P R E Y (2/2)
Live by the sword, die by the sword
Please be advised! The following contains scenes graphic in nature that may be distressing to some readers. Proceed with caution.
Air.
It moved through the house like a riptide’s current. Nothing was still. White sheets covered the mirrors and furniture. They filled with wind and contorted themselves into unfamiliar shapes—ghosts of what they’d been.
Julia wandered through the halls of their home. Her bare feet picked over stripped wood floors. Hair whipped across her face and stung her eyes.
She wound her fingers around the hem of her dress. “Hello?” Julia called.
No one answered. Her head pounded.
“Mikey?”
Julia turned to the wall where their photos should’ve been. How strange it was to see them missing. Unconsciously, her hand clutched pressed to her chest.
They were both so lost when they’d met. Julia wheeled about with an art history degree and her nose pointed skyward rather than any concrete direction. When Mikey appeared, she chose him. Or maybe he chose her. It could’ve been the moon or the flavor of cider on an autumn night. Perhaps it was a mutual gravitational pull. Who knew? Julia only knew that there was something special about him, something comfortable, something warm.
She’d hook her arms beneath his strong ones—praying he could stop her from drifting off into the open ocean. Asking Mikey to hold her wounded her pride. So, she didn’t.
But she wanted to. She’d dance to the beat of his slow heart if he willed it.
He radiated heat. He hissed at her touch, but let her hands remain until morning. That’s where Julia so desperately wished she was right now. Between frigid sweat and sheets, a flick of an eyelid away from daybreak.
Julia trailed behind him; like a balloon recently released.
When he whispered ‘I love you’ into her ear, Julia doubted.
If she stepped up to the edge of the cliff, she wanted to see him at the bottom. If she was going to do this, this was it. No caches. No safety nets. Do not pass ‘Go’ and do not collect $200. Nothing between her and the ground except gravity, baby, and it rushed up to greet her.
Click, whir. It felt kind of like the middle of a movie she’d seen before. No, not a movie. It was a memory, another one. She flitted in and out of people’s lives. Julia felt herself fade more and more each time; like a bad dream.
But when he looked at her, it felt like he really looked at her. Did his eyes close? Were they closed? Panic seized Julia’s throat. If she was disappearing, then…
The house around her was fading, her body fading.
Darkness flooded her vision. Julia pressed both hands to her eyes. When she awoke, she’d be in her bedroom or the floor—that happened sometimes. Mikey would come to her and usher her back to bed.
She whispered prayers like spells and hoped they’d come true
In the distance, a pinprick of light. It expanded.
With a whir, the VHS tape rolled in Julia’s mind. She’d watched it recently—the video of her wedding, that is. Julia blushed into a bouquet of flowers and hid teary eyes behind a diamond-studded hand. From there, it cut to the banquet. Mikey grinned up at the cameraman. His cheeks were rosey from drink.
“Mikey!” sang a man’s voice. “He’s a married man!”
“I know, I know. I can’t believe it either.”
Someone else spoke just off camera. “We told her to blink SOS for help.”
There was a chorus of laughter. Mikey rolled his eyes, but joined in.
“This man told us he’d never get married! He’s the first one!”
“Listen, listen.” Mikey paused for dramatic effect, hands in the air. Then he shrugged. “I got nothing. It is what it is, alright?”
“And what is it?”
“Really, really good.”
Julia felt like her lungs were being crushed. It forced her to steady her breathing.
Her mind tricked her into believing that she was in bed.
Then her eyes opened.
Her chest ached.
Turning onto her side, Julia groaned. The space just below her clavicle was definitely bruised. When she opened her eyes, Julia saw two spots of blood on the floor. She wiped the back of a hand across her mouth. It came away scarlet. Julia stared a moment. She flexed her fingers, watching birdlike bones shift beneath thin flesh.
Sighing, she pushed her knees beneath her and sat up straight. She was in the guest bedroom. Julia peered out the the window and could see the top of the trees from the front yard. Fourth floor.
Julia smelled blood and damp earth. She wrinkled her nose.
The floorboards faintly protested; an announcement.
Julia spun to face the intruder.
With a slam, chair legs met the floor. There sat Axel. He wore no shoes, no shirt. Strange blue tattoos wound his arms and covered his chest. He had a cookie in one hand and a strange knife in the other. Upon his knee rested the same pistol from earlier.
“You left the oven on,” he said. Then, he took a nonchalant bite. Axel spoke around the cookie: “Don’t worry, I turned everything off.”
Julia watched, her knees pulled to her chest.
