25. Theron

25

THERON

THE WHISPER OF FOREST - SURAN

"Theron, the last thing you need is some girl ruining your future," Theo sighed. "When are you going to wake up?"

"Wake up to what, Theo? Just because you don't like her ? —"

"It's not about liking her or not," she interrupted. She dogged my every footstep around my apartment, arms folded.

It was unlike her to care about my personal affairs these days. Struggling in several of her undergrad classes at Castlebury, she had her own issues going on. But she'd made the time this morning to show up and pester me.

I shoved a property law book onto my bookshelf and grabbed a different one.

"I'm trying to get work done."

Theo frowned at me. "I can't believe you're going to ruin your entire life over this. She's not worth it!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

…she's worth everything.

The memory fades in the dark, returning me to the deep shadows of Nyssa's closet. I'm biding my time, waiting for Wicker to leave, urging myself to stay still.

Remain rational .

The brawny oaf's halfway out of her bedroom when he suddenly stops. He turns his head to the left and stares.

He stares in the direction of where the thermostat's on the wall.

Peaches, who has watched him closely from where she's perched on the windowsill, hisses at him. His attention's drawn away from the thermostat I've left in a half put-together state to the hissing cat.

Good girl, Peaches. I knew we were friends.

"Oh," Wicker says, his tone flat. "It's just you. Stupid cat. Scram."

He swipes his arm at the windowsill. Peaches is too fast for him. The ginger cat leaps from her perch and lands gracefully on her feet.

"I said get away!" The oaf starts chasing after her, his face reddening in irritation.

Don't you touch her. If you touch her…

I'm fuming as I watch through the crack in the closet door, barely holding myself back. I've never been the type to solve problems with my fists—no, I've always much preferred clever words and sharp wit—but I'm no pacifist either.

Witnessing Wicker chase Nyssa's cat out of the room like the brute he is makes my blood boil.

It takes my mind back to Halloween night, where he'd knocked Nyssa down into the dirt and almost forced himself on her…

"Dumb cat!" he yells, drawing his foot back and then launching it forward. He delivers a crushing kick to Peaches's side.

The little orange tabby flops halfway down the hall with a feeble cry. Wicker gives a crude laugh.

The thin rope of restraint keeping me inside that closet vanishes. The closet door flies open as I charge forward. Wicker's barely sensed a figure shooting toward him by the time he's turning his head to glance over.

My fist sails through the air. It lands on the apple of Wicker's cheek. Knuckles against his cheekbone, forcing a grunt out of him. He stumbles back several heavy-footed steps. His large form knocks into some painted artwork on the wall. The frames flip off their hooks and to the ground.

Shit. Sorry, Nyssa! I'll fix that later.

Peaches shrieks and jumps out of the way, fleeing to a safe space under the sofa.

I rush forward for a second blow. My fist meets his gut and steals the breath in his lungs. Wicker curls an arm around his stomach as if on the verge of collapse.

It's a fake out.

The large oaf releases an angry howl worthy of a beast and then plows into me. We're airborne for a brief second. Two bodies flying across Nyssa's apartment. Whereas we start in the hall, we wind up scattered on the floor of her living room.

We clamber to our knees, then feet, at the same time.

It's clear Wicker outweighs me. He's taller, broader, generally bigger .

But he's also slow and stupid, two things I can use to my advantage.

I admit, I'm not the most capable fighter.

But I improvise. I think on my feet. I'm about winning, not flexing muscles and brawn or showing off.

As Wicker launches at me, I wait until the last possible second and swerve to the side. His meaty fist collides with nothing more than air. I grab a book off Nyssa's shelf and slam it over his head. The same spot where I'd beat him with a rock mere weeks ago .

Wicker howls again. This time out of pain.

The stitches are likely still fresh. A fact that gives me a twinge of petty satisfaction as I bring the book down a second and third time.

Wicker's crouched over, an arm thrust up to try to block me.

When that fails, he swipes at my legs. His arms lock around them and he's yanking with full brute strength. I'm ripped off my feet like a rug has been pulled out from under me. I crash down on my back, pain radiating up my spine.

The whole world feels like it's been flipped upside down.

That's because, as I look up, Wicker's hovering over me. His hand reaches out to wrench off the skeleton mask.

No… no… DON'T!

A nasty grin curls onto his lips once he sees my face. "Professor," he says. "Thought so. It was you that night too, eh? So they were right?"

He grabs the front of my hoodie and lifts me up. Before I can gain my footing or grapple him off me, he tosses me forward so that I land several feet away on my stomach. He closes in at once and wrenches me over, drawing his fist back and slamming it into my face.

His fist is like colliding with a brick.

Pain explodes across my face as he pulls it back for another hit.

Do something, Theron. Right now. You're losing!

