8. Cherise

Chapter eight

Cherise

Two Days Before Christmas Eve

I walk down the sidewalk covered in thick, white sheets of snow. My boots crunch loudly with each step, and I can see my chilled breath in front of me with each icy exhale. I’m carrying four large shopping bags that crinkle with my movement, each containing an assortment of decorations to adorn my next stop—to draw The Saint’s attention right to me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a “my soul is ripe for the taking” sign to really make sure my message gets across, but what I got should do the trick.

The streets are eerily quiet and dead. As I gaze upon the houses in this lonely neighborhood, I notice all the homes boarded up in anticipation of the big night coming in two days. Families will be huddled together in their homes this Christmas, whispering to their God to save them and protect their souls from The Saint’s wrath. No one is safe because soon, Hell will be unleashed on Earth—the world will be torn asunder, consumed in hellfire, as screams of the dying and shrieks of triumph from The Saint and his devil imps mix into one loud cacophony of destruction and terror. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. That’s why I need to end this, once and for all. Not only did The Saint destroy my life, murdering my family—an action that set the next ten years of my life into motion in that cursed asylum—but he took the innocent lives of others all across the globe. Soon though, he’ll do it no more.

The wind wails, carrying an eerie melody of whispers that swirl around me. The whispers dance across my mind: listen, feel, remember. Remember. Remember. Search within.

I try to fucking remember—something, anything—that will shed light on my past. Why was my family a target for Lucifer’s minions that night ten years ago? Why was I sent to a mental institution and tortured by vile, vicious bad men for things I can’t fucking recall ever doing? Rage surges hot in my veins as the fragmented memories of my time at The Silent Night Asylum creep into my brain. I shake my head and focus on the house up ahead—the house on the corner of Vixen Street—my new home for the week. Or, until I take my last breath—should I fail my mission. I try not to think like that, but The Saint is a demon, and he will be my greatest match to date. I cannot afford to fail.

I walk up to the door and set my bags down. Adrenaline races through me, just like it always does before the hunt. I’ve scoped this one out for the past week—Jeffrey Cooper—he spends his afternoons sitting in his car outside the nearby elementary school, finding his own prey. Christmas has arrived early for you, Jeffy; you won’t have to fear The Saint—just me. Not to mention, since killing a previous sick fuck, stealing his money, and taking up residence in his home, I’m now running low on cash. It’s time to move on. And what’s a better way to celebrate in preparation for this year’s festivities than with decorations for my new home, and one less evil bastard roaming the earth? I’d say it’s a win-win.

I bring my numb hand to the wooden door and bang on it in desperation. The windows are all boarded up, so I can’t tell if any lights are on inside, but I know he’s in there. I continue my mindless rapping on the door until it swings open, and I’m met with my new dead landlord—who will so kindly allow me to squat here until I’m through with my lease.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” Jeffrey pushes his thick, white- rimmed glasses up his nose. They look like the kind that were popular in the '70’s. His dirty-blonde hair is unkempt, acne scars marring a face scrunched in fury.

I flash a coy smile and chuckle sweetly, twirling a lock of my hair between my fingers. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Cherise. I hate to trouble you sir, but I had nowhere else to go. You know, Christmas is fast approaching, and I need a safe place to be. Do you think I could stay with you to wait it out? I swear I won’t be any trouble.”

His hungry eyes rake over my figure from top to bottom. When his gaze fixes on my face, I glide my tongue over my front teeth, undoing the top buttons of my red winter jacket. “I can pay you if you want? Make it worth your while.”

He crosses his arms, his once furious features softening with cruel intent. He cocks his head with a smirk as he assesses his options. “And how will you pay me for allowing you to stay in my home, Cherise?”

Fuck. I’m a bit old for his taste. This may not work out as I planned. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement, mister... ”

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and leans against the door frame. “Oh, won’t you please come in and stay with me? I wouldn’t want you to stay out here in the cold this Christmas. And you can call me Jeff.”

My lips warp into a sinful smile. I pick up my bags and walk past Jeff into my new home. “Would you like something to drink while we discuss our arrangement? You look parched.”

I set my bags down against the worn, brown couch that’s straight out of the '70’s in the living room. A slow smile pulls at my lips when I notice the small tree next to the entertainment center—I’m glad I picked up those ornaments now. I turn to Jeff, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his forehead. “Sure, I’d love a drink.”

He claps his hands together with a breathy laugh. “Perfect. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

I will gladly make myself at home, Jeffy. But I won’t be drinking the roofied drink that I’m sure you’re going to make me—I already learned my lesson from my previous encounter taking a drink from a stranger. A pang of hurt aches inside my chest as I briefly remember the events of that night—of Nik. I haven’t seen him since I left his home a month ago, and although I sometimes hoped to see him following me around like he used to—I’m glad he finally understands the severity of what I must do. It’s better this way, and it will be safer for him. I just hope that he hasn’t forgotten about me once Christmas is over.

The sound of glasses clinking together in the kitchen jolts me from my downward-spiraling thoughts of Nik. I pull the cable wire out of my coat pocket, unwind it, and twirl the ends around my hands. I left my favorite fucking blade at Nik’s house, and I’m still pissed about that. I couldn’t go back to retrieve it because, well... that would mean I’d have to face him again—and I don’t think it would have been so easy to leave him behind a second time.

