My sister had laughed the day they told her about my death.
She had answered the door in a long silk gown void of color. The white seemed made of flowing bone, contrasting the shade of her ebony hair which coiled about the gentle curve of her breasts. She had thin bones with little muscle to cover. Physically, she appeared delicate, as if she would break if she were to attempt any harsh activity. The lady was exceptionally beautiful, but she was also equally as dangerous
The cop baring the news had fantasized enough already about indecent things he’d like to do with the she-devil. Even now on her doorstep with death on his tongue, he imagined her beneath him, creamy skin bare and beckoning as a blush reached down her neck to where her swollen chest would rise with her inhale.
He physically shook himself to knock the invasive image from his mind. He knew full well that this was a woman who could see your mind, and his visions would not go unnoticed nor without consequence. Her eyes were analyzing and she was watching him with frost chilling his spine.
The thrill of her power had been the reason he was glad to come, despite the darkness of his purpose. He’d been fascinated by her elegant darkness and the power that seemed to emanate off her in black waves when that sadistic, beautiful smile lit upon her face. Anyone with basic intellect was afraid of her, but not him; he wanted to own her. Bearing the news of her little sister’s death had been specially appointed to him for this lack of proper respect. No one else would dare come to her doorstep.
The crisp morning wind bit his nose while he remained quiet, allowing her to process his words. She breathed in deeply and closed her ice blue eyes. The man standing in her doorway expected some sort of emotional reaction, though he had a feeling this was not a woman prone to weeping. Not even for the death of the only family she was known to have. She had raised me like a daughter yet there was only seven years between us.
“Tell me how she died.” She finally commanded; her voice smooth and bare of emotion. It was as if she’d asked his opinion on the weather and didn’t quite care for his thoughts.
“Well, madam it was… not a quick death. During the progress of the beatings which took her life, there was evidence that she had also been violated in unorthodox ways.”
That was when the laughter had started, shooting a chill down the cop’s spine. She threw her head back and let out a deep throated cackle that echoed behind her through the foyer of her large, empty Victorian house. Confusion seized him as the laughter grew until it was maniacal.
At first it seemed as if she had forgotten that he was there at all. The mirth was distorted and chilling as it continued on for far longer than it probably should have. Finally, she composed herself again with a wise, humorous smile taking over her lips. The cop was now starting to feel for the very first time a whispering of that fear which most would associate with her presence. There was deep amusement in the icy depths of her eyes.
How could she laugh at a moment such as this?
“Oh you petty fool,” she whispered in a disturbing purr. “Her death is a blessing which you could never come to understand. You are wasting my time with your meaningless trivialities. Get off of my porch.”
And she slammed the door in his face, leaving the infatuated cop on my sister’s doorstep with the stirrings of horror growing stronger within his veins. He could now understand slightly better why the townsfolk loath her presence.
I wish I could say that my sister was not always a dark woman with little to no emotions. I want to say that she was once a normal little girl who could laugh, smile, and even cuddle her baby sister. It would be as much of a lie when we were kids as it would be now.
We’d both been labelled witches and freaks by the time we were children. We weren’t even human – not that we knew this until our parents died, but that can come later. My sister was much more open about the distortion within us, while I had tried for a long time to bury any evidence of insanity. I think the reason why our peers reserved their hatreds specifically for my sister was because it was easier for them to forget that I wasn’t human. She’s always been a well known monster.
For me, it was only through various forms of art that the evidence of something terribly wrong within me would poor out. There was a dark perfection inside my twisted paintings, writings or even dance. They came to me as naturally as breathing which would bleed discomfort to those who watched.
Contrary to popular belief, my sister did know kindness and love, it was incredibly difficult to find sometimes behind all of that perfectly calculated ice.
The cop with the fascination and lustrous fantasy of dominating my sister had not always been so entranced. I don’t rightly know when exactly that changed. I only know that his obsession started sometime during the last few years since she had graduated high school. He was much older than her; having already been in the force long before she’d reached eighteen.
It didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest that she had acquired, to some extent, a stalker. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that perhaps she enjoyed it. Ever since I could remember, my sister had been hated and feared. Yet never did she try to change that. All the while, though, she did relish in attention when it came in the form of admiration.
That day when she left him standing on the porch after laughing in his face, I think she stopped wanting to be admired, though. She had seen into his mind as clearly as I did when he pictured her naked flesh beneath his hand and found that suddenly disgust replaced the entertainment she had originally found within his flattery.
How could any man have the audacity to think of something so degrading while he bears the news of another young life ending at the hands of those same foul thoughts? It disgusted her just how heartless the cop seemed once his attraction took over.
She stood with her back against the closed door, shutting her eyes tight and letting an anguished expression fall over her face. She knew that I was coming back, this was not the reason for her pain. The sorrow came from the suffering I had faced before this death. In her mind, there was an image bringing tears to unfeeling eyes as she watched me forced to endure the highest of humiliations before my demise. One lone sob broke free from her trembling lips. It was not the sort of sound that matched a woman like her, yet in some twisted way it fit her perfectly.
The following silence was shattered as a soul chilling scream of pure agony ripped free from her lips. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed against the door frame, shoulders quivering. Her hand raised to cover her mouth and she caught the cries within her palm. The tears dripped over her fingertips, spilling down her jaw onto her neck. Her body convulsed and shivered. Waves of despair wracked through her as the images flashed again of her sister on her back, hands held above her head and blood pooling between her legs around the organ violating her innocence. She couldn’t even scream.
I never did tell her how accurate her nightmare of my death truly was. Such a monstrous way to die. My sister let out another broken wail. Of all the times I have died, this was the fate that she didn’t know how to handle. Even that cold heart was tormented by the thought of such torture.
Abruptly, her demeanor completely changed. The tears stopped as quickly as they’d started. Her hand fell from her face, nails of both hands biting into their palms. She stood on shaking legs, her liquid bones falling around her body in a perfect embrace. The ice in her eyes froze into perfect sheets of frosted steel. She swallowed down the remaining threads of emotion from that moment, hating the taste of it.
She walked through the foyer with cold grace into a hall branching off to the right. Her bare feet padded softly on the icy stone floor. The hallway was short and utterly bare of saved memories that would hang in any normal home. She entered into a small room with a large circular window across from the doorway, casting golden sunlight onto multiple canvases. Each easel displayed different amounts of paints from messy jars beside them on tall round tables.
Entering this room shot an arrow into her chilled heart. She would never enter my studio without my permission even though the land line was in there. This device was her destination now, sitting in the far right corner of the room atop a dark brown table held up by three thin, metal curved legs. One hand reached to curve delicate fingers around the receiver and picked it up.
Locking her jaw tight, she punched in the phone number she’d been forced to memorize since she was a child, waiting then as the line connected and began to ring. Silence sheathed the room as she waited. Her eyes specifically avoided the canvases. All decorated with partial or completed twisted, distorted images. This was where my brand of insanity had been most apparent as it spilled out in paints, charcoal, and graphite.
Three rings and the line was answered. There was a cough filled with liquid on the other end. She waited as the person inhaled deeply, hacked again and finally addressed her.
“Did she finally die?”
There was no ‘hi, how are you’. It was just straight to the point; simple and defined. The man on the other end infuriated her already and he’d only spoken four words. She breathed in deeply, calming her raging nerves before trusting the sound of her voice.
“Yes,” she whispered. “She did. And the death was brutal enough to give her the time she will need. Everything is going according to plan.”
There was another thick cough and a heavy breath. Then came the response. “Fantastic. I’ll be there on the first flight in.” The line cut off before she could stifle a response.
Confusion lit inside of her. Everything had been so carefully planned out, but no one had said anything about her opening up her home to a member of the organization. She closed her eyes, breathing in deep again. Asking questions to the air would surely not help. She turned and left the room, on her way to prepare for my return and the arrival of the strange man on the phone.
…To Be Continued…
**Note: This piece is subject to change as well.