How About Seven? ✔

23. Asimov

Your turn, sweetheart.

"No," I finally managed to get out. Whirling around, I hissed, "I am not doing your dirty work for you!"

Jasper only smiled. Placing a steel grip on both of my shoulders he forcibly turned me back to face Kaylan. 

"It's either you, or me, sweetheart. Now which would you prefer?"

"I am not hurting Kaylan!" I all but snarled.

"Then shall I?" His obsidian eyes glinted, the maniacal streak alive and present.

I wasn't doing it. I wasn't doing it!

I panicked.

With a sort of reckless abandon I shoved Jasper aside and made for the door. But it was useless, because Jasper caught me with ease, one arm grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me back, while the other arm went around my throat. I was trapped, trapped in a sick replica of a backhug, only there was nothing romantic nor the slightest bit safe about it.

Of course I struggled. But that only tightened the noose around my neck. Jasper's breath was cool and whispery in my ear.

"You, or me, sweetheart. Pick."

You're really in it deep this time, Hayley. 

You're really in it deep.

My fingers clenched around the scalpel as I looked first at Kaylan, then at the faces of his horror-struck parents onscreen.

I'm not doing it. I refuse.

Slowly, I took a step forward.

"Good girl," Jasper murmured, releasing me.

It took me only seven steps to reach Kaylan, but those seven steps felt like a lifetime. Standing behind his chair, watching him all tensed up, his heart probably doing more than 60 beats per minute; and then his parents, with their tear-streaked cheeks as they struggled to free themselves. At Kaylan's neck, the silver chain of the necklace he always wore gleamed under the light, innocent and staring.

I didn't look to the television screen. I didn't look to the face of Mrs Hood, who was pleading and pleading, again and again, begging for me not to do it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He tilted his head a little when he heard my voice. "Hayley?"

I sliced his cheek.

He flinched, letting out a strangled noise of pain. Onscreen, Mrs Hood screamed.

"Kay! Kaylan!"

"You bastards!" Mr Hood roared.

It was a diagonal cut, shallow but long, from just above his jaw to his earlobe. Kaylan breathed, harsh and deep, his face turned away from me.

No. Nope. Not doing it.

"Do another one."

My eyes looked up of their own accord, against my will. They met the eyes of my fiance, who was watching the scene unfold with his arms crossed, like a curious spectator at a science exhibition. As if we were insects in a cage, being studied for an experiment.

" . . . what?"

"You heard me. Do another one. But this time, go down." Jasper made a vague gesture. "You know, so it looks like he has an X on his cheek."

No. I don't want to. I don't want to do it.

Jasper seemed to sense my hesitation. He cocked his head, and the message he was sending me was clear.