The Whistler In The Night

Chapter 36

The morning light slipped through the thin curtains, casting a dim glow over the room, but the haze in my mind kept me from understanding what I was seeing. I felt something cold and heavy in my hand, but as I blinked away the blur of sleep, the weight became clearer—sharper.

A knife. My hand was gripping the handle, my fingers stained dark red, the blade slick with drying blood. I dropped it instinctively, the clang echoing through the stillness.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. The metallic tang filled the room, and a horrible realization clawed its way into my chest, squeezing tighter with every second. I looked down, frozen, and saw Scarlet. She was lying there beside me, motionless, her skin far too pale. Blood pooled across the bed, staining the sheets, spreading from her chest, her sides—God, there was so much blood.

"No... no..." The words were barely a whisper, trembling in the silence. My body was leaden as I reached out, touching her face, feeling the icy chill creeping across her skin. I tried to shake her gently, my voice cracking, breaking as I spoke. "Scarlet... please, wake up. You can't... You have to be here. I need you..."

Nothing. Her eyes stayed closed, her lips parted but silent, breathless. I traced my thumb over her cheek, feeling the softness that was slipping away. I felt the sob rising in my throat, burning like fire, but I pushed it down. This couldn't be real. She was too strong, too vibrant to be gone like this. I pulled her into my arms, pressing my lips to her forehead, desperate for some sign of life, some miracle that would make all this disappear.

"Scarlet, please. I can't lose you. I'm nothing without you." My voice barely held together, and my hands shook as I cradled her close, hoping, praying that I'd feel the faintest heartbeat, any warmth at all.

Tears streamed down my face, falling onto her still cheeks, mixing with the blood that stained her skin. I brushed her hair back, my hands trembling uncontrollably, my breaths shallow and jagged. I didn't know what to do. This was beyond anything I could comprehend, and the guilt clawed its way through me, searing every nerve. The knife had been in my hand. The blood on the sheets, on her body, was because of me.

I staggered back, my vision blurring as I took in the full horror around me. The entire bed was soaked in red, the sheets a sickening reminder of what I had done. I fell to my knees, burying my face in my hands, but I couldn't unsee it. The scene replayed in my mind in flashes, and with every beat of my heart, the reality crushed me more, hollowing me out from the inside.

"No, no... This isn't real. This has to be a nightmare." My hands dug into my hair, pulling, anything to break the spiraling panic. But as I opened my eyes, I saw the truth staring back at me in the form of that bloodstained bed, the lifeless body of the person I loved more than anything in this world.

I forced myself to look away, needing something to ground me. I grabbed my phone, my hands slick with blood, and dialed, but who could I even call? I hovered, my finger above the screen, my mind blank. The cops would never believe me—fuck, I didn't believe me.

My hands shook as I dropped the phone, feeling as though the room was closing in on me. I was drowning, choking on my own sorrow and guilt, the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest with every second. Scarlet was dead. She was gone, and I was to blame. The horrifying realization ripped through me, breaking me to my core.

I crawled back to her, taking her hand in mine, clutching it as if the pressure alone could make her squeeze back. But her hand was cold, limp, her fingers lifeless. "I'm so sorry, Scarlet," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry... I never wanted this. I never wanted to lose you."

Her face was calm, almost peaceful in the stillness, but the sight shattered me. She'd trusted me, been with me through every horror I'd endured, loved me through all my broken pieces. And now, because of me, she'd paid the ultimate price.

I pulled her close one last time, resting my head on her shoulder, letting the silence swallow me whole. My tears fell freely, each one a mark of regret, of love, of the pain I couldn't even begin to express. I rocked back and forth, holding her, feeling the warmth drain from my body, as though my own life was seeping out with hers.

The minutes passed in a blur, each second stretching into an eternity. I stayed there, motionless, trapped in this hellish reality. There was no escape, no way to bring her back. And for the first time in my life, I felt the overwhelming weight of the darkness I'd always feared—only now, I realized that it had finally won.