My hand searches desperate and blind at my side for something, anything, to grab onto. My fingers wrap around a metal chisel that's resting on the coffee table. One of Nyssa's sculpting supplies that she uses to smooth down her sculptures.

The point's sharp like a blade .

As Wicker slams his fist into my face yet again, I jam the chisel into his side.

Once, twice, again and again until the metal point slicing into his flesh and organs produces a squelch noise. He freezes up, giving his loudest howl yet.

Blood leaks from both of us. My lip's split open. His side's torn open.

Yet, suddenly, I'm in the better position. I roll out from under him as he drops to his knees in agony. The same bruised-knuckled, meaty hand he's been using to clobber my face clutches at his bleeding side.

I'm not through with him yet.

I raise the pointed metal chisel and drive it into his jugular.

Satisfaction blasts through me, so euphoric and powerful, it's almost orgasmic.

Blood seeps from the slit, dribbling down Wicker's hands as he wraps them around his own throat. His eyes are on me in shock, his face paling.

I glare back at him, heaving for air, slicked with sweat and blood.

It's several minutes before Samson Wicker bleeds out on the floor of Nyssa's apartment.

He's an inch away from death as I'm quick to start cleanup. Nyssa has a decent enough selection of cleaning supplies under her kitchen sink that allow me to do a full wipe down of her furniture and the floors.

I hang back up the artwork Wicker had knocked down and straighten the other knickknacks that had been pushed over.

In the bathroom, I do my best to patch up my face. Wicker's fists did enough damage that I'm sporting a busted lip and swollen cheek and jaw. I scrub the blood from my fingers, then thoroughly clean her bathroom to cover my tracks.

Peaches has finally emerged from her hiding spot under the sofa. She meows as I dig inside Nyssa's hall closet for the large trunk where she keeps her backup art supplies.

"I know, Peaches… I shouldn't…" I pant, heaving it from the back of the closet. I take out most of the art supplies and place them back inside the closet. "But desperate times. I've got to dispose of him. I'll buy her a new one. Filled with plenty of art supplies, alright?"

The ginger cat blinks and then meows again.

"I'll bring you more salmon."

That seems to do the trick as Peaches purrs affectionately and I haul the huge trunk into the living room.

Cramming Samson Wicker's huge, oafish body into the trunk is no easy feat. It feels like a morbid game of Tetris cramming him inside the piece of luggage. I'm sweating bullets all over again as I survey Nyssa's apartment, taking inventory for any evidence left behind.

Besides the fact that her trunk will be missing.

I'm hoping she won't notice at least for a day or two.

The riskiest moment is still to come. I'm on edge as I drag the trunk down the fourth floor apartment hall and step into the elevator. Thankfully, it's empty.

I ride it all the way down to the first floor, where I proceed to tow the two-hundred-and-thirty-plus-pound piece of luggage to my BMW.

In the back of my mind, I'm fully aware I could be seen. I'm aware this moment could come to bite me in the ass should someone happen by or spot a suspicious man carrying a giant trunk to his car late at night.

But I have to keep going. There's no turning back now.

I'll worry about the rest later .

For a meticulous and careful person like me, it's extremely difficult to disregard these things. It feels reckless and insane that I've done what I've done.

I've killed a man… again.

Once again, it was in Nyssa's honor.

It was to protect her and ensure no harm comes her way. Though I'm fully justified, it doesn't change the obvious fact that I could be ruining my life.

I could be found out.

"How could you keep this from me?" I demanded in a rumble.

Josalyn shook her head, on the brink of tears. "Theron, I warned you to stay away. This was none of your concern."

"None of my concern!?" I shout. "You're my concern!"

"Leave me alone! I don't need you!"

She rushed past me on her way to the door. I clenched shut my eyes and urged my fists to stop shaking, urged the rage inside me to go away.

But I couldn't let this go. I couldn't look the other way like I had in the past.

How could she?!

I black out once I hit the roads. They're empty and dark, my windshield wipers whizzing across the front window to keep the raindrops at bay. I drive for miles, far across Castlebury, in search of the location I know will be safe.

The place where I can dispose of Samson Wicker and then forget this night ever happened.

It wouldn't be the first time…

Half an hour later, I pull up thick in the forest that surrounds the university. I heave Wicker's body from the trunk along with the snow shovel I keep in my car. I'm lost in a daze, digging up a hole deep enough to bury him in.

His pale, lifeless body flops into the hole and I cover him shovel by shovel. Soon he disappears, embedded deep under the wet earth.

I'm drenched once it's all said and done, soaked by sweat and the rainfall. I leave the burial site behind, scrubbing a hand over my face as I head back toward my car. Darkness surrounds me. Only the smell of sodden earth and tap-tap-tap of rain fills my ears and nose.

…until out of the stillness comes the soft pad of footsteps. The bright white light from a cell phone. I squint in the direction it's coming from.

