By Sara Aziz

Hello readers! I hope you enjoy it, and please, feel free to comment if you have any ideas or just comments on the writing itself! I’m open to all critiques! Please like and subscribe!

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Chapter 2

Killer

His eyes cut into me, forcing me to listen. Forcing me to understand. Making me see that I had just done something unforgivable. But then, if it’s so horrible,

Why did it feel so good?

I barely noticed, barely cared that Raphael was dragging me through the broken glass, yet feeling the glass cutting me, digging into my skin, leaving a trail of scarlet in my wake. I was numb as he shoved me into the street and forced me to walk. Walk. Walk. I don’t know where and I don’t care. Just away,

away,

away.

He led me through the dark streets, the sun just barely rising above, casting the sky into brilliant hues of champagne, violet, and sea. I despised it. Or, I think I would have. But I couldn’t seem to feel anything. Nothing. Everything. The streets became dirtier, and the people were all the more broken. Shattered dreams and blood covered the street and lingered in the air like a putrid perfume. Women crouched in alleys, clutching children covered in grime and dust. Men collapsed on the streets, some begging, some drunk, some dead. Broken bottles littered the streets and pathways like a darker version of a child’s confetti. One woman was crying as she held onto a little boy, his arm bleeding, the blood gushing, refusing to stop, the woman soaking in her son’s blood. I tried to move, tried to go over, but Raphael’s cold, firm hand held onto me like a vise. And then I realized, the boy’s neck was at the wrong angle, like it had been snapped. The woman was covered in bruises and scars as she knelt next to the boy, cradling his head in her lap. A tall man stood gazing down at the woman and the body, expressionless. I stifled a gasp and continued stumbling after him. The air reeked of despair. You could already tell that there was no hope left. Like hope too, had died on these dust-covered streets. I felt the pain begin to sear the edges of my numbness, and I let out a strangled whimper. One man, his breath smelling of alcohol and fear huffed a laugh, rasping,

“Welcome to Hell’s Alley, love.”

Faster than I could blink, Raphael had the man pinned to the wall. His hands squeezed tighter around the other man’s throat. I remembered that vise-like grip on my wrist and stilled. So I watched as Raphael squeezed the man’s throat tighter, and I watched with open fascination, as the man attempted to let out a scream, but all he could let out were moans. Terrified, hysteric, psychotic moans.

Beautiful.

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Finally, the screams stopped. And I watched as Raphael let go and the man crumpled to the street, his eyes wide and unseeing. But as I stared at the body, that same grip was suddenly around my wrist and dragging me away again, through the dark streets until we stopped outside a building. I suppose I could say that it was the nicest building there, but to say that, it would have to be just another dirt-filled, scum-covered waste of brick and stone. But it wasn’t. It was beautiful, it was grand, and it was theirs. But there was something else, a memory, tugging at the darkest recesses of consciousness. I remembered a woman’s face, standing before the building, holding my hand. Her features were hazy, but they were determined. It was a long time ago. I’m probably wrong.

But that face looked just like my mom’s.

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He pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The biggest stronghold in the continent was accessible by a simple key? He saw me staring at the key and gave me a wry smile.

“Just a key?” I realized my voice sounded doubtful, and my cheeks flushed pink. I hated my tell. Whenever I was embarrassed, mad, sad, or anything, I went pink like a freakin’ azalea. He laughed, and shook his head before responding,

“The key has a microchip inserted in the front, along with a fingerprint reader. The camera will read my face and match it, then a member sits in the security room watching everyone who enters.”

That sounded way too overcomplicated. What if instead, you just put a facial scanner, and actually used the guards?

click.

All they would need to do is clean up the dead body.

I shuddered at myself. I hated that I’ve always had this weird fascination with death. I remember my own mother trying to understand it and… I shook off the memory before I realized,

“They can hear us?”

Raphael smiled again, this time with genuine humor. Amusement twinkled in his eyes again as he responded,

“Most definitely.”

And the doors swung open.

