Retribution: The Cure for Agony

Chapter 15: Karma

** Warning: Graphic depictions of violence. **

"Tell me just how deep you would dig
If you could bury me
I'd claw my way back through hell to bring you to your knees
I want to see your face as you watch the world fall apart at the seems"

(No Resolve - What You Deserve)

Before stepping foot outside The Room, I peeled off my bloodied shoes and splattered clothing—leaving me in my boxers. The bottom of my warm feet stuck to the tile as I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Underneath the sink, in the moldy cabinet, there was a box of black trash bags. I grabbed four of them, hearing them ruffle as I marched back to the crime scene.

Inside the door, I put my shoes back on and walked across The Room, passing Melody. Her head was down and shoulders were pushed up. She was trembling—daring not to look at me.

I sighed, tossing the bags to clean part of the floor. Even though I knew I loved her, nothing in my chest moved. My heart didn't feel like it was being shredded; it didn't leap with empathy. My pulse and breathing stayed the same, never spiking.

I sauntered to the nugget, grabbing him by the hair, and dragged him towards the trash bags. His shoulders squeegeed blood across the floor until I lifted him up and plopped him next to the bags. My sticky fingers aided me in opening one of them and I waved it through the air, inflating it.

I stepped over his body, leaning towards the bench and flipped the plastic sheet off. A pair of pliers laid at the edge and I switched the bag for them, then bent down to open his mouth. Sticking the pliers inside, I gripped an incisor. My other hand was on his forehead, bracing him as I tugged.

There was a loud pop and I lifted the tooth up to my view, noticing the root was still intact. I dropped it on the floor next to his head and went in for more.

The incisors and canines were easy, but the others were making me strain. As a result, I placed the bottom of my bloody vans on his jaw and pushed down with all my weight. The corners of his mouth tore as his jaw pushed into his trachea.

From there, I was able to get a good grip on the rest of his molars—the ones that didn't fall out—and extract them from his head. His body wasn't stiff yet, so I could see his lips cave a little, searching for the support that was no longer there.

I grabbed the bag again and shimmied Daniel's torso inside. Two others were used for his limbs, stuffing an arm and leg in each one to make the most of the limited space. His blood coated my hands and forearms like birthday frosting on a fat kid's face.

If I had to guess, his death was caused by exsanguination, which isn't much of a guess considering the paint job. It made me stare at my arms, wondering what he saw in his last moments. He found out the truth—the real truth—and nobody could argue with it.

I often ponder what happened in my head when I was strung up, minutes away from dying myself, but I couldn't remember any of it. Perhaps my work was a way of trying to get a glimpse—a memory of what my subconscious forgot. Although, it would be a lie to assume it was my only objective.

As immoral as it was to admit, I found no greater accomplishment than to snuff out someone's existence. I didn't care who it was; I'd do it. Sometimes free of charge for a little distraction. It was always better than lingering in thoughts of regret and fear of abandonment.

I had Ben to thank for this.

"Why?" Melody's voice trembled in question. "Tell me why."

I groaned, hauling his remains to the door. "Why what?"