Graced with the Touch of Death

I stare at the heavy iron door in front of me and take a deep breath in. On the other side is a man I've never met but despised for years. For how he left. For what he put my mother through. But most of all, what he turned me into.

My entire body is burning with anticipation and anger, and I find myself wanting to take my thick gloves off of my clammy hands. I allow myself the small favor and they fall to the cement floor. I have no need for them now.

To my right, my husband and his sister urge me forward, with what I think are supposed to be compassionate, loving smiles. I see right through them. I know they're afraid. What I can't see, however, is if their fear is for me or of me. I don't care, either. I feel nothing but anger.

I don't know why they thought it would be a good idea to bring him here. To think I'd even consider forgiving him is a stretch and I doubt he wants to see me. The effort is cute, but they need to understand that they can't fix what he did, no matter how hard they, or anyone, may try.

Finally, I'm ready. I give a small, curt nod and pull open the giant doors to reveal a small room painted a light cream color. There are no windows, no vents, no doors besides the one I'm peering through. No way out. It’s barren besides the bright red carpet, on top of which sits two black folding chairs. Only one of those chairs are empty.

He's not the large, powerful monster I'd imagined. Instead I’m faced with a small, wizened man with yellow skin that hangs off of him loosely, making him look closer to the age of 80 than still in his early fifties. I hate him all the same, maybe even a bit more.

He thinks he has it so bad, doesn't he?

As I take in his sad, sickly form, all of the burning hatred and anger I'd felt for the past 24 years of my wretched life comes rushing back to me in one giant wave. Slamming the doors behind me I cross to the chair left open for me, taking a seat and glaring into his sunken eyes.

"Listen, Katy, I-" he begins.

"Don't. Don't apologize, don't call me Katy. Just... don’t."

"Katherine, please. I know I don't deserve forgiveness but just... hear me out?"

"Hear you out? You want me to hear you out after you mess around with the devil, somehow managing to sell your soul but instead of living up to the consequences of your own stupidity, you make another deal passing along your curse to me! Me! A child that hadn't even been born yet! And then you leave without so much as an explanation! I don't think you have the right to ask me to hear you out. Do you even know the extent of what you put me and Mom through?"

"... no... I don't. After I left I never looked into the ritual's curse further. I thought about you every single day, Katy. I thought about your mother. I-"

"You don't even know what you did! Please let me explain, you put me through the feeling of not being able to touch anyone I love. I'll never know what it feels like to truly hold my husband's hand or touch my future child's face or... or anything! Out of fear of knowing that if I do, they'll die. Do you still think that it's not worth researching?" I snap back, hot, angry tears slip down my cheeks and I notice his own eyes begin to glisten. Good.

"Katy-"

"You don't have the right to call me Katy."

"You're right. I can't undo what I've done to you and apologizing won't fix anything but... can I just ask one thing of you?"

"What." I spit back.

"Can I please just have one hug from my daughter before you leave me to rot forever?"

I look at him with cold eyes. We both know exactly what he wants. The least I can do is give it to him.

I give a nod and we both stand to meet each other at the center of the room. He extends his arms and I walk into them. Eventually I raised my hands coldly and wrap them around his shoulders. There is no compassion in the gesture. As of right now, I am a woman on a mission. I feel his form slowly shrink down into a pile of dust and ash and I step away.

Looking upon the pile, I feel full. I feel complete. I've finally rid myself of my biggest demon.

I turn away and walk towards the doors, pausing as I rest my hands on them. He is not the first I've killed, he likely won't be the last. It is He, after all, who made me this way. But something about this is different. This was on purpose. This was intentional. This was anticipated.

This I do not, and never will, regret doing.

That is the promise I make to myself as I leave the strange, cell-like room, slipping on my gloves as walk down the corridor.

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Wow it's been a while! I doubt any of you guys care but I'm back to write more stuff. My life has been crazier than it ever has been these last couple months as I've been busy with AP classes, after school stuff like piano, and auditioning for everything I possibly can. All that aside, I'm going to try and write more. I have novels planned but in the meantime I'll be writing short stories like this to fill the gaps. Again, I doubt anyone will read this anyways but whatever.