mist, birds shaking themselves free of rain water, twittering about with a fresh start on the day, I slipped on a coat, wrapping the knife in cloth and carefully tying it with a string, pocketing it, and obscuring its bulk. Heading out, the morning was cold and wet; I was sloshing through ankle deep water. I contemplated taking Father's pickup but decided against it. A pool of bloody rainwater would seem odd. Wandering down the dirt road which was now mud, I met the one way paved road which was ten miles to town, but if I kept a constant, brisk pace, I'd make it in just over and hour and a half. Nothing exciting happened on the road other than a few early morning cars that zipped by. The sun rose, sneaking into the sky behind a disguise of clouds, peeking out every now and then with cold, burning eyes. By the time I was at the outskirts if town, the sun had showed itself, finally deciding to warm its baby.

 

It made me think of how I used to be told stories of how the earth and the other planets came to be. That led to the thought of why the sun had drifted. It was because of the other planets, but the earth had gotten sick, and reapers were born under the shadow of the new moon. I opened the door to Smith & Winston's Arms and Weaponry.