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I drove the knife into another gristly part.
“Henri.”
I shook my head from the unwanted noise.
“Henri!”
I paused.
The smog slowly lifted.
I blinked.
“Henri…”
I gulped at that one.
Feminine, soft, afraid.
Ily.
The world slipped back into focus.
I gagged on the mess I’d caused.
Shoving away from Kyle’s corpse, I shot to my feet and glowered at the knife in my hands. My fingers thick with another’s blood.
Such thick, cooling, congealing blood.
“Put the knife down, Henri.”
That voice again.
Giving me orders when he had no right to do so.
“Put the knife down so you don’t hurt her.”
Ily’s hand landed gently on my shaking forearm.
My head snapped up.
I looked past her to Peter.
He sat upright in a thicket of tussock. Bloody hands on his thighs, pain carved deep into his face. “Please, please don’t hurt her.”
“Henri…you’re okay. It’s over.” Ily reached for the knife. “Can I have this?”
My fingers tensed but then relaxed.
Opening my hand, I presented it to her on my red-dripping palm.
But I didn’t speak.
I didn’t think I would ever speak again.
Animals weren’t allowed the gift of words.
And only an animal could’ve done what I did.
