Finding Lily

18- Lily

I pounded on the bag until my knuckles bled. It took a while with how calloused they had become. Daniel said it was the best way to toughen them up. Whenever I used my knuckles against someone's face, he said it wouldn't hurt as much.

The idea of hurting someone still didn't sit well in my stomach. My mother had raised me to be gentle and kind. To love every being that walked the earth. Sometimes, I considered walking away from it all. I knew where Daniel kept the keys to his truck. I could take off in the middle of the night, leaving it all behind to start anew.

But I couldn't. For some reason, I wanted to stay.

"Come with me." Daniel came out to watch me for a moment before leading me over to the storage shed. I hadn't once stepped foot in the small wooden building and had no idea what was in it. I rubbed my knuckles to soothe them as he opened the creaky door. In the middle of the room, surrounded by shelves of tools and yard supplies, was a man tied to a chair.

When he saw us standing in the doorway, he let out a grunt. Duck tape had sealed his lips shut. His eyes were wide and he kept them focused on me, the girl, the one who he assumed had less reason to hurt him.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"This is Ian Petrov. He killed his wife and kids two years ago and has since eluded capture from the police. He tortured them first. He stabbed them each sixteen times before walking away like nothing happened." Daniel explained.

"What..." I was speechless, looking around the room, wondering if this was some sort of game.

Daniel held out a knife and waited for me to grab it. The camp knife was maybe five inches long with a silver blade and a dark wooden handle. I hesitantly wrapped my fingers around it and looked up at him, feeling like a confused child waiting for her father's orders.

"If you want revenge, you need to kill this man. Do it for the family he slaughtered." Daniel shoved me forward and closed the door behind him, locking me in. I looked down at the knife again, then at the man sitting in front of me. He was a skinny guy, arms skinnier than the twigs I cut down in the forest yesterday.

He was saying something through the tape. I couldn't understand it. I didn't want to. His wide eyes conveyed enough fear to tell me exactly what he was saying. He didn't want to die.

I heard something slide under the door so I turned to look at it as my heartbeat increased. It was a picture of Ian Petrov's victims. I almost vomited at the sight of so much blood. It soaked their torn up clothes, covering everything. Their faces were the only thing he hadn't touched. I looked at the woman, his wife, at her lifeless eyes and the hair that was fanned around her head.

"Did you do this?" I demanded, holding the pictures up in front of the man's face. The look of remorse that passed by was enough of an answer.

Images of Jane attacked my brain before I could stop them. Instead of letting it cause grief or pain, I used it to make me angry. I threw down the photos and stood behind him, positioning my knife in front of his neck. He whimpered in pain.

If I did this, I couldn't go back. I would become my father. Cold, heartless, a killer. What other choice did I have, really? There was no love left in my life. No home. No reason for even living. Revenge was my only purpose. And if I had to kill a bad man in order to achieve it, I would.

Without another word, I slid the knife across his artery. As blood spilled onto the floor, I stepped back, stumbling into the workbench. I held back vomit and forced myself to look at him.

When his body stilled, when blood stopped spilling from the wound, I stood up straight and walked out of the storage shed, leaving Daniel behind. Then I went to the sink, washed my hands, and felt every last bit of weakness leave my body.