Trying To Heal

Chapter Eleven

SONG: Eminem - Venom

❀

Derek Matthews

The frigid rebel of a riveting night, inaudibly sealing the doors, the right and left ends of the stupendous corridor are unengaged. The ceiling lights are flaring, the tint a mesmerising white like halos. I stride past the opened doors of the library, catching a stir of Luke hunched at the table, several laptops opened and frowning at a set of papers. The candle wax aroma, the soft thrill of music.

Tonight is either a permanent alteration or the momentary liberation of a hidden ego. Nevertheless, I feel no hesitation, no alarm and interrupting second thoughts. A part of me wonders if this is displacement to elude the candid reality. A part of me objects that this, presumably, could highlight the beginning of something new, something extraordinary, something abnormal ... Something that is crucial.

Cox organised the black combat gear. A cap. A padded, long-sleeved shirt and padded rousers. A belt equipped with combat knives, including Uncle Thomas's machete, that barely jiggle as heavy boots thunderously stomp the luxurious floors.

I cannot stop myself. My body is moving, cherishing a mind of its own, obliging instinct. The closure of the main doors strikes up my spine. A benumbing surrounding, Hamilton, Cox, and Simko are positioned next to Range Rovers. We scrape the freezing dead, the shadowed trees abounding and swaying and prancing.

In the passenger seat, Simko swivels their head to me, staring for a few seconds. I detect a glimmer of pity, of trepidation and ponders. They pass a plain, black mask to me.

I run leathered fingers over the metallic fabric. "You mentioned this will disguise my voice. Why do you even have this?"

"Your Mother used it," replies Cox. "When she wants to hurt someone, she would dress up as a man and have a man's voice to terrorise and murder. It is the same with your brother, too."

"Do you use something like this?"

"No," says Hamilton. "There are different job roles in the Azrael. We were assigned to protect you, to serve you. Others are assigned to help Luke and your Mother exert vengeance."

I settle the facade on my dark lap, absorbing the simple dents and curves and designs. Would this desire interfere with April's case? My Azrael ran over a thousand predictions, and discovered it is unlikely it would. However, that does not mean it is impossible.

What I intend to do is to entrap these rapists in their own mind. Pull the strings, force their brains to work for me. For the past couple of days, I was researching and reading hundreds of books in one sitting until the sun burned my dreary and sore sight, plotting a thousand techniques to wound, to create my own hell for the punished. Regardless if I told my personnel to not enlighten Luke, the Matthews Allfather figured and gave me his predecessor's diaries and journals.

Grant abused Mother, in the slightest and greatest method. He controlled what Mother should wear, how Mother should behave — essentially, patriarchal notions. It was not simply her, it was Grandma and Uncle Tom, too. Grant raped Grandma. Grant physically assaulted Uncle Tom if his son was not 'manly' enough or shedded tears. As mentioned previously, Mother stepped in and took all the hits, in order to protect her family.

Alexandra Everston's greatest enemy was her father. She tried to kill him more times than we could count, and each time she failed. Her childhood bottled up emotions. Her childhood forced her brain to dive into survival mode and submerge hidden memories, and so she could not remember much of the past.