Delphian || h.s.

4

She held the knife in her hands as she slowly and quietly walked up to him. He always looked so peaceful when he slept, his snores were barely audible out of his slightly parted mouth and his brown hair was all over his face, making him look like a small child. Unfortunately, that was going to change tonight. She knew if she could actually feel love, she would feel it towards him of all people. After all, he was the only who really gave a damn about her. He loved and supported her like no one else ever would, but he knew too much to be kept alive. She knew him enough to know that he wasn't comfortable keeping her secret, and that he wouldn't keep it for much longer.

She took one last look at him, brushed his messy brown hair out of his face before she plunged the knife into his heart. His dark blue eyes shot opened and he looked at her in horror for no longer than a millisecond before he died.

"I'm sorry," Sutton whispered as she walked away from Kyle's dead body.

I jolted awake, my heart beating so fast I thought it would burst out of my chest. I reached up and touched my sweat covered forehead, still stunned about the dream I just had. I'm not going to kill Kyle, no matter what happened. I would just have to make sure to keep this secret between Harry and me.

I tried to fall asleep again, but the off-white ceiling seemed so much more interesting to my brain than a dreamless sleep did. I sighed and got out of bed, grabbing my jacket and cigarettes on my way to the window.

The cold night air blew against my face, and I wrapped my jacket around me tighter. I guess that's to be expected when you sit on your roof at two in the morning in the middle of October. I don't know why it reminds me of Harry, the way the wind and the leaves fall to the ground. Maybe it has to do with the body he had yesterday, all covered in watery orange and black, fall colors. But the way the wind blew signaling that it was free and so was Harry. Not just free but free. He could do anything he wanted and be what he wanted to be without somebody breathing down his neck. He could do what he truly loved and nobody knew or even cared. Maybe, just maybe that's it, or maybe I'm overthinking it, I'm not entirely certain.

As the smoke escapes my mouth, I look at the sky. It's starless tonight, absolutely nothing to be seen except the full moon, just the way I like it. It's breathtaking. I'm content where I am.

For the first time since my mom died, I'm content where I am.

I lose myself for a moment before my heartbeats get faster and adrenaline runs through my body. Tomorrow is my first kill.  Harry had told me to meet at the river. From there we'd go into town and he'd teach me how to choose the victim.

Before I got too flustered, the wind blew against my warm cheeks, instantly cooling them down a couple degrees. I sigh to myself. All too soon, I am no longer content.

Breathing in the crispy air one last time, I return to my darkened room. I stare at the paintings on the walls, the ones my mother made for me when I was just a newborn. The corners of my mouth turn up slightly as I continuously gaze upon the framed drawing with a young girl's profile, the wind carries her strawberry hair back, and her eyes are closed in a blissful manner. She is sitting with her legs crossed in a meadow while holding a rose in one hand and a daisy in the other. The purple fabric of her dress sits loosely on her long, pale legs. I peek down to the bottom of the canvas and find the familiar name, Fiona, written in cursive. Automatically, I run my fingers over the name. Even after all these years, I still recall being picked up and placed on my mother's hip as she explained that the girl's name in the picture was Fiona, and she was very beautiful.

I shift my gaze to the painting left of Fiona and frown deeply. The Box King, as my mother called it, was the only one of my mother's paintings that I absolutely hate looking at. A huge brown leather cedar chest, coated with layers of grime, sits on top of an oak floor. It's surround by a massive amount of sheet covered objects, without them, they'd be buried under dust. The chest lightly shines due to the rays of light coming through the multiple windows. The sunlight makes the box's shadow look ten times bigger than it actually is.

I take in the sketch one last time before I knock it off the wall and onto the hardwood floor. The painting itself was fine, but the frame keeping it up shattered as soon as it hit the ground. Realizing what I did, I retrieved the broom out of the hallway closet and proceeded in picking up the glass shards. Before I could pick the first one up, I noticed a dark gray object sticking out of an opening in the back of the portrait. Without hesitating, I reached for the item and yanked it out of the back. I was utterly shocked when I held a key.

Confused, I examined the key in my hands, turning it over, back and forth. Why the hell was there a key in my mother's painting? I must have focused on it for a good ten minutes until I decided to find the source.

I glanced at the clock and smiled delicately. It was only two-twenty in the morning, the bar didn't close until three. I had forty minutes till my lovely father would return home, drunk, as usual.

Not wasting anymore time, I started with my room, trying every door that had a lock. With zero luck, I ran to my dad's room. The first thing I noticed when I entered the room was the smell, the walls were practically soaked in alcohol and cologne. The only things on the white walls are his framed military uniform and a picture of my parents on their wedding day. He looked completely overjoyed, I have never seen him look that way in my whole life. I figure his smile died with my mom.

Clearing away my thoughts, I hurriedly went through the whole entire house, door to door, closet to closet trying to find where the key belonged. Anything that had a lock on it, I tried more than once. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, it was going to be hard to find right away.

Defeated, I walked back into my room and laid in bed, thinking about what the key could possibly belong to. It wasn't until five minutes later when I realized that I forgot to check the shed. I threw the duvet away from my body, and I reached for the doorknob, but before I grabbed the handle, I mentally cursed to myself, it was three-fifteen, dad was home.

I would have to be quiet, but I'm the master of sneaking out. My feet tread lightly down the steps. I carefully pulled open and closed the door and sprinted towards the backyard. The shed seemed a whole lot more interesting now that I was actually anticipating something from it.

Trying not to make a sound, I grabbed the handle close to the ground and lifted up, the door opened with ease. Walking in, I scanned the room, looking for any signs of something with a lock.

A giant sheet covering the wall caught my attention. It looked familiar, but so do a lot of things in my eyes. I pulled the sheet away and my eyes nearly fell out of my head. There was a room, a huge room to be exact. It was my mom's painting, The Box King, down to every last detail, the cedar chest sat on the oak floor and the remaining objects were covered in dust. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the sunlight.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the cedar chest and placed the key in the lock. I really wasn't surprised when the chest opened. However, I was surprised when I pulled out photos of a young girl in a purple dress with strawberry hair, sitting with her legs crossed in a meadow, holding a rose and a daisy, and on the back of the picture, the name, Fiona, was written in cursive.

Author's Note:

I'm so sorry this chapter took months!
-Maddi