Unity

Chapter 12 - The Murderer

April's POV

I blinked rapidly as the room around me began to waver in and out of focus. A grating noise sounded, followed by a dull thud as the corridor behind us sealed. We were trapped. The gas that clouded the small space was growing thicker by the second, obscuring the view of my companions.

Gradually the room dimmed and new faces shimmered to life in the fog around me. I was in a small, stone room, standing before a group of people. Their faces, at first glance, were unfamiliar, but I had to have seen these people before if my mind recalled their appearances. As my new surroundings clarified, I was made aware of the weapon in my hand. A knife, small, simple and razor sharp. I gasped as I realised the hilt was clutched in an offensive position, ready to strike. Somewhere in my mind I was conscious of a distant hollowness.

"Please ma'am, have mercy. We all have families at home," a middle aged woman begged.

"Mercy? For what your people have done?" A maniacal cackle filled the room. "Never!"

I recognised the voice, but I couldn't place the owner. Without any warning my wrist flicked forward and drove sharpened blade through the woman's chest. Blood oozed out when the weapon was removed. I gasped, but no sound left my mouth.

"Who's next?"

There it was again, the voice that was so familiar.
Wait a minute that was... that was my voice. Those were my words, but I hadn't spoken them.

"You," my hand lifted of its own accord to point towards an elderly man.

"Father!" A voice gasped.

"Perfect." I could feel the muscles in my face contracting, forming a horrific smile.

No! I cried out internally.

My feet dragged across the bloodstained floor, every step bringing the elderly man closer to death. I fought against the action. How was I being so completely heartless? This wasn't me. What was going on? My feet stopped inches from the man before my arm drove forward, twisting the blade painfully. I watched, horrified, as the life faded from the old man. Tears pricked my eyes; the man was innocent, and I'd killed him remorselessly. I was a prisoner in my own mind, helpless to stop the actions of my body.

The hollow feeling returned sharply, like a slap in the face, the absence of compassion as I committed these horrendous crimes. I had become that which I loathed; I was exactly like my brother.

This isn't real, I murmured, it's not me doing this, just a monster dressed with my face.

"Let's see... eenie, meenie, miney, you," the soulless version of my voice called, beckoning a small child forward. His terrified eyes stared up at me, tears leaving tracks on his face.

No! I can't do this! This isn't real! I struggled against the confines of my cognitive prison. My arm lifted against my will, knife glinting in the candlelight.

"Please don't do this!" A grown man pleaded, "That's my son. He's done nothing wrong!"

"You're right, but have you not learned anything from this ordeal?" My warped voice questioned. I stood and levelled with the man, pressing the tip of the knife against the pulse in his throat. "I'm not particularly merciful, so save your objections." An ugly scowl marred my face. There was genuine fear in the eyes of the man as I applied pressure behind the blade. The point pressed deeper and blood began to bubble up around the edge.

"Last words?" I whispered. The man paused for a second before spitting in my face. "Why you...!" I growled, driving the knife home.

Stop this killing! I pleaded, searching for the mercy I knew was somewhere in this hell.