Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
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Then
I woke up.
Panic filled me when air was inhaled into my lungs and dry coughs escaped my lips. I checked for feeling, any missing limbs after jumping off the Empire State Building. However, there was nothing of a sort.
I couldn't die. Meaning...
Isabelle couldn't die either. And I had buried her.
I didn't remember all that much after my waking. Only that I could hardly breathe, I felt like my mind was imploding on its self. Questions of what Isabelle was doing filled my head.
It takes a human a week without food and water to die.
She's died of starvation at least twice. It would take two days to get back to Portland. Two days to dig her up.
What will she look like? I can barely handle the thought or image.
Therefore, I didn't even bother to pack, I was already in the car, already driving back toward my problems. With her shadow haunting me all the way.
No longer was my hallucinations of her covered in the sickly, sweet red. She was thin, her cheeks hollow and her eyes dark. The dress I had put on her was hanging from her frail joints. She looked like death personified and it was my fault.
