Prom Queen ｡ Michael Langdon

13 - TAINTED

     She could still hear the screaming. Could still smell the fury of the fire and the sweet yet burnt smoke days after the devasting pep rally. The death of Winn Nelson was ruled as a tragic accident, but Carrie didn't believe it was an accident. Not even close. 

     The blonde teenager had a divided heart, for she believed that Michael Langdon had killed the bully in a column of fire that had ripped at the night sky at the pep rally Friday night. Her heart was divided because one half was thankful and proud and that made Carrie her stomach recoil with sickness. The other half of her heart was riddled with guilt and shame and above all, concern for her dear friend, because if Michael had killed Winn, that meant he was a killer. 

     A killer. A murderer. A sinner. A monster.

     But Carrie Moore couldn't think of Michael Langdon as any of those things, and certainly not a monster. Couldn't consider that the kind and curious boy with a halo of golden hair that had shown her such wonder in a graveyard was a monster. But she knew what she'd seen at the pep rally. The strange whiteness of Michael's eyes that she'd witnessed before when he had made snow fall in the middle of May in Los Angeles. 

     And then there was that smile, that smile of triumph over killing a boy, whose only sin against Carrie was harassment. That smile at the sight of a burning body, the flames licking and reaping. Carrie had tossed and turned that night in her bed, trying to convince herself that it was impossible for Michael to create and control fire, but she knew he could do the same thing with snow. And was there much difference between snow and fire? Both were extreme natural elements and both were forces to be reckoned with. They belonged on the same spectrum and Michael could manipulate them both. 

     She spent the rest of the night praying to her heavenly Father for guidance and forgiveness, and for the boy that had lost his life in such a fiery display of power. She pressed her golden cross to her lips, her breath heating and fogging the metal, and even with her prayers filling her mind, she wondered what Michael Langdon was doing across the one-way street. 

  —   

     "I did something tonight, Miriam," Michael announced as he paced the kitchen. Miriam was unwrapping a few parcels of butchered animal parts, an apron with the words 'why you all up in my grill?' printed across the front was tied around her thick waist. 

     "Oh? Something that would make our Dark Lord proud?" she asked, reaching for the cleaver. The sharp edge of the knife shone under the kitchen lights. 

     "Yes, Father would be proud." Michael leaned against one of the counters, a huff falling from his lips. "I killed a boy tonight. He was a bad person." There was no remorse or guilt lingering inside Michael. He didn't regret his actions, didn't regret killing Winn Nelson. Not even for a second.

      He knew he should regret it, should have felt something, but he didn't. It had always been this way, even when he was a babe living with Constance Langdon. It wasn't that Michael wanted to hurt people—he didn't—it was just that murder was in his blood and it was a natural instinct and impulse deep within the lining of his skin and in the chambers of his heart, and he wasn't good as suppressing it. He hadn't asked to be a monster, and boy he wished he wasn't, but he'd been created as a monster. Either from his bloody birth (that started with murder) or his turbulent upbringing (which also included a lot of murder), it didn't matter. No one had ever apologised for making him a monster, so he didn't feel the need to apologise for being one. 

     "That's not so bad," Miriam said, swinging the cleaver through the air. It acred high before the woman brought it down and it sliced through the bone easily. The smell of raw meat was rigorous in the air, but it didn't bother Miriam nor Michael.