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“Why are you so dramatic?” A voice rang out through the still silence of the hall. It sounded very muffled. I couldn’t tell whether they were old or young, or where it was coming from. Raphael watched me look around with laughter.

“Ignore him. That’s just Damien, the attention seeker. Probably just got bored, the fool, because he has nothing better to do.”

“Fool?” The voice – Damien – now sounded insulted. And amused. Raphael continued to drag me through the halls as Damien went quiet for a moment, before saying,

“I’m not the one out on the sidewalk terrifying little girls, Raphael” I stiffened, immediately renewing my efforts to find where the voice was coming from.

“Damien” Raphaels voice was a warning, and the boy laughed for a moment before going silent.

Suddenly, as doors closed behind me with a loud clang, I realized that I was in a dark room.

And we weren’t alone.

“сын”

I peered into the darkness, but I could only make out a faint silhouette. Like a ghost.

“Why are you here Raphael?” The voice was cold.

“You have never come voluntarily on your own, Raphael. So, I must wonder, what favor will you ask of me? Will you ask me to spare her? Spare her for the murder of our brother? Is that why you have returned? To beg for the mercy of killers? ” I stiffened. They knew. They always knew. Because they were always watching.

Raphael let out a low chuckle.

“сын. Если бы она этого не сделала, то она была бы мертвой на полу. У брата Алексея никогда не было ни терпения… ни милосердия”

There was a contemplative silence. Then,

“Aleksei was there for you Raphael. You hid and allowed a little girl to take your fall, and Aleksei died for it. An example must be made, and as I am no longer capable of punishing you, she must be.”

Raphael bowed his head.

“Yes, Brother.”

And as much as I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn’t hurt me, couldn’t hurt me with Raphael’s protection, I felt the truth dig into bones, needing to be heard, as we rose.

It was a lie.

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“What did you say to him?” I whispered to Raphael as a guard led us out to a staircase. He gave me a brief look, then said,

“Nothing of importance.”

“Then what’s my punishment?”

At that, Rapheal hesitated. Finally, he cleared his throat and said,

“Ten lashes.”

I blinked disbelievingly. Surely they wouldn’t be so crude.

“You don’t mean with a whip, do you?”

His silence was answer enough.

He quickly gave me a pitying look before refocusing on the guards stationed at every door.

“Ten. Lashes.” Raphael repeated stoically before a man came walking down the stairs, wearing a dark business suit and a secret smile that told you he knew something you didn’t. He was extraordinarily alluring, with his eyes of pure silver, edged with beautiful insanity, and a chiseled face, like a stone statue from long ago. He turned around to say something to the guard, and I saw…

Wings. Beautiful gray wings with feathers that looked soft as silk. Downy masses, like the wings of the dove. But only one species had wings.

I was about to be whipped by a Fallen.

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I felt my terror begin to rise as he dragged me down the stairs into a cold room, not a fire in sight, as I tried to remember everything I had ever been taught about the Fallen. Were some merciful? Think Maria, think.

The Fallen were children of angels and demons. They had the beauty of heaven and the soul of hell, and to touch a Fallen was to reach for the heavens, but to brush damnation. They were cruel and vicious, and they despised humanity. For the disobedience of their sires, every day, they burned, but despite the fact their very being was incapable of feeling a flame, their souls were made of it. While we could not touch it for fear of pain, to touch fire for the Fallen was to return to Hell. To serve the pure. To touch one of the Fallen was to touch death itself. No one angered them, not if they wanted to live. So I bowed my head as he finally stilled and gave me a smile that was so beautiful, and so cruel, it was torture in itself.

“We’re here”

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The whip was bloody as he pulled it out. Ten lashes they said. Ten lashes. I felt my breath come in short bursts as the chains closed around my wrists, slender and scarred. He fingered the whip lovingly like it was his baby. I squeezed my eyes tight as he approached my back, bare and bent. I heard the air snap as he lifted the whip and then felt it come down.

Again

and

again

and

again.

