I tried twice to get the book to reveal its secrets to me, by cutting my wrists and letting the blood cover the pages, but it became clear that one persons blood only worked once. I was going to need someone else's to see what else the book held.
I didn't tell any of this to the Harmons or Tate, who would no doubt tell me to let it go. But my mind raced with ways to get what I needed, and the more I thought about it, the less guilty I felt.
I came to the conclusion that no one would willingly give me what I needed, I'd have to take a life. There was a part of me, a part growing quieter as time ticked by, that said murder was wrong, but the other part of me wouldn't let the idea go.
It became a constant on my mind, so much so that it was hard to focus on anything else.
"You've been acting weird." Tate commented, about three days later. His facial expression was one of worry, and he reached out and cupped my cheek. "What's going on in your head?"
I smiled at him, and still I could tell there was a part of him that seemed to sense my soul's growing darkness. "Nothing." The lie rolled off my tongue with impeccable ease.
Tate gave me a look that said he didn't believe me, but he didn't push the subject. After that, he didn't spend as much time with me. I knew he was around, I knew all of them were around.
I could sense them looking at me, waiting for my next move.
And then a day or two later -I started losing track of time- a relatively young policeman came to my door, he had another set of questions for me, pertaining to the cases of the bodies I'd 'found' in the yard, and the missing policewomen.
I let him in and we sat in the living room, him on the couch and I on a chair across from him.
I barely registered the questions he asked, for as soon as I'd let him in, there had been a whisper in my mind.
'Kill him. Use his blood for the book.' It started as a soft whisper, but grew increasingly until it was a shout within my mind; drowning out all else.
I smiled politely at the officer, nodding my head as he spoke, while in my mind I was wrestling to beat down those thoughts.
•••
"What the fuck did you do?!" Tate's outburst of shock drew me back to consciousness.
I blinked a few times, wondering if I'd fallen asleep. Tate stood in front of me, he looked angry. I rubbed my eyes to wipe away the sleep, only to feel the smear of something wet across my face.
I brought my hands in front of my eyes and stood in shock for a second as I stared at them; they were bloodstained.
Slowly my gaze moved around me and my heart stopped for a moment as I took in the gore. There was blood and flesh everywhere; and in the centre of it all was the book. I stared transfixed, the pages slowly filled with letterings.
Tate grabbed my shoulders in a hard embrace and gave me a strong shaking. I tore my gaze from the book and met his eyes. His was a look of rage and worry for me, for what I'd done, but hidden beneath that, I could see an almost perverse pride for my actions. He fought it, but I could see the monster in him taking pride for my kill, but the boy in him, the part that wanted to love me, was panicking.
"Dammit, Fox! What did you do?" He begged the answer, but I couldn't give him one. I knew what I'd done, but I didn't remember.
I'd committed murder in order to bathe the book in blood. Looking down at my clothes, I'd even come to the realisation that I'd practically bathed myself in the red liquid as well.
"I'm sorry." I whispered in reply, half of me wondering why it was just us in the room, where were the Harmons?
Tate shook his head and pushed me away. "No. You're not." He sounded disgusted with me, but I could read him better than he could read himself right now.
Tate was complex; there was bits and pieces of him that wanted to be normal, innocent even. But that was the sheepskin that the wolf wore. The real Tate, the part he'd hidden so long that he sometimes forgot it existed, the real part that came out in bursts of murderous violence, that Tate was a monster.
And the Monster was proud of me. The Monster could fall in love with this twisted thing I was becoming.
But for now, there were other things I had to do. So Tate's disgust went without reply as I picked up the book, the letters were fading already; if wasted too much time talking, too much time being out of it, to have gotten to read anything.
I grit my teeth and let out what could, in that moment, only be described as a growl.
All that blood, gone to waste!
I looked to Tate, who seemed to be backing out of the room.
"Help me." I told him, and he shot me a concerned look. "I need more blood."
Tate shook his head, denying me. "No, Fox. This isn't you! You need to forget the book."
I growled and tossed the book onto the couch. "I can see it in you. You'd get so much satisfaction from it, from the kill. You've killed before, Tate. Do it again, do it for me!" I held my arms out for him, and he fought with himself internally.
And finally I saw it, the Monster won. The wolf tore off the disguise.
Tate the boy and Tate the monster looked absolutely the same. Except for the eyes, you could see all the malice and hatred for the world in those eyes.
As he stepped into my embrace, I looked into the Monster's eyes, and briefly I wondered if the gateway to the pits of hell were that specific shade.
AN: Sorry this update took so long~ I hope you peeps like it, I've got more things comings!
8D