Axel leaned forward and pointed the tip of the blade in her direction. He finished chewing and swallowed loudly. “Pretty good, pretty good.”
Julia said nothing.
Raising his arm, Axel revealed a bloody bandage. “You bit me,” he said.
“You put a gun to my husband’s head,” answered Julia. Her voice was cold, resigned.
His lips pulled taught. “Blood for blood, eh?”
“Where is he? Have you already killed him?”
“Stop.”
“Where is he?”
“I said stop.”
Julia sat up straight, fists pressed into her thighs. “Where is he?!”
Axel’s head lolled backwards and he released an exaggerated half-groan, half-yell. “It doesn’t fucking matter!”
Julia flinched.
Quieter, Axel repeated, “it doesn’t matter, okay?”
He produced a stack of photographs and tossed them at her feet. “There,” said Axel simply.
“What?”
He used his chin to gesture. “Look at them.”
Haltingly, Julia took up the first two photos. It was her in the front lawn. She was crouching by the koi pond. Based on the trees, this was some time in the spring.
Another one showed her leaving her place of work. Funny. Julia noticed the creepy client hovering behind a corner—rats at every turn, it seemed.
Julia raised her eyes to Axel’s. “You’ve been watching.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that what you want me to react to? Do you want me to cry?”
“That’ll happen later.”
Julia swallowed. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“You ask too many questions. I am to bring your head to the Far Dorocha,” he said. He passed a hand over one of the many tattoos on his chest. “They all don’t care how that gets done as long as it does,” he nonchalantly continued. “I can do whatever I want here tonight. So, I’m going to take your wings for myself, first.”
Her shoulder blades prickled in response. “I don’t know what that means,” Julia whispered.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to understand why. You are the deer. I am the hunter. We must play the game like this, you see? I just need you to run. The hunt begins soon.”
Julia’s eyes flicked toward the pistol on Axel’s knee.
He noticed. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said. “I won’t use it when I find you.” To prove his point, he tossed it onto the nightstand.
“Go on, then,” Axel urged. “I’ll give you a head start beginning... now.”
Julia froze. “What?”
“Run.”
It was a silly exercise.
Julia tugged on door after door throughout the house and found each one inexplicably locked. How long had Axel been planning this? She moved through the house, depending on her memory in the dark.
From the guest room, Axel sang: “In the still of the night, I held you, held you tight. 'Cause I love, love you so! Promise I'll never let you go… In the still of the night.”
Julia stifled a sob. She tripped down the stairs.
Her foot caught on something and she hit the first floor with a painful bang that Julia barely registered. Fingers scratching against the wooden floor, she scrambled forward. She stepped on the hem of her skirt, then another scrap of cloth, then another. Julia looked down and saw a pile of clothes.
Had she done laundry earlier?
What a silly question to come to her mind.
Axel had ceased his singing. It was quiet and he was nowhere to be seen.
Julia lifted her foot. Blood. Was it hers? No. But she was leaving footprints now. That wouldn’t do.
With another wary look at the top of the stairs, Julia reached out and grabbed the fabric. She was compelled despite herself. Julia turned it in her hands—a green sweatshirt. A single polaroid photograph tumbled to the floor.
Oxygen turned to liquid in her lungs. “Mikey!” she squeaked.
Julia dropped the photo as if burned. “Oh, no.”
She knew the basement, knew the face, she knew the crushed angel by his side.
Julia heaved for air. “It’s not real, it’s not real. I’m going to wake up!” She slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Oh, please wake up, Julia!”
Blood came away slick and red. She smelled it on her fingers and face. It was everywhere, it drenched his shirt. Julia clenched her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering.
She had to find him. He could still be alive. He could be okay.
She made her way to the basement. Julia wrapped both hands around the basement door and pulled. It was locked.
“Mikey!” she screamed. “Mikey!”
“Mikey, Mikey,” mocked Axel in a high-pitched voice. “He’s not coming, Julia. You’re alone.” The stairs creaked as he descended. He’d been watching her; waiting for her to discover his little surprise.
She pounded against the basement door. “Michael!”
Darkness.
At the top of the stairs, the door to the basement stood ajar. Beyond was a void. The air smelled of dust and old things; things very old indeed.
It was nice here. Nothing mattered. Nothing ever would—not here, anyway. All was numb down to the bones and the blood.
The blood?
Oh, yes, the blood. It had long since dried.
Blood, blood, blood. Now, it lost its meaning.
Air was drawn forth into the void. A low frequency began, akin to the roar of a current. From this nothingness something stirred.