“Count your lashes.” He gasped, his breathing labored, but excited.

I made no sound, the tears running hot down my cheeks, silent screams tearing me apart from the inside.

“Count. The. Lashes. Or I will..not…stop” He hissed in eager anticipation as he came down with the edges of the whips, covered in spiking shards of metal, designed to tear into the already injured skin, designed to give him the screams he so desperately wanted.

“One!” I whimpered, my voice hoarse, wanting the pain to end, needing the agony to stop.

“Two!”

I wailed, I cried, I moaned, and I screamed the numbers until I couldn’t breathe, until blood ran hot down my back. Until I couldn’t tell if he had given me ten lashes or ten thousand. I clawed at the ground, my fingernails cracking and breaking on the jagged ground, hating the tears spilling from my face, hated that the tears that had been torn from a place in me that I wished had died back in my cold, empty home. The tears I had sworn I would never shed again. Finally, he stopped. I could barely feel it. All I felt was the hot lashes on my back, the phantom whip. I heard my own screams echoing. I heard the harsh rasp of his laughter. I curled tighter into a ball as the blood fell to the ground, just another victim of this human hell. Another victim of the Ten Skulls. But I wasn’t a victim was I? I had killed,

killed,

killed.

But the thing that hurt me the most wasn’t that I had murdered, stolen a human life… It was that I liked it too.

“жин” I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, hating that I was unsure of whom I was speaking about.

Demon.

And as I heard his shoes click away, I couldn’t tell whether he had left, or delirium had finally overcome me. I felt a soft hand touch my back, so different from the hard, sharp leather of the whips. I looked up through bleary eyes to see a figure with white hair and blue eyes. Raphael leaned in close to hold me as I cried and cried and cried.

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I saw Raphael nudge me gently, urging me to my feet. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. He sighed and stood up, his shoes clicking on the hard stone as he left the room.

I pulled myself in closer as I finally allowed myself to suffer alone. I felt the room go cold, and seem to shrink around me, suffocating me, and I shivered. Suddenly, strong arms picked me up and carried me up the stairs, steady and unfaltering. Quick, and sure. I felt myself pull closer to this unshakeable man carrying me. I didn’t know who he was, but I had a strange feeling like I was….safe. I breathed in the suddenly clean smell of sheets and medicine. I tried to move closer to the mystery man before I got laid down on my stomach on a bed and drifted off into the ever-going abyss of sleep.

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When my eyes opened groggily, I shifted, trying to feel the pain in my back, but there was only a faint twinge. I blew out a breath as I realized my shirt was off. Probably for my back. As I reached an arm around to feel it, my fingers came away sticky from a salve rubbed on. My fingernails were fixed, somehow healed. Someone had helped me. Someone had helped me. I tensed as I remembered my mother grabbing my arm and twisting it whenever I came home from school, a gift in hand from a teacher, or another friend. I remember her hissing voice,

“Keep your eyes open and your heart closed. No one does anything for nothing.”

Of course, she knew that better than anyone.

I sat up, wrapping a towel I spotted hanging off the bed around my chest, and looked around, absorbing the room. A woman was standing in white at the end of the room, humming gently as she tucked her gray hair behind her ears. She was rearranging bottles by color, I think, when she turned around and saw me watching her. She gasped as she rushed over to push me onto my stomach again.

“You cannot sit up while the medicine is still fresh” she barked, with a surprisingly strong voice for such a small woman. I turned my head to look at her, my face still, my eyes as dark as I could make them. Her expression became one of faint guilt and she sighed.

“Fine, but I have to be next to you,” she helped me climb to my feet. I felt a bit woozy for a moment, but that feeling passed soon to be replaced by a sense of nausea. She was helping me put on a white robe when someone knocked on the door.

“Just a minute” she called, tying it off, then reaching over to the door to open it. A man was standing in the doorway. He had his eyes pointed at the ceiling as he spoke, his voice low, but strong.

“The Brother would like to see her, Alyona”

The woman – Alyona – stiffened, and gave him a hard look, which he pointedly avoided.

