CRYPTIC | completed

09

Chapter 09 - DARK ISN'T OVER

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The laptop screen blackened once more, color bleeding back to show a webpage for designs. I scrolled through the page and stopped on a familiar photo. It was a darker photo, bloodied coins littered the dark wood floor of the photo. There was no caption to the photo, and the user was anonymous. I made a note of the site on a pad of paper.

I slid off my bed and went to the window. I peered outside. The sky was an inky black, hinting towards another storm in the night. I tucked away the files and notebook and laptop before letting myself drift into sleep.

* * *

A loud rumbling of thunder made me shoot up out of bed. I threw on a hoodie over my tank top and softly padded towards the window. Watching the rain outside was soothing, it reminded me that I wasn't in another nightmare. Just as lightning struck again, I heard a loud scream from inside the house. A memory flooded my vision, but I pushed it back. I hid my trembling hands in the long hoodie sleeves, praying they'd stop shaking.

I wish that memory stayed buried.

My eyes fixed themselves on the door. I steadied my breathing as something drew closer to me. I quickly reached under the bed to grab the knife I hid there. I grew thankful of taking it a couple days ago after breakfast. I erased the flooding thoughts and held the knife close to me.

The doorknob twisted, eerily creaking as it slowly swung wide open. A figure stepped out from the dark hallway. A flash of lightning lit up the room. All I could see was blood all over them. I couldn't see a weapon on them, I could only hope they discarded it. The large figure started to speak in a low voice, unfamiliar to my ears. It wasn't Luca.

"I doubt you could kill me with that. Your conscience retches at killing another."

"I made that memory die for a reason," I spat. I clutched the knife tighter for its false security. "Who are you?"

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the lazy smirk across his bloodied face. "You knew me, I know you." I feel the blood drain from my face.

He slowly stalked towards me. Fear throbbed in my veins, forcing adrenaline to begin coursing through my blood. I stood frozen as he drew closer. He walked around the bed and I bolted up and over the mattress. He thrashed an arm out to trip me as I slashed my knife at that arm. I landed on the ground and turned to face my attacker. I lashed at his stomach, feeling the blade catch, and withdrew. He groaned and I bolted out the door, slamming it shut and running down the stairs. I ran to the kitchen and screamed at the sight in front of me.

"Oh my God—" I dropped the bloody knife from my shaking hand. The body on the floor had every knife from the kitchen dug into her skin, giving reason to the growing pool of blood around her. Her eyes had been gouged, nails torn off, blood still dripping from her mouth. Her ringlet hair was blackened and bloody. Blood on the white tile was smeared into letters, his newest taunting.

HER BODY WAS WORTHY

I almost threw up when I realized who the body was.

Voices shouted around me, lights blinking on. My body wouldn't let me move. I could only stay on the ground, motionless, keeping my eyes on the dead girl's empty, bloody eye sockets. Poor Marcie.

* * *

Daxton had ordered for Ash to be moved to another room, far from the dead girl. How could the killer kill someone in his own home? How was he in and out unnoticed until Ash screamed? How was the girl—Marcie—killed and her body destroyed without anyone hearing it? Daxton regretted the pointless quarrels they had months ago. She was gone to visit her parents, but returned early and was now dead.

He once more looked over the pages he has already poured hours upon hours of examining.

He looked to one of the guards. "Go. Send your men to the westernmost side that we discussed. He is likely going to be there."

* * *

I sat in the corner on the floor. I let out the occasional cough, lifting an arm up to cover my mouth, but otherwise remained still. My numb mind and body could only shake and tremble. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. I didn't know Marcie well at all, but she was killed inside the house. Intentionally. Whoever it was deemed her "worthy" and mutilated her body—what was the message even supposed to mean?

I couldn't stop memories from replaying over and over like a broken record. All the years ago—I killed him.

I lifted my head and watched a young man draw closer to me. I knew the face, the name remained a blank in my numbed state. His lips moved but his words fell on deaf ears. I tried to focus on his words, eventually they processed in my head.

"You've gotten sick, Ash. This is a penicillin to help you get better, alright? It just goes in your arm."

I scanned the young man to try and remember him. I swore I remembered his eyes, bright blue and calculating. I nodded at him. He slowly walked closer and I felt a small pinch in my arm. He pulled back and walked away. I lowered my head again and let my mind, body, and soul try and mend themselves. It worked before, so why wouldn't it now?

I lost track of time sitting in that corner. I was still coughing, though I think my body just forced them to remind me that I wasn't entirely empty. Shoes clicked on the concrete floor. I looked up to see Daxton with a grim look on his face.

"We know where he is, Ash."

* * *

The young man held the bloody knife, ignoring the muffled screams behind him. He tossed the dead flower in a bin and placed the live one next to a photo of a girl. The girl's expression showed that she wasn't aware she was being photographed. She was staring, wide-eyed at a smoldering building. A man whose face he had blacked out in ink stood near her.

"You'll play right into my hands, love. If Luca doesn't do his job, I will kill him," he turned to the screaming boy behind him. "Now, what do do with you?"

He picked up the girl's photo and placed it face down on the flower. What she doesn't know won't hurt anyone, he thought. The young man dragged the knife along the wall beside him. He crouched down next to the screaming boy covered in blood. He dragged the bloodied knife across the boy's jaw, giving him slits on both sides of his mouth. He was screaming still, troubling music to the man's ears.

With an eerie grin, he sat in front of the boy whose blood slowly sputtered out on the dark wood. "Any last words, boy?"

The boy coughed, more blood dripping down his bloodied face. He slurred, "go to hell."

The young man let the knife in his hand fall into the boy's chest. The boy screamed; a tear fell from his eye as he drew a last, shaky breath.

The screams stopped.

~

< e n d c h a p t e r 0 9 >
DARK ISN'T OVER