#knife lady

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The house had seen a revolving door of relatives and friends passing on their condolences to him and his mother. He’d received them graciously, as graciously as he could when slightly buzzing from painkillers. He’d withstood their hands on his shoulder, gritted his teeth against their raised eyebrows when he refused to shake hands. Nevermind that it sent agony shooting through his chest when he moved, or tried to move, or thought about moving. Nevermind he’d been bedbound for the first eight days of his recovery, unable to do so much as lift his head without feeling like he’d been shot all over again. Nevermind that it was his father who’d been murdered, slaughtered in front of his eyes like prey. They had expectations of him, and he was being disappointing.

His mother swept into the room, her eyes sparkling like he hadn’t seen since… He winced. He couldn’t go an hour without some crushing realization that something was happening without his father, and the fact that he’d never be there for him again. He sat up slowly on the couch, face twisting as he shuddered against the pain. “Hey mom,” he rasped. “What’s up?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Her lips curled up into a smile that looked almost happy.

“Great.” His voice was flat. “What is it?”

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” She offered her hand to him.

He looked at her hand, then up at her. “Is it ok if you bring it to me? I’m…really hurting right now.”

She pursed her lips at him, mild annoyance coming through in her eyes. “No, darling. Come on. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

He hung his head in supplication. “Ok.” He took her hand, groaning softly as the pain crescendoed in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and stood still for a moment, blowing out a slow breath as he waited for it to fade again. He blinked his eyes open to see her staring expectantly at him. “Ok. Let’s go.”

She led him through the kitchen out the back door and into the yard. The house was small, more like a cottage than anything else. But Gavin had asked specifically to stay there for his recuperation. Out of the way. Away from other people. So I can relax, be by myself. She led him across the small yard to the small work shed that held the tools the help used to keep the property perfectly, imperfectly manicured to resemble the quaint wilderness-feeling that some cottages in the country had. He looked at the ground as they made their way to the door.

She turned back to him and clasped her hands under her chin. “I know it’s still early in your recovery,” she said, gazing at him fondly, “but I really think this will help you feel better. Get you feeling more like…yourself again.” Before he could ask her what she meant, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Gavin’s eyes went wide as he realized what exactly she had meant by a surprise: there was a young man tied to a chair, gagged, and looking absolutely terrified.

He turned to her with wide eyes. “Mom…”

“I know, I know. Maybe a little early for this. But…” Her hand went to his cheek and for a moment, her smile fell away to reveal the aching sadness beneath. “It’s been…hard…since your father died.” She smiled gently and tears ran from the corners of her eyes. “I want you to be reminded that not everything has to change.”

“But mom, I…”

“This is Peter.” She presented him to Gavin with a sweep of her hand. “I wanted to do something for you to help you feel better. You’ve been so brave, sitting through all these visitors, you’ve been so brave through the pain…” She picked up a knife from the bench and passed it to him. “Let’s do something just for you.”

He looked down at the knife, held loosely in his shaking hand. His mouth felt bone dry. He felt the stir of something in him, something dark and unsettling and unwelcome. It wasn’t the excitement he normally felt when he hurt someone. It wasn’t that sweet flutter he got in his stomach when he imagined what it would be like to lay someone open with a knife. It was…something else.

It was fear.

“Mom, I…” He wet his lips. “I don’t think I can.”

She placed her hand gently on his arm. “Sure you can, sweetheart. I’ll help you.” She took the knife from his hand and turned to the poor man – man, he looked closer to a boy – and held the knife to his throat. He dissolved into sobs behind the gag, thick tears rolling down his cheeks as so many sounds of fear came bubbling out his throat, one right after the other. For a moment Gavin felt the familiar fluttering in him that normally rose when he heard sounds like that. Immediately on its heels was a creeping dread that he shivered against, a feeling that told him last time you felt this way, a monster shot you and slaughtered your father in front of you. His lips trembled. He realized she was looking at him, waiting for him to step forward. He did, on legs that wobbled.

She took the knife away from his throat and drew it down the side of his arm. He whimpered, twisting away from the pain. A slow drop of blood rolled lazily down his arm and dropped with a tiny splatter to the floor.

Gavin’s hands started to shake.

He took another step forward until he was standing almost between the man’s legs. His eyes were red and raw, like he’d already been crying for hours. He licked his lips. “Where did he come from?”

“Does it matter?” She sounded confused. She brought the knife to his arm and made another cut, much deeper. The man screamed, jaw clenched tight against the gag. A steady stream of red wound down the man’s arm and began to dribble onto the floor.

His voice shook. “N-no.” The blood was so red, garishly so. He hadn’t seen anything that color since… He squeezed his eyes shut against the flash of memory, of his father’s blood gushing down Vera’s chin and throat and onto her shirt. He swallowed hard. I did this to Sam. I cut them in the same exact place. He balked at the sudden, unwelcome thought that jumped into his mind.

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” The knife flashed as it went to the man’s arm again, carving into him. Gavin felt dizzy with his screams. Why do I feel so weird? Usually this makes me feel good. He experimentally fished around in his mind for the familiar sensation, the warm feeling that spread through his bones at the sound of screams, at the sight of blood. At the sight of a face made haggard with agony. He swallowed hard.

His mother stepped back and passed the knife to him. He tightened his hand around it, trying to feel the weight, the familiar heft of it. In a fluid motion he brought the knife to the man’s other shoulder and drew it over his skin. It split under the knife, opening him up, letting the blood spill out. For a split second, for a brief moment of bliss, Gavin felt the feelings inside him, sharp and warm and so, so good. His heart fluttered. Maybe I just needed a second to get back into it. He drew the knife down the man’s chest this time, cutting his shirt and the skin underneath, watching the red stain grow along the edges. His own chest ached with the motion of his arm. He put the feeling away and went to make another cut across the man’s arm. The man’s gaze darted around the room in panic and desperation. His eyes flicked up to Gavin’s for a moment, pleading and scared and so delicious.

Then, somehow, the smell of blood hit him all at once.

He staggered backwards, nearly dropping the knife. He stood stock still as memory after memory crashed over him, of his father, his throat hanging open, the blood soaked into the floor, his and Gavin’s, of the mind-numbing terror of lying on the floor of his childhood summer home, bleeding out onto the carpet. A choked sob tore from his throat.

“Gavin, honey?” His mother took a step towards him, her hands held out and stained with blood. “Honey? What’s the matter?”

“This used to make me feel good,” he whispered, tears threatening in his voice. “Now this just makes me feel scared.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What, sweetheart?”

He held the knife out to her. “I’m sorry. I need…maybe I just need more time.” He glanced at the man, whose eyes were flicking between him and the knife.

“What, you don’t want to try again?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “No.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Hesitantly, she took the knife. “Ok, honey.” She walked behind the man. “Just let me get rid of this.” Before Gavin could say anything she drew the knife across the man’s throat, cutting deep. He screamed and jumped back from the fountain of blood that poured from his neck. The man immediately paled, shuddered, died. Gavin turned and bolted to the door, barely clearing the threshold before he vomited into the grass. He groaned as he retched, the motion sparking fire in his wound. He heard his mother right behind him, felt her cool hand rubbing unsure circles on his back. He sobbed and sank to his knees.

Continued here