“She is still healing, Volkov.”

At that, the man looked at her, his eyes a strong deep blue, sharp and cutting, like a steel blade.

“Gregori is known for his brutality, Alyona, and the choice the Brother made was not one of random. She deserved her punishment. And the choice to make you her healer was not one of chance either, Alyona. You are the best, and the Brother needed her healed quickly. Unfortunatly.“

I took a step back when those eyes truly focused on me, disgust and revulsion shining in those deep blue depths. Alyona stepped in front of me and gave him a shove.

“Fine. She will come. But give her time to dress.”

The man gave a grudging nod as he turned and stormed away. Alyona turned and began to rifle viciously through drawers, slamming them shut, and anger seemed to radiate off her.

She tore a hand through her hair before she called out after him, her voice mocking.

“You are playing with fire, Volkov. Eventually, who is to say we will be able to tell man from monster?”

Volkov stiffened but otherwise gave no signal he had heard her as he marched down the hall and out of sight. But not before he glanced back and locked eyes with me. And I saw a boy. One lost in the darkness. One who didn’t know how to find his way out. I took a step toward him, my body not listening to my mind, immediately regretting it, but it was too late to take it back. It was like a veil had been cast across his eyes of night and pain, then he was gone.

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“Foolish.. imbecilic…reckless…mad..”

“What did he do to you?” I asked, breaking through her reverie. She looked up at me and answered,

“Nothing.”

“He didn’t say much of anything.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I don’t, but I want to.”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

We stood looking at each other for a moment before she let out a gust of breath and turned away. The room was quiet for several minutes. Alyona didn’t want to speak, and all I could think about was that glimpse I had seen in his eyes. That little boy was lost in the dark. And for some reason, I wished I could be the one to guide him back.

“What’s his name?”

Alyona stopped for a moment, twiddling some fabric between her fingers before answering.

“Volkov. Aleksandr Volkov”, and then we were silent again.

Finally, she had a dress in her hands as she approached to help me change. She had sounded so angry, I expected rough hands, cold and vicious. Rather, her hands were gentle and cool on the wounds on my back. She gave a sigh as she finished lacing up the dress, and I looked at it as she rubbed her face with her head in her hands. The dress was a lovely white, with mermaid lace along the sides, and a bodice that was loose around my back. My favorite type. How…?

“I’m sorry, child, they can..lose control sometimes.” She gave a look at the camera, a glare I was beginning to realize she seemed to aim at everyone, and I looked at it myself, noticing a red light on. Suddenly, I felt very exposed. Alyona barked out a laugh, and for the first time, I really took in that despite her gray hair, she couldn’t have been older than 23. Only five years older than me. Only two years older than my mom when she… I shut down that train of thought, refusing to give in to the memories that kept resurfacing. Kept coming back.

“Don’t worry, Damien turns off the camera here while you change.” She cast a dark look at the door, and her mood was black again.

Damien? That was the man that had been controlling the cameras earlier. The one Raphael called a fool.

“Was he here?” I didn’t know why I asked. It was a stupid question. Alyona opened her mouth as though to respond, but then looked at the camera and closed it again. She said too quickly,

“Of course not! What a ridiculous idea”

When Alyona turned away, my face turned bright pink. Why was she lying to me? Why had Damien come to see her when I was unconscious? And most importantly, why was Alyona scared of him? Who was he?

“What’s your name?” Alyona asked, her voice inquisitive, but not prying. I had a feeling that if I didn’t tell her, she would respect that and leave it be. But I wanted to tell her. I also felt like this was a desperate attempt to change the subject, but I was alright with that.

I looked at my feet, bare on the cold marble, and said,

“Annamaria. Annamaria Lopez.”

