UNORTHODOX | KAI PARKER

XV. DAMNED.

Chapter 15

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The darkness is encapsulating. The shadows of the hallways dance against the walls, the floorboards, with an eldrich fervour. Like ghostly spirits living in the walls— in a parallel universe similar to mine. Like shadows of purgatory.

The hallway. Lined with pictures of a happy family. A mother, a father, and three children. A two year old boy, a four year old girl, and the middle child. A three year old— hair shorter than the older sister, but longer than the little brother. Three brunettes, six earthly eyes. One set of eyes more incandescent than the others. Almost gold. The sight of the happy family makes me flinch, grip tightening and fingers flexing around the metal in hand.

Similar to the dancing shadows, red made it's home on the walls. Dripping from the highest point of the walls, down to the skirting board. Raining scarlet down amongst the silhouettes, like hellfire. The walls which were once tarnished with flames, crumbling to ash, now embellished by the sanguine life source. My eyes follow each stream of red, a warmth blooming in my chest at the sight. Hellfire suffusing from the plasterboard to my veins.

I stalk down the hall, predator hunting prey. The sound of my converse against the blood-soaked wood is like anodyne. Calming, hypnotic. A drug-induced cadence. It leaves an echo of a smile on my face. My feet meet the base of the stairs.

The landing stands tall and valorous at the top of the stairs, and my jaw locks. My competitive nature begging to hunt and defeat. I lift my foot onto the first step and a brush of warmth grazes my elbow. A hand. The electric ardour encouraging me forward. The familiar scent of breath blossoming against my neck, and I almost melt into the feeling. But not yet.

The vanquishing of the landing is simple, as my feet break past the invisible barrier of the top step. The reverberation of His footsteps close behind me. My heart accelerates. Because He's with me. Supportive, yet corrupted. Embolden, yet perversive. Pestiferous, but divine. A beautiful Reprobate.

The familiarity of the second-story hall makes my stomach bubble with disgust. The reminder of what could have been. What was ripped from my possession, because whatever She wants, She gets. My childhood now just an infinitely fading silhouette. Proof of my existence, of my life— burned to the ground and turned to ash. The extinction of memories is inevitable.

The bedroom door is decorated with an Etch-a Sketch. Two names messily scribbled in children's handwriting. The second name makes me cringe. The name of a dead person— someone who no longer exists in this life. Who was cut and ripped from his body like a tumor. Who metamorphosed into his legitimate self. My Malus Genius must have noticed my darkening demeanour, as the radiation of human skin is felt against my arm once again. Comfort. I dig the point of the knife into the wooden panel, and the door pushes open.

The hitch of a small breath is like an atomic bomb in the silence of the room. An exhale of humoured breath leaves my nose. Her age is showing. Only a being with a barely developed brain would find sanctuary in some place so predictable and cliche. I make my way over to one of the twin beds perpendicular to the far wall. Nose upturned at the pink, Disney princess bedspread. The blatant quintessence of innocence. The small, staggered breaths grow louder. My heart thumps with eager anticipation.

With a sharp cock of my head, the wooden structure flips. An embodiment of omnipotence. A shrill shriek leaves the tiny voice box of the four-year-old girl, curled into a ball against the dusty wooden floor. Her limbs flail as she backs herself up against the wall with whimpering breaths. Quite literally backing herself into a corner like a frightened animal. I lower my body, crouching down and becoming eye level.