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We ascend a rickety wooden staircase to the second floor office. Only one door has light coming from behind the frosted glass window on it, and I know he’s behind there. I know I have to face him, really face him. I chose this; Father Oliver gave me a choice on how to set the rest of my soul free and I agreed.
But even as the blood pulses through my veins with excitement and anticipation, fear lingers too.
You have to be strong, Diana,my conscience whispers.Remember how sweet the principal’s blood tasted, knowing you spilled it.
“Remember, you’re not only avenging yourself,” Thomas whispers, interrupting my internal monologue. “You’re saving countless other people, too.”
“I know. I’m … as excited as I am scared.”
“Good. Now, let’s finish this.” He bangs on the door. “Exterminator! We have an emergency cockroach problem.”
“Fucking Hell, you didn’t have to give me a damn heart attack,” Mike yells from inside.
Nausea rolls in my gut and my throat burns with acid. Lungs don’t want to work. But I have to be brave. Strong. I have to get my revenge.
He made me into this. Now he has to die with the consequences.
The door unlocks and seeing him — smelling him — this close up makes me feel sicker than ever, but I fight it back. Still ugly. Still fat. Still a monster wearing human skin.
Not for long.
He sees Thomas first, and Thomas lands the first punch before I can even blink, sending Mike flying back into the office, on his ass. He grapples for his chair, but it rolls away, and he flops to the raggedy wood floor.
Funny. He’s rich as Hell selling women and children, yet he lives like a pig.
“What the fuck is this?” he yells, trying to get up.
Do you remember those old toys, Weeble Wobbles? They were like eggs almost and you could hit them as hard as a tiny hand can and they’d never stay down, just roll about on their rotund bottoms.
That’s Mike right now.
“Hell called. They want their demon back,” Thomas says, stepping aside and shutting the door behind me, leaving me in full view of the man who nearly killed me.
His eyes widen and suddenly he’s able to scramble into a half-standing position.
“No. No. You’re dead. There’s no way you survived—” he stammers, cutting himself off.
“Survived what? The gangrape you got paid to hold, where my seventeen-year-old body was nearly torn apart from the inside on the last day I’d be a minor? Is that what you meantto say, you monster?” I challenge, stepping closer. “You thought you’d dump my body in an alley and let me die there like trash while you lived your life scot-free?”
“You’re not real!” he insists, shaking his head. “I took too much… It has to be…”
I step closer, kicking at him so he falls to the floor again while I unsheath the dagger. “I’m real. You know, at first, I wondered why God saw fit to save me, when I’d rather have died. But I understand now. God gave me a way to expel all of that darkness you and all those people raped into me. He sent me to Thomas, he sent me to the one person who would give me the clarity I needed to cleanse the world of vile, evil filth like you.”
He tries to backpedal, but he’s too slow.
I’d like to say I intend on ending this with one blow to his nonexistent neck, but that’s not true. I want this to go slow. Just a little. Enough so I know that he has died screaming and begging for mercy.
He never gave me any.
And he won’t be shown any.
My blade slices into his gut, about five inches deep. It’s smooth like butter; I barely have to exert much force. The acrid, coppery scent of blood permeates the air, as does urine.
He’s pissed himself in fright.
“What’s the matter? Isn’t this where you liked me? Between your legs? Or was that only when I was a child? Why are you scared now?”
Blood soaks the floor; I’m definitely stepping in it, but it’s so much fun to watch the terror in his eyes this close, I don’t want to move away.