I creep quietly into the kitchen, where Jeff has his back turned to me—I see him opening a cabinet, grabbing a medicine bottle, and plopping a pill into one of the drinks. Knew it. I lunge behind him with the wire held high, tossing it over his head and hugging it tight against his throat. I yank on the wire with all of my strength, and Jeffy chokes out a shocked gasp while I drag his ass to the floor. He’s sputtering and unable to breathe. His hands fly to his neck where the wire is, trying to loosen my hold on him, but it’s useless. I drag him into the living room, his body thrashing as he gasps for air while I giggle maniacally. Once in front of the Christmas tree, I move closer, tightening the cord around his neck, ready to finish the job. But then Jeffy, in a desperate burst of courage, tries to stand. He jerks backward, stumbling, and I leap onto his back, wrapping my legs around his waist, refusing to loosen the wire strangling him.

Jeff slams me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me and forcing me to loosen my grip. I let out a shout of frustration as he gasps for air, sputtering, “Crazy... fucking... bitch!”

I laugh like a psycho, leaping off his back while yanking the cord, causing Jeff to choke on his breath. Without hesitation, I kick him hard in the spine, sending him crashing to his knees. I don’t waste a second, wrapping the wire around his neck three more times, pulling the ends savagely tight. My laughter drowns out his desperate, choking gasps as he struggles for air. As blood beads at his neck from the wire digging in, a wondrous idea sparks in my mind.

With all my might, I grit my teeth and strain my biceps as the cord slices through his flesh, blood pouring down his shoulders, chest, and back. Jeff’s desperate attempts to make me stop are useless; his hands slap weakly at mine, growing feebler with every breath that escapes his lungs—with every drop of blood that flows from his shredded skin.

I press my boot against his spine, using his body as my anchor to pull harder. One final, garbled sigh escapes his lips, and I know he’s gone when the cord hits the resistance of his vertebrae. His head slumps back, barely held in place by mutilated skin, torn sinews, and splintered bone. Frustration surges through me, a growl of aggravation escaping as I realize the wire won’t let me finish him the way I intended.

I release the wire and shove his limp body forward onto the carpet. Standing over him, a devious smile curls my lips. I raise my foot and slam it down onto the back of his neck, the sickening crunch of bone and tendons echoing in the room. Blood pulses from the wound with each stomp as I drive my foot deeper into his flesh. The bone cracks under my weight—again, and again, I kick—until his vertebrae splits clean in two, his skin turning to a bloody pulp, mixing into the carpet.

I press my hands together with satisfaction, chest heaving from the effort. That was like a damn workout. With one final, brutal kick to the side of his head, it fully separates from his body, rolling across the floor and into the kitchen. I leap into the air, clapping my hands, and squealing with joy. “I did it! Yay!”

I skip over to his severed, bloody head and grab it by the hair, bringing it close to my face with a smirk. “Consider our arrangement paid in full, Jeffy. Thanks for letting me stay!” A bubble of laughter escapes me as I stroll over to the Christmas tree, setting his head down beneath it—my first present to myself this Christmas.

I spent the rest of the night and most of the next day stringing up Christmas lights—which were a bitch to find since no one uses them this time of year—removing the wooden planks from the windows, and adorning the tree with red and white ornaments and candy canes. My special friend helped me, her childish giggles filling the room as we danced around, decorating together. Since I no longer have my knife, I know I have to be creative when it comes to killing The Saint, and cable wire won’t cut it. During my shopping spree, I picked up a few packs of candy canes since they’ve been swarming my mind since the day Nik gave one to me. It felt like a calling, so I spent hours shaving the ends down to sharp points to stab into The Saint’s flesh as makeshift peppermint knives—assuming they don’t break. There’s also sharp cutlery in the kitchen… thanks, Jeffy! They aren’t my beautiful, serrated blade, but they will have to suffice.

Now that the house is ready to light up the entire neighborhood, since everyone else’s will naturally be off to avoid unwanted attention, anxiety and excitement ripple through me. All that’s left to do now is wait. Tomorrow night, this will all be over. I will finally be free, even if I die trying. No longer will I be haunted by these incomplete memories of the past.

I step out of the shower and wrap my damp skin in a towel. I wipe the condensation off the mirror and breathe deeply, inspecting my new look. Candy canes are now my whole identity, and I can’t stop thinking about them, sucking on them any chance I can get. There is something about them. I just have to figure out what. I dyed the sides of my hair that frame my face with red and white streaks to emphasize my new infatuation. I’ve always loved those colors, and damn, I look good.

I catch myself smiling in the mirror, and dread sinks deep into my stomach. I don’t look at my reflection often; it’s hard to see my scar-infested skin, which is a stark reminder of the horrors of my past. I trace my fingers slowly over the crooked scar that runs down my lips, and it’s thick and hideous. I’m bewildered that someone as beautiful as Nik even wanted to kiss me. There’s that peculiar feeling again just at the thought of him.

I flick my eyes over the rest of my exposed skin. Small scars are scattered around my face, neck, arms, and legs. But the one on my stomach that runs from my navel down to my pubic area is still a mystery to me. I don’t remember how I received that one, but by the discoloration of it and how thick the scar tissue is, that cut was severe—deep enough to kill if left untreated. I hold my breath as my fingers glide down the scar and blow out a shaking breath once I reach the bottom. These scars mean something; I believe they serve as a key to the dark pits of my psyche that are locked away from me. I only need to figure out how to access them.

But first, I prepare for tomorrow night. The Saint will die, along with Will Ashcroft after him. Their wicked sins will be cleansed from this world and purged from me. I will fight the demons that plague me deep within, and I will win.