Blood Diamonds

Chapter 20

Sacrificium

"What's your name?"

"Mary," the girl responded bashfully.

Charles Smith pondered this for a second, before a sly grin spread subtly across his face and a cunning glint lit up his eyes. How uncanny that she carried the same name.

The girl thought nothing of this mischievous look and assumed it was his flirtatious way. The boy was probably being suave.

"Mary, hey?" Charles responded, obviously trying to chat her up. "That's my mama's name."

"Mr. Smith," the science teacher scolded from the front of the class, "I know you feel you're beyond the intellect of this class but please show some respect for those willing to learn."

"Sorry, Mr. Riley. Won't happen again," Henry assured his irritated teacher with a smirk and tried his best to show interest in the lesson. He was beyond the intellect of the class. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to play along. The science teacher glared at Henry from behind a pair of thick, square-framed spectacles for a while longer before continuing to drone on in his monotonous tone about whatever they were studying. These overprivileged Smiths were way too influential and thought they owned the city, he thought.

Henry stole a quick glance at the girl named Mary, sitting in the row of desks next to him, once his teacher's back was turned to the class to scribble some notes on the chalkboard. "I'll see you after school then, Mary?" he whispered. She nodded sheepishly, giggling internally with her auburn curls bobbing innocently and enjoying the attention the richest boy in the school afforded her.

That was the beginning of Mary Bradshaw's love affair with Henry Smith; now it was the end. Don't worry, Mary, it will be over quicker than you think, my love, Henry thought to himself as he knelt beside the terrified girl who lay sprawled on her back with wrists and ankles tied to the wooden pegs, which were securely anchored to the hard ground. He stroked her dirty, sweat-riddled hair affectionately. Trying to verbally soothe her was impossible thanks to his tongue recently being severed completely off by his mother. Mary looked at him with manic eyes, utterly terrified, not even trying to make a sound through the cloth that was stuffed cruelly in her mouth. Her eyes glazed with emotional tears of sorrow, silently pleading with him to be merciful and to not harm her. Henry wondered why she didn't try harder. Surely, they all screamed in the end?

The ceremony was in full, tumultuous swing. Mama shrieked to the heavens, at the blood moon amidst the screeching storm and night creatures that swirled about, adding to the chaos.

It will all be over soon, my darling, Henry repeated in his head, getting more and more frustrated with the fact that he couldn't speak. The 'Blood Moon Rite' was essential for his family's survival. He doubted it benefited him much though because usually the woman were the rulers and decision-makers commanding the men to do their dirty deeds, hence his apprehension and constant rebellion. The Smiths were predators of the weak, taking innocent lives to feed their devious lifestyles.

Henry thought fondly of how he had ensnared Mary. He had no true interest in the girl (considering her to be a dim-witted fool after excitement in her life, which she eventually got, albeit lethal). Although, he did pity her, but merely did what he had to fulfil Mama's dark wishes. He thought of that night, about ten months prior, when he took her to the cabin with a group of friends and they consummated their relationship in the dark shadows behind a large cedar tree. He knew at that moment that he had her. He felt no desire to kiss the nape of her neck, making her moan with pleasure. However, the moaning did make the process more enjoyable and it spurred him along to lean in more forcefully and kiss her roughly. It was a delight, a game; the sense of control he held over the girl dangerously intoxicated his senses. The women of the family treated him like low-level trash, as if he were just a slave; having such control over another, even if it was limited, made him feel so good.

Henry's mind wandered back to that moment in the woods, which seemed like eons ago but was in fact a very recent incident. When he stuck his fingers between the girl's thighs and clawed seductively at her privates, the movement was mechanical. While she gasped, begged for more and gripped his body with tight clutches as she leaned against the tree, he on the other hand was a mechanic at work, a possible robot, doing what was necessary. Even when he eventually shoved his throbbing manhood into her, the two of them alone among the dirty leaves and chirping insects, the action was akin to fixing a much-loved car; satisfying for the sheer thrill of doing something that brought him great joy. He received an electric thrill with each and every thrust of his adolescent hips and every jubilant cry that escaped her lips. Once he had finished off, the moment was over. Gone. All excitement drained in his seed, the very same seed that would soon make him a father and continue the mystic bloodline.

Don't fret, my beloved, you'll be free soon. She finally whimpered from where she lay, frantic beneath his cold touch on her forehead. They were silent, comfortless words that he thought. Their love affair started with her pinned, fully clothed, to a bristly tree, and ended with her pinned to a dirty mound of barren earth. Mary Bradshaw, of course, did not make it through the night; she would never see her daughter, Diana, again.

After the disappearance of the seemingly innocent new girl in town, the motherless child was soon put into the child protective service system, her only known relatives having died in a freak car accident shortly after the lunar eclipse. How tragic, everyone thought; what rotten luck for the family, not that Mary's estranged parents wanted anything to do with their illegitimate grandchild. Instead they denounced their only daughter as a failure in life and forced her to fend for herself and her child, exiled from the family. Diana was a mistake to the Bradshaws, therefore they thought it best to distance themselves from the child's life and cut off any communication with their daughter soon after she fell pregnant and refused to opt for adoption.

Some within the district who knew of Mary's involvement with the Smith boy, including the apprehensive authorities, were particularly suspicious of the missing girl's lover. What could they do without proof or hard evidence? The girl could have run away, afraid to take on the daunting mantle of motherhood. That theory was plausible and surely happened more often than everyone thought.

Nevertheless, there was something oddly eerie about Henry Smith, who handled the situation too calmly when questioned. Maybe the poor boy was in shock. He was close to the girl, after all, and very possibly the unexpected father of a motherless child; a child who floated forlornly through the foster care system, eventually ending up in the local orphanage, never to encounter her maternal family.