Silenced Angel – 2nd Draft

In the maelstrom of his mind, the memories played again, flickering like an old film projector. He watched, a stranger to his own memory, through his own eyes as he lifted her fragile, sleeping form. The tears started flowing, slowly trickling through the sparse hairs on his unshaven cheeks. His eyes, their grey pupils almost lost behind red veins, darted ceaselessly about, probing every nook and cranny. He again felt his cheeks twisted into that detached, emotionless smirk as his coarse, large hands encircled her throat. His hands tightened, crushing the life from her innocent form.

A primal scream ripped from him as he began writhing and beating his fists against the floor. “NOT AGAIN! WHY WON’T IT STOP!?” The floor was covered with dried bloodstains, showing where this had happened to him before. His fists started bleeding, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now. Again, he was plunged back into the slowly playing reel of his memory.

He dropped her limp form back onto the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes fluttered behind their lids. He turned, his foot brushing aside a small doll, his hands fumbling for the light switch. His fingers found it, traced its cold, hard outline, and snapped it. Warm light, tinged purple from her lampshade, flooded the room, bringing a sense of unreality to it all. His eyes took in the scene before him. Pink curtains, with a montage of unicorns in various colours, hid the window. Small tops and skirts lay strewn across the mottled brown carpet. A small, white bookcase sat at the end of the bed, covers proudly displaying titles such as ‘My Little Pony’ and ‘Black Beauty’. A toy box, its lid open, was sitting along the wall to the left, tutu’s and plush toys spilling from within.

In front of him, beneath the curtained window, she lay prone across her bed. The purple doona, with its embroided love hearts, lay tangled at the end of the bed, where he had thrown it. Her pillow, in its green cover slip, lay on the floor. Her small form lay in a yellow nightie, her breathing shifting the front of it fractionally.

With her luxurious, long, soft brown hair, her long lashes framing bright blue eyes, a small button nose, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and her pink, perfectly proportioned lips, she really was a beautiful child. And would have made a gorgeous woman. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. It was now or never; else he may never find peace from the voices.

He slept now, twitching occasionally as the memory continued its relentless march behind his lids. His mouth hung open, blood dripping out from his bitten tongue. His fists, beaten into a pulpy mess, rested against his chest, the blood slowly seeping into his once fine shirt. His hair, a mass of knots and tangles, hung over one side of his face. His face didn’t seem the face of a madman, or a murderer.

He spun, picking up the knife from where he had left it, embedded in the doorframe. Giggling to himself, he advanced on her slowly. Grabbing her doona, he quickly cut it into small strips, coughing as the fine threads in the air caught in his throat. He grabbed her, quickly rearranging her, tying her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, securing her. She came to, with a start, whimpering. She began screaming and crying when her wrists and ankles refused to move at her command. “Please don’t do this to me! My daddy wouldn’t let you! Please, don’t hurt me!” Snarling, he slapped her with as much force as he could, splitting her bottom lip. Blood trickled down her chin, staining the nightie red. She stopped her piteous sobbing, her entire body tensing up. Her eyes lost their spark of fear, lost all semblance of human eyes. She looked paralysed, a little corpse.

He grabbed her nightie and slit it, cutting it from her body, exposing her to his eyes. But that wasn’t his intent. He pressed the tip of blade into the dip on her wrist, drawing a speck of blood. Pausing, he licked his lips nervously, and pushed. The speck became a trickle, and rapidly grew to a steady flow. Her back arched, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream of agony. Slowly, he drew the knife up her arm, parting her flesh to her shoulder. The blood was flowing copiously now, staining her cream bed sheet a dull crimson. Sitting the knife aside, he reached into the incision, worked his fingers underneath the flesh, and pulled, ripping her skin open. He could just make out the bone in her arm through the blood.

She fell limp, consciousness fleeing from the pain. He watched impassively as the blood continued to pump from her severed arteries and ripped tendons. Picking up the blade again, he gently probed about her throat, locating her vocal chords. With a quick jab, he severed them, silencing the little angel forever. No longer would her sweet voice claw at his ears as he killed her. He moved to her unblemished arm, and began his work in earnest. Instead of the lengthways cut from wrist to shoulder, he hacked quickly, across her arm, opening up hundreds of shallow but, profusely bleeding cuts.

He bent, and ran his tongue across them, savouring the coppery taste of her warm life fluids. He didn’t have much time; she would expire from blood loss before long. He forced open her mouth with a finger, worming it inside. He slid a second in, and trapped her tongue between them. Drawing it out, he wrapped his lips around it, and worked it into his mouth. Once he was happy with its position, he bit down, severing her tongue. Her blood sprayed into his mouth, warm and sweet. He drew back, chewing softly on the morsel in his mouth. Oh, but she was a sight to see. One arm ripped open to expose the bone, the other lacerated beyond recognition, and a waterfall of blood staining her front, pouring from within her mutilated mouth.

Taking up the knife once more, he cut a pair of Vs into her chest, one for each side of her breastbone. Flicking the points up under his knife, he tossed it aside, grabbing them and tearing upwards. They came free in his hands, leaving two large V cuts in her, exposing her lungs to his view. She wouldn’t last much longer, she had lost far too much blood, and her organs were now being exposed to his hungry eyes.

The door opened slowly, soundless on its oiled hinges. Two of the hospital’s employees walked in, and stood over his prone form, looking down at him, with pity in their eyes. “Look at this depraved bastard, sleeping like a baby.”

“Yeah… He shouldn’t be allowed to live after what he did..” replied the other, smaller man. He unconsciously rubbed his hands together, looking nervous. “I’ll do it Mack; you go turn the camera off for a moment.”

Mack left the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Ryan stood over him, shaking his head. “You’ve had this coming a while, you depraved fucker.” Opening the pouch affixed to his waist, he drew out a hypodermic needle, and a small bottle of chlorine. Filling the needle, he glanced up and waited for the light on the camera to stop blinking. At last, it did. “Took your time, didn’t ya Mack,” he muttered. Bending down, he jabbed the needle into the mans arm, flooding his veins with the poisonous substance. “Be seeing ya,” he murmured, walking out and swinging the door closed behind him.

He writhed, as the poisonous substance stole through his veins, burning, killing off the organs it caressed in its fiery embrace. His mind raced feverishly, still unconscious, as the memory began to flicker.

He leant forward, the knife tip wobbling slightly as he directed it towards her eye. Lifting the bottom lid, he slid the blade in, and then jerked upward and out rapidly, severing the optical nerve and pulling her bright, blue eye from its socket. She took a huge breath, in order to let out a scream that never came. She expired beneath him, just like that, her chest falling and failing to rise.

He stared down at his handiwork, feeling proud of what he had accomplished. Absently, he lifted the eye to his mouth, slipped it in, and began chewing. Sliding down the wall, he leaned against it at the junction between it and the floor, his eyes never leaving the sight before him. His daughter, his beautiful little girl, slain like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It was beautiful.

He twitched twice more, his hands clenching and unclenching. His back arched, and a gurgling scream escaped him. Finally, he fell back, completely still, his face twisted in the same sick and depraved smile he had as he brutally murdered his only child.

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