“Well Annamaria Lopez, It’s time you meet the Brother”

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I felt my face go white as Alyona and I neared the great hall. Alyona was clasping my hand as she led me in, and I knew she could feel my body tremble. As we stood outside the doors, two men unlocked them, both staring at us with inscrutable eyes. My eyes began to narrow when Alyona suddenly asked,

“How has your knee been, Andrei? I keep telling you to take your medications but you never listen. You know how stubborn he can be,” She turned and said to the other man.

“How has your wife been Nicholas? I haven’t seen much of her lately. Not since the baby was born.”

She was normalizing them, popping in more facts about their lives, making them seem almost…human.

Andrei had a sweet 5-year-old daughter named Heather who played the clarinet. Nicholas’s wife had just given birth to a beautiful little boy named Mikhail. Andrei’s wife loved comedies. Nicholas’s son read horrors. It went on and on. They seemed so ordinary, so..typical.

Andrei and Nicholas just stared at her as she kept chattering, seeming unsure of what to do with such a talkative woman. I felt what was almost a smile tug at my lips before my expression froze, and I stiffened as I felt the air go cold. A man had swept into the room, followed by Raphael and a boy. He looked about 19, with silky-looking black hair and golden brown eyes that gave me a contemplative look, as though he was trying to determine my worth before actually speaking to me. He wore a black leather jacket and black skinny jeans, but that wasn’t what shocked me. What shocked me was that he wasn’t wearing a uniform. Why? The silence suddenly became deafening. The man in front wore black robes that I used to associate with the Grim Reaper. His skin was so white it seemed to glow, his eyes black as a tomb.

“Annamaria Lopez. Alyona Morozov.”

I stiffened. I remembered that voice. I remembered it. Not from earlier…from years before.

Why?

We both curtsied as the boy gave us a wink, his cold eyes now twinkling, his enjoyment at our fear palpable. My hands that were raising the skirt clenched into fists. Alyona stepped forward, her face cautioning me. I got the message.

Wait.

“Brother, -”

The man held up a hand to signify her silence, then swept down the steps to us.

“Ms. Lopez. You have done us a terrible wrong today, and while it was paid in blood, it is not over. You have taken a life, and now you owe one. You will be one of us. A bounty hunter. Охотник за головами. But, you have not proven you are capable yet, or to be trusted. I have given you a partner. One who will give you no loyalty and will hide nothing from me. He will guard your back in a fight, but if that fight is against us or me, his knife will just as soon end up buried in your back.” I watched with what I hoped were indecipherable eyes.

“You will be partners with Damien Gray, our best bounty hunter, and our youngest member”

My face went pink and I stopped focusing on my eyes as I realized this was the boy that had seen me earlier. The one that had made Alyona lie. Was this why? The Brother’s gaze darkened and his voice became like an ice-covered blade.

“Ms. Lopez, this is me being generous. If you do not take this offer, there will be no others. You will pay with your death, and this affair will come to an end.” His eyes glinted,

“I assure you, this is easier for all of us”

I nodded, the pink drained from the porcelain color of my skin. The Brother swept from the room in a swirl of silk and shadow. Raphael gave me a glance as he followed, but the boy walked behind, his steps languid and easy. He gave me a small smile before he left, but now that he was closer, his face looked sharper, the angles more pronounced. He was beautiful, he was demonic, he was

Sariati.

I was right. He wasn’t human at all.

He was a monster.

“Nice to meet you, Maria.” His voice was like iron-covered silk. Soft, but strong. Cold, and deadly.

I turned my head away and didn’t respond. I will never talk to a Sariati. Not after what they did.

Never,

Never,

Never.

He watched me for a moment before following them out the door, Andrei and Nicholas following behind. Alyona tried to put a hand on my arm, but I shrugged it off.

I hated the name they had given me, the brand that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

In Minor, the language of this god-forsaken country Jeterna, Охотник за головами may mean Bounty Hunter.

But in Respani, it had only one meaning.

Killer.

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Hey readers! I hope you enjoyed Chapter Two: Perfect Hell, and be prepared for Chapter Three on May 2nd! Please like and subscribe!

A writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; They are its necessity.

Toni Morrison (The Source of Self Regard)