Insanity Stains Red

eleven

I’m not sure how much time passed while I stood, hacking away at a body that had long since stopped moving. When I finally came to my senses enough to stop, I sunk to the ground, trembling. It was as if my fingers had fused to the knife in my hand; it took several minutes of focus for them to unclench enough for me to drop the blade. Then I wrapped my arms around myself as though cold, huddling inwards and staring at what I had done.

Nobody came looking for me, and I’m not sure what I would have done if they had. There was nothing but static inside my mind – whatever that red haze had been, wherever it had come from, it was long gone now, and a large part of me hoped that it would never come back. I was scared.

It was many hours later, when the first rays of dawn began peeking through the cracks in the ceiling, that I stirred at all. My entire body was stiff from sitting still so long, and I had an odd crick in my neck, but I had survived the night – which was more than I could say for the three men in the room with me, their slowly decaying corpses just starting to turn. I knew I could not stay any longer; I needed to find father and tell him what had happened here.

Moving from that position was much harder than it should have been. I stood delicately, no doubt looking like someone a lot older than I actually was. With careful, thought-out steps, I made slow progress out the door and down the hallway, stumbling over my mown feet and heading for father’s study with the hope that I would find him there. I dragged my hand along the wall as I walked, needing the extra support. As I moved, I pleaded silently that the girls wouldn’t see me in this weakened state, but especially Rose, I was sure that the way I looked right now would horrify her.

By some twist of luck, I encountered no one on my limping shuffle to the study, though I was ready to collapse by the time I pulled that heavy door open; my knees trembling with exhaustion. I didn’t know what was wrong with me – I’d never had a reaction like this before. Granted, I’d never been in a situation like that before either.

I managed to take a couple of steps further into the room before I collapsed; my head lulling forward, too heavy to hold up any longer. I had a vague notion of my father rising from his chair and moving towards me. He wasn’t the only one in the room, to my disappointment – I hated showing weakness to anyone.

There was at least three other men in the room. The murmured sounds of their voices washing over me as I knelt before them, but I couldn’t look at them to confirm their numbers, it was just too much effort.  Father crouched down in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders. I grunted as the strength of his fingers agitated my bruises.

“Is it done?” He asked me, a touch of concern in his voice. I knew it wasn’t concern for me though, he merely wanted to know if his plan had been successful, or if he was about to be swarmed by angry Russians. I tried to focus enough to answer him, but I must have taken too long, because he shook me roughly, making my head spin. I managed to nod, and he released me, obviously pleased. Then he stood and returned to his seat, as if that little scene had never happened, and his daughter wasn’t kneeling there, slowly bleeding out on his nice floor. ‘Thanks a lot, dad. Glad we could help you with your little problem – hope you don’t mind if we just pass out now.’

I remained where I was. I knew that if father didn’t want me to hear his conversation, he could dismiss me from the room. Instead, he addressed the men, apparently continuing on from a previous conversation that I had not been a part of. His words drew their curious looks from me to him. I looked up from between the blood-soaked and sticky strands of my hair, realising that I was on familiar terms with everyone in the room. There were five others total, aside from my father. They were of course, my father’s closest advisors.

Except that Aizen was absent, which I suppose was usual for him. But I found it strange that Aizen was the closest thing my father had as a friend, as well as the most-trusted of father’s followers, and yet was absent from so many of these important meetings. ‘But somehow, he always seems to know what’s going on anyway.’ Perhaps father tells him.