Fury

She called it upon herself.

11:18pm, Thursday the 3rd. Four miles outside the city line on N. Charles Road. Subject’s residence.

The woods had provided ample coverage for unnoticed surveillance of the estate. Only two guards remained on the premises – one at the gate, one in the manor. She had left at nightfall, and the maids two hours before. Two more guards were due in less than an hour. They didn’t use dogs, which was good; dogs make better guards than men. She wouldn’t have abided dogs anyway, and they would have been useless around her.

She would kill again tonight. She had left earlier than expected, and it would be impossible to try to find her in the city. There was nothing to do but wait.

Waiting becomes routine.

I had warded the periphery of her estate, except for the gate. That’s a lot of rice. Once she arrived back, the last ward would be placed, and she would be trapped inside, with no escape. Even if she lived and I did not, she would be confined to her grounds indefinitely, likely to starve. After tonight, she wouldn’t kill again.

It was 12:00am, and the third shift arrived. The two new guards had only just come in the gate when she drove up, early. Many of them – her kind – prefer to be chauffeured, but she was more independent, somewhat roguish. She parked her fancy, black European car and disappeared into the house. I completed the ward and hopped the fence.

There were no theatrics, and no violence. They are too messy and noisy, and far too risky. A small gas pill lobbed between them while they were talking, and the two guards outside were safely unconscious for eight hours or so. They were professional, but unprepared.

Many had died here, on these grounds – my apprentice among them. He had been prepared for the job – it wasn’t his first – but he was not ready for her, or for her power.

She had been ready for him. She would have broken him, remade him for her own amusement before finishing him; she would have seen him coming.

I should have seen it coming. It was not my fault, but I could have prevented it.

The door guards were dispatched in the same way as their colleagues, and the house was gained. I marked the entryway with a cross – it was mostly habit, but occasionally it was effective. She was not hard to find, in a drawing room upstairs, sitting in an over-stuffed armchair, watching a large picture hang in a heavy, gilded frame on the wall across from Her. She looked up when I stepped into the room, possibly surprised, but hiding it well. “Hello,” she said. Her voice was easy and carefree, somewhat inviting. Her voice was less certain when she waited a moment but got no response. She looked me over. “So they sent a woman, this time…”

She stood from the chair and raised herself to her full height, which was impressive. She stood, then finally approached. Her cloak swept back, and beneath she was nude, and perfect. She was strong, but supple; had there been life in her flesh, she would have been the model of health. Her face was both beautiful and pretty, and her hair was clean and straight and long. Her lips were full and seductive, and her eyes were dark, and deep enough to fall into.

She looked on me with desire, though I was homely, and short, and scrawny.

She looked on me with eyes that wanted to devour me, eyes that were gateways to a void. Her eyes caught to mine, pulled me into her, poured me into the bottomless pit. She was empty, and could never be filled.

But I was full, and could never be emptied. She grasped for an ego, and found the endless river of purpose. She held me, and drained me, but it cost me nothing and gained her less. She shied away, cowering back against the wall. Her eyes were no longer devouring, but defensive of the emptiness behind – she clung to it like a talisman, like treasure. The world closed in around her. “You’ve trapped me here, haven’t you?”

The fear of reality, not as she would have it, but as it inescapably was, took her, and the animal came out. Her nails were claws and her teeth, weapons; “I could kill you now – before you could even move…” It was an empty threat, and we both knew it.

It cost her much, but at last she threw herself before me. “I beg you to spare me – show me mercy where I have failed to… Please!” The last word was ripped from her lips in a wail. Her old accent was strong – she had been broken and reduced. If she was released now, she would flee. It would be years before she’d be bold enough to return to the city, to kill in my precinct.

But she’d had her chance for mercy long ago, in another time and place. No one becomes what she was without choosing it. She had never shown mercy to anyone – not to my apprentice, not to the young man behind the club at the strip, and not to whomever’s blood was on Her lips tonight. She deserved no mercy. I had no desire to give it to her. But she got it.

I spoke: “Release those souls you hold within you. They aren’t yours, and that’s why they’ll never satisfy you. Do this and repent, and nothing will keep you here.”

There was no moment of hesitation, no time to consider; “No!” she snarled. “It cannot be done! They are mine!”

And it was over. Whatever half-life she had vanished when her head left her body. There was no mess. Even her corpse would not survive the night. I opened the window, so a breeze could catch the dust and scatter it. I can’t know what happened to the souls she stole, or even her own soul she bartered. I hope they’re free now.

She had called it upon herself.

It was what she had really wanted all along.