The Wailing Woman

28. The First Life He Took Pt. 1

"Of course, your daughter—" My mother narrowed her eyes at Principal Daniels as she cleared her throat. "Is quite peculiar as every child is but Nora is having trouble getting along with the other students. She has..." Principal Daniels tells my mother all the terrible things a seven-year-old can do.

Cutting family drawings into tiny pieces. Sticking crayons up Charlie's nose. Taking the gum out from underneath the desk to place it on Beatrice's hair. And so on. I try to remove my hand from Refugio's hand but she has a grip on me. They both continue to listen to Principal Daniels.

I grab a pencil from the desk and drop it on the floor, it rolls over to Principal Daniels' feet. She picks it up and walks over to hand it over to me, my mother and Refugio forget who I am for a short moment.

My hand grazes her fingers. "Be careful where you step." Refugio yanks my arm back and my mother comes to block my face from Principal Daniels but I've already spoken her fate. My mother looks over her shoulder and I stare back at her, defiantly.

I'll do it again. They hurt me. You don't know what they said or did to me. Don't make me feel bad. But my mother looks at me strangely, like she is looking in the mirror. She knows what I'll become. She sees her daughter again.

This has been happening to me for weeks now. Suppressed memories—forgotten memories are sprouting and I can't remember how many seeds I've buried. But they all seem to be spoiled memories, they keep showing me how awful I am. I know I'm not a good person, I never claimed to be one but I tried for Refugio and my mother. But sometimes I—I don't want to be a good person.

For as long as I could remember and through these memories, I was taught to apologize from a young age. I'm sure I did apologize to my classmates and Principal Daniels. I'm sorry for cutting the drawing of your family. I'm sorry for sticking a crayon up your nose. I'm sorry for putting gum in your hair and making you cry.

I received no apologies in return for their cruel words and actions. I hid behind an unfazed mask of forgiving and forgetting as if they never hurt me. As I grew up, I learned it was in my nature to constantly be the one in pain.

I then started to apologize for what I heard. I'm sorry for hearing about your future death. I'm sorry I watched you die and did nothing about it. I'm sorry for crying. I'm sorry for screaming.

I'm—sorry.

The constant apologizing became a reflex for my tongue to spit out and now, I was sick of it. I didn't feel guilty then, and I don't feel guilty now. This trick I keep for others—for myself, it's false.

I don't feel sorry.

The cold wind passes as the leafless trees' old branches curl and crack like bones. My muscles relaxed a bit as I reminded myself the reason I came outside was for some fresh air. But my mind keeps getting stuck between the forgotten memories and what Edgar said about my father. He also said he knew my mother and he said he could make me look like her. Dead like her.

He was the dead one and yet, the need to stab him or inflict any kind of torment itched my fingers. But the fire swallowed him.

Unpleased, I turned my gaze to see something pleasing like the moon but my eyes became captivated by a tiny bird sitting on a dying tree branch. I have never seen a bird at night. I quietly take a step forward watching the little bird fluff its black feathers and turn its small head backward as they tuck its beck and slowly closes its eyes.

The bird looks so peaceful, so calm. I'm a bit jealous but the feeling is overwhelmed by my sudden urge to shield it from everything. The wind. The moon. Other animals. I didn't want anything to disturb the bird, so I decide to stay under the trees claws and watch the bird—

"Raven."

The bird opens their eyes, becoming alarmed by the two unwanted visitors, and flies away. Stay. I wanted the bird to stay. I can't have anything nice, I think as I close my eyes for a moment until I abruptly rip a branch from the tree and hold it behind my back as I turn to face Grimm.

He looked the same. Dreadfully handsome. Perfect.

"Bird watching?" He asks, teasingly.

I grip the branch tighter, keeping a neutral tone. "No. I was trying to scare the bird off."

Truthfully, I didn't want the revolting smell of a man who wanted me dead but the smoke quickly wrapped its scent around me. I now knew why Grimm always smelled like smoke and ash, his signature scent was Hell's fire. It made me wonder how many souls like Edgar he burned, his scent was strong, I thought maybe about a thousand a day.

Grimm nodded his head as he looked at where the bird sat. He stares at nothing but it seems he is somewhere else, somewhere far away. "You know, the first life I took was a bird. I believe it was a dove. The dove was slowly dying, its heart barely making the beats. I remember taking the dove into my hands and watching it flap its wings tirelessly. She was there too—Fate. She was curious as to how I would fulfill my purpose." 

He turns to me, empty and unreachable. "From one winged beast to a smaller one, I offered what little I could."

Then, the emptiness leaves his eyes as a new profound feeling settles, one that makes him starry-eyed. "I took the dove up into the air. The wind ruffled the dove's feathers and it quickly eased in my hands, feeling the last of the wind until the light it had left inside, diminished."

He gave the dove the feeling of flying again. He gave it familiarity, he gave the dove comfort. That's what he wanted to give the souls but Fate twisted him into a violent beast as well. She gave him the balance of good and evil. Kind and cruel. Blessing and curse.

As I looked at Grimm, I saw something else—the wish of wanting to feel the wind again, but with his wings.

"That's very thoughtful of you." I lamely said, but I truly meant it.

Grimm looks a bit surprised, but he masks it. "Well, everyone remembers their first kill."

I think he was expecting me to say something else, but I'm glad he told me something about himself. I didn't think Death would remember the first life he took after taking away so many.

I cleared my throat. "We can leave now, right?" We? I feel my insides recoil. I definitely meant to say I.

But Grimm doesn't pay attention to the mistake I made. Instead, he takes a step forward. "Yes, but I think I should let you, I won't be here for the next few days."