Legacy

Chapter 30: More Screams

The screaming coming from the basement makes me bolt up to a sitting position. My back stiffens and I have to cover my ears.

I've been counting the girls he's brought in for practice. This poor girl is unlucky number five. All of them have been about my height and proportion... so Michael can practice properly.

The first night he came up and curled up beside me. It wasn't until the next morning that I noticed the blood on his hands and clothes and screamed literal bloody murder. He had only grinned and kissed me before bending me over the bed.

The rest was a blur.

After he had finished, I do remember him giving me a detailed blow-by-blow. Describing everything. Her thrashing. How many times he had to drug her. Then the fact that he needs to work on his technique... because he'd gotten a little carried away and buried a blade in her intestine.

After hearing that, I tried to make it to the bathroom to vomit, but the bolt in the wall had stopped me and I ended up hurling up my guts on the bedroom floor. The only thing that made it worse was the pictures Michael brought upstairs to store away in one of the files on his desk.

Thankfully, the man hadn't touched me since that initial morning. Or shared the gory details with me since I emptied my stomach on the carpet.

It feels like hours before girl-number-five stops screaming. Either from the drugs pumping through her system, or maybe she's just dead.

My whole body starts to tremble and my hands go to my belly. It seems so much larger now... It has to have been a month or so... the annoying Christmas music has come and gone. Nowadays my precious radio is back to playing repetitive upbeat songs, but I don't mind.

The sound of the door unlocking tears me from my thoughts. For such a tall man, Michael is surprisingly quiet as he enters the room.

"Morning Bird," he murmurs tiredly. "You're s'posed to be sleeping." He sits down next to me, placing a hand on top of mine. "You hungry? I got pickles at the store today." I just shake my head. "I could reheat a pizza." I push his hand away and adjust the pillows behind me. "Oh. I know." His hand is sticky with blood as he raises it to rest on my neck. "You're stressing out."

No shit.

"I know just the thing," he whispers, his fingers tracing up the curve of my thigh.

I frown as his fingers hook under the strings holding my sweatpants in place and start to tug. All that blood smears over the fabric, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. His other hand presses against my chest, pushing me down on the mattress. My heart is pounding against my ribs, as I push his hands away.

Michael cocks his head. "What's this fuss?"

I take in a shaky breath and meet his eyes through the darkness of the room. "Don't touch me when you have blood on your hands," I mutter, retying the strings.

The next thing I feel is his hands. One pressing firmly against my crotch, the other gripping my throat. "I can touch you one way," he squeezes my throat enough to make me squirm, "or another..." A gasp tears from my throat as his fingers dig into the sensitive spot between my legs. He must be on some kind of high from what he was doing in the basement.

I squirm beneath him, feeling the tears fill my eyes. My hands come up to grab his arm as he chokes me. Breathing is a struggle and my legs start to kick frantically.

"Michael-" I choke, looking into his eyes in pure fear. "Please don't do this." His grip loosens the tiniest bit. "I-I'm tired. I just want to sleep." My plea is a little desperate, but Michael isn't in the right state of mind. "I-"

He lunges forward and kisses me full on the lips. I can feel the blood he smears on my face with the hand that was at my throat. On instinct, I bite down on his lip. As if in response, his other hand slips under my waistband.

I turn my face away. "If you're going to insist on doing this, can you please uncuff me?"

Michael sighs and reaches into his pocket to retrieve the key. It takes him a moment to locate the keyhole in the dark, and he sounds frustrated when he finally finds it.

"You know what, the mood's gone," he mutters as my wrist is freed.

I release a breath of relief as I lie down on the bed and pull the covers over me. "Goodnight, Michael," I say quietly, to which he responds with an incoherent grumble.

I'm almost settled down to sleep when he comes up behind me and wraps his arm around my body, caressing my belly. "Are you sure you're feeling fine, September?" His voice is calmer than I would have expected. "I can still go get you something to eat."

"I'm fine," I murmur, closing my eyes.

"I know you say that, but..." he sighs. "I dunno. I just wanna make sure the baby's okay." His chin rests lightly on my shoulder and I feel him sniffing my hair. "You're just so tiny. I want you to be okay too." I feel his lips brush against my neck, so close to where his hand had been just minutes before.

Liar.

"I-I know, Michael," I say in a whisper. Trying to convince him that I mean what I say, I reach a hand down and lace my fingers through his.

"Morning Bird?" His hot breath moistens the inside of my ear.

"Hmm?"

"Would you want a boy or a girl?" Such a casual question for a horrifying situation.

I don't want to think about it. I won't think about it. A little baby that's half me, half... psycho.

"Boy," I say flatly.

His hand squeezes mine. I feel the stickiness of the layer of blood between our fingers; a feeling I'm all too familiar with.

"I kinda want a girl," he whispers.

I say nothing and the last sound I hear before falling asleep is Michael's snoring.