There was a man at the top of the stairs. He faced away, head lowered. His armour glowed with a faint silver light.
Get up.
He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to want. In that beyond was the heat and the chill and the pain and the—
Get up.
His muscles ached. His fingers twitched.
He remembered touch. It mapped out the constellations on his back, over muscles and spine. It illustrated a path. He could see it if he closed his eyes: the way forward—or was it a return? Her palm flattened on his ribcage. She’d been drawn forth from there, close to his heart.
It beat.
He could remember feeling her heartbeat through her lips when he kissed her. Her breath fanned across his face. He inhaled.
Get up.
A shrill noise echoed and rose in volume. It swept in from the beyond, carrying with it a rush of energy.
“Michael!”
Seconds, she had seconds. Abandoning the door, Julia made a mad dash for the kitchen.
She looked over her shoulder toward the staircase and slammed into someone’s chest. Axel stood above her.
He smiled. “Wrong way.”
She turned tail and scrambled for the stairs. Up she went. Had she the breath in her lungs, Julia would’ve cursed herself.
With a terrible whoop and holler, Axel pursued. He reached up and caught her ankle. Julia’s knees burned on the carpet. She turned on her back and pushed him by his shoulders. They were slick with sweat.
He shoved her down with a strength that shocked and terrified.
She scooted away. “Leave me alone!” she cried.
Spinning the knife expertly in his grip, Axel continued forward. He planted a foot firmly on the top of the stairs.
A white light filled the hall, followed by rolling thunder.
Tap, tap, tap.
In the moments leading up the Axel’s approach, Julia’s mind noted the sound. Something dripped. Perhaps she’d left a window open.
Axel towered above her. He leaned to one side and smiled crookedly. He fit the tip of the blade beneath the first button on her dress. “You lose,” he whispered.
Once more, lightning illuminated the space. Movement caught Julia’s eye. She looked.
Her breath caught.
Just over Axel’s shoulder was a ten-foot-tall shadow. It moved, revealing a familiar face.
Michael.
He stood on the stair’s landing; eyes glittering, shotgun in hand. His blond hair was plastered dark to his forehead. From the shelf of his brow, blood dripped steadily. It hit the wooden floor with a tap, tap, tap.
Axel’s eyes noted Julia’s. His head turned. “Oh, shit—!”
He pulled the trigger just as Axel turned, unloading a round into the man’s stomach.
Bam!
Axel flew into the wall and remained there. It was buckshot; not enough to kill. His hands raised above his head.
The dagger remained clutched in his left hand. Little good it would do now.
Michael continued up the stairs.
“Mikey,” laughed Axel. He straightened slightly. “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…. Look at you.” His eyes narrowed. “Look at you,” Axel repeated—slower this time. Birdlike, he cocked his head. “What’ve you done?”
“Mikey?” called Julia nervously.
He made no sign that he heard her.
“Not Mikey,” whispered Axel. His tongue darted out and over his lips. Nostrils flaring, he hissed, “it’s you.”
“Michael?” she tried.
His eyes turned toward her for a moment. He didn’t look quite right.
Another round of lightning flashed. The shadow on the wall behind Michael was disproportionately large. It filled the hall, stairway all the way to the arched ceiling.
Without speaking, Michael raised the shotgun to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Only one round.
All erupted into motion at once. Axel scrambled to his feet. He tackled Michael before fully securing his balance. With too much momentum, Axel flew over Michael and down the first flight of stairs. He hit the landing’s wall with an awful crash.
Without missing a beat, Axel rose. He brandished the knife and smiled through bloody teeth. “Michael, Michael,” he chuckled. “You sticky little bastard.”
Michael did not respond. His eyes bore down on Axel without emotion.
Axel pointed to Michael’s wounded chest. “That’s gonna slow you down.” Then, he turned his face to Julia. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, pet.”
Julia quickly looked at Michael to gauge a reaction. He gave none.
Foot hovering on the step, Axel raised the dagger. “Let’s go again, then,” he whispered.
Michael flipped the grip on the shotgun and stepped up to the plate.
They met in the middle. Michael swung the shotgun like a baseball bat and Axel took the full brunt.
Once.
The dagger flew from his grip.
Twice.
His knees hit the wood.
Three times.
The stock splintered and the exposed iron twisted.
Michael panted through gritted teeth.
That was as much as Julia watched before covering her eyes.
To be continued…
Hmmm. Maybe Julia wasn't the one to be worried over. Michael is about to clean house.
Oof, this is intense! The folklore winding through this is fascinating!