The Savages

Chapter 4: Edgar

Warning:
This chapter contains graphic content that may cause distress for some readers. Continue on at your own risk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He could never seem to stop himself, no matter how hard he tried. Blood always covered him from head-to-toe, splattered across his face and hands as a constant reminder of what he'd done. When he stared hard into the mirror, searching for any trace of a normal Rick Savage clone, all he saw was a soulless monster looking back at him, created to kill.

The voices of his victims never left his head, contained within the walls of his mind for him to hear on repeat for all eternity. He was tormented by their bloodcurdling screams for help, cruelly cut short by his own blade. They continued to haunt him at night, robbing him of his precious sleep. He lay with his eyes wide open each night in bed, unable to escape all the chaos happening inside his head. It was like an ongoing war with no end in sight; both good and evil fought valiantly and tirelessly, only for their efforts to ultimately mean nothing. There was a darker, more sinister force at play in the background wiping out every trace of humanity, compassion and self-identity he once held inside his heart. He was tortured on a day-to-day basis, yet no one seemed to notice or care.

His so-called brothers offered little stability in his never-ending nightmare, only seeming to take notice after he had done his damage - slitting throats, ripping out organs, stabbing hearts, skinning alive, breaking bones and on rare occasions, gouging eyes out. He hated it, but he couldn't stop. He was addicted to the thrill of watching the life leaving their eyes the moment their spirits departed from the world, mixing with all the trillions of others lost in the past.

Not even God could save him, for he was doomed to live through the curse he placed on himself the night he took his first life.

Now he sat on the windowsill inside his bedroom, waiting for the day to finally come when he would be killed for all his crimes. It was meant to be a celebration of Perseverance's third birthday, yet Edgar felt none of the emotions associated with parties. Where joy and happiness were supposed to be, bitterness and unresolved anger lay dormant, waiting for their chance to strike out at his next victim.

He glanced over the expanse of their backyard, catching sight of something which peaked his interest. One of the twins - he couldn't tell whom - had his arms wrapped around a young woman in her twenties, slow dancing with her under the faint moonlight. The way their bodies moved in almost perfect harmony suggested that both of them had more than just friendship on their minds, though neither were brave enough to confess their true feelings towards the other.

It shouldn't have, but it amused Edgar how people could remain oblivious to what was sprawled out in front of them, waiting to be claimed. He never understood how they fell in love so easily, not knowing each other that long in fifty percent of cases. He perceived love as a weakness, only used as an excuse to depend on someone else when life became too much to cope with. He would never comprehend how people gave themselves so willingly to someone else, when all they needed to do was focus on the more important aspects of their life and forget about finding 'the one.'

A firm knock sounded from his bedroom door, pulling him away from the only positive thoughts he'd experienced as of late. His anger piqued, he picked up his dagger resting on the drawers near his bed and threw it just as the door pushed open. The sharpened blade sliced through the air and sunk itself into the pine wood, missing Teemu's face by millimetres.

"Edgar!" He bellowed, pulling the dagger out of the door as if it were as light as a feather. "What have I said about throwing weapons, especially daggers? You could have sliced my cheek open just then."