𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝟐𝟐. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐫 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

" January 20/1957

As the days pass my body is giving up on me, I am giving up on myself and on finding a way out of here. I tried multiple times to run, to save myself but nothing. I will rot in here, I will be forgotten in here.

I don't know how many hours ago he came, but he came. The cold look that reflected on his face gave me shudders. His hands were tightly closed around the cold surface of the metallic knife. He kept turning and twisting it as he was looking at me. He seemed to have no sense of humanity. His heart seemed to be made of stone, the way he had poisoned and killed that woman.

I will never forget the evil glint in his beady eyes. He was a monster, with no feelings at all. Our love meant nothing, our love was nothing. I was just one of his victims. He weighted the knife in his hand, it was no heavier than a kitchen blade but would cut on first contact even with minimum pressure. For some reason when he saw his reflection in the steel his eyes burnt with pleasure and satisfaction.

He dug into his pocket with his slim fingers and pulled out a wad of notes. Maybe he was keeping track on his victims, maybe it was something else. I will never learn. He wouldn't dare hurt me. I was waiting to tell him the good news after we would leave for Australia but now I had to tell him, only to survive.

I am pregnant.

I want this baby out of me. My heart is banging loudly against my chest as I am writing this, this baby is the only thing that is keeping him from killing me, this baby is the only thing that is keeping me in the world of the living. It is nothing else to me, it's just my ticket to get away from him, my ticket to save myself.

I can't have this baby. I can't raise a child with his genes. I can't let a child have for a father a killer, a monster that is torturing people. What if he never gets caught, what if he comes back searching for his child...

I will not let this happen, I will not bring into this filthy world a pure, sweet soul. I no longer fear death, only where I will go. I have sinned so much by making these thoughts, I would understand if the lord sends me to the pits of hell for the things I have thought. I no longer fear death because I have looked at death right into the eyes, I have seen the utter nothingness and blackness and I am not scared of that anymore.

I have seen his eyes, I have looked right into his soul. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I am writing this. My once sunny memories of me and him now felt as if they were tarred, disfigured into something awful.

I kept my gaze off him every time he came. I couldn't bare to look his way, because if we made eye contact I thought I might vomit. Disgust. Total disgust. The sight of him makes me sick from the ends of my hair to the nails on my toes. I don't come to hate easily, but I know evil when I see it. I know. It breaks me to give up on him more than he will ever know.

I will never look at him again. I will never whisper words of love to him again. I will never see him again...

Everyday he was bringing more and more bodies next to me, throwing them like they were nothing. He brought Lia, the child of my neighbor. In life, Lia had a ready smile and knowing eyes, in death she was ghostly pale, her lips already bluish, from her mouth, white fluid was running to the sides, she had been poisoned too.

The corpse was utterly still and more than slightly frozen. She had been dead for sometime.

No doors. No windows. No way out. Every minute hell. No light. No shadows. Just the colors of empty blackness. Though there appears to be nothing but open space around, I get the feeling of suffocation, like my lungs are caving in. I am trapped, imprisoned. There's nothing in this room but my own heartbeat and rancid breath. At times I have hit the iron chain around my leg with the ring on my finger just to hear something different, to make a tune.

I have a plan to escape. I know what I will do to escape from his ghostly hands, from his cold stare. Every now and then he unchains me and he is watching me shower. His mind is more twisted than I ever thought it was, but I have hope, I will escape.

I will grab the razor from his bathroom and attack him. I will do it, I have to do it. I must escape or I am good as dead. Maybe now his heart is showing some mercy because I am carrying his child but this will not go on for long. Not even a child can move him, he is a hollow shell walking around killing people.

All I wanted was to scream and cry for help, while I could feel his cold stare and his icy touch as he was pushing me towards the bathroom. In his intense silence I somehow wanted to scream with my whole body. My eyes were wide and cautious as he was piercing holes into my body while watching me shower.

My eyes wide with horror, my mouth rigid and open. With my fists clenched with blanched knuckles and my nails digging deeply into the palms of my hand until I could feel blood pouring out. When he would lead me again to the bathroom I will be ready. I will be ready for him..."

She was pregnant, aunt Grace was pregnant. How could she use her baby as a ticket to survive from his prison? She had become cold, she had seen death with her own eyes and her feelings were flickering between coldness and utter nothingness. It was as if I could hear her stifled screams echoing in my ears, she was desperate, she wanted to get out of there.

Aunt Grace was fighting her own battle, she was fighting against the man she loved more than anything. Her whole world had just vanished and she was all alone. Something needed to be done but I just hoped that everything would be okay.