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Pushing the door to the master bedroom open, I walk into the room placing my duffle on the bed. Unzipping it, I stare down into the bag.
“Vengeance is mine saith the Lord,” Mother says in my head. “You are the wrath of God. He made your whore cry. Now you must make him bleed.”
“Yes, mother.” I pull out my bowie first.
The weapon was a gift from Priest. Seth got his first Bowie early, but the rest of us got ours the day we graduated into being Deacons. The black leather wrapped handle fit perfectly in my hands. The worn leather was rubbed in certain spots over the years from wear. The blade is made of nine inches of carbon steel. It’s my favorite and I only pull it out for special occasions. Tonight was one of those occasions.
The water cuts off abruptly, gaining my attention. I take a seat on the side of the bed facing the bathroom door. He will see me as soon as he walks out.
I don’t have long to wait. The door opens wide and billows of steam float out causing the humidity to go up in the room. Andrew steps out with a towel wrapped around his waist. The music is much louder now that the bathroom door is open.
It takes Andrew a second to process what he’s seeing.
“What are you doing in my house?” He asks dumbly.
I spin the blade around in my hand, as I stare down at the handle.
“You made her cry,” although the words are coming out of my mouth, they sound like my mother’s voice. “No one gets to hurt her.”
I can feel the dark sinister voice trying to break free. He wants to come out and play. Even though my anger for Andrew is boiling over, I have enough sense to know that allowing that voice to come out will be bad.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Andrew shouts.
I cock my head at his tone, but don’t reply.
“I’m calling the cops.” He turns and heads to the phone sitting on top of his dresser.
I sigh, tossing the blade across the room. It lands in the center of his back lodging almost to the hilt.
Andrew groans and falls to his knees.
“Ahhh, fuck,” he cries.
Slowly, I get up and walk over to him.
“Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth.” I stand over his body and yank the blade out of his back. Andrew howls in pain. “Hand for a hand,” I say as I plunge the knife into the back of his hand driving the blade so deep it digs into the wooden floorboards.
Andrew screams as the smell of piss permeates the air. However, I silence the cry by rearing back and kicking him with my steel-toed boot in the mouth. The sound of crunching is preceded by him spitting out blood and teeth. He tries to speak, but the way his jaw is slightly crooked tells me he won’t be able to.
Kneeling down beside him, I yank the blade out of his hand. I then flip him onto his back. His bottom jaw hangs causing his mouth to sag open.
I stare into his eyes as tears slide down his face. He tries to speak, but his words are gargled.
“Please.”
I make out the single word he pleads. Begging will not get him out of this. Only his death will redeem him.
“She wasn’t yours to touch,” I explain. “She definitely wasn’t yours to hurt. Now the devil has come to collect his due.”
“I’m. . .” once again, I have to decipher the jumbled words he’s trying to say, “sorry.”
“Sshh,” I hum placing a finger to my lips. “Your repentance isn’t needed. Save it for St. Peter.” Placing the tip of the blade right under his left eye, I smile as I push forward.
By the time I’m done with Andrew, he is unrecognizable.
“Well done, Boy,” Mother praises proudly as I stare down at his mangled body.
It only took me thirty minutes to appease the darkness within me. I use the towel that was once wrapped around his waist to clean the knife. I place the blade back in my black duffle. Pulling out my phone I make a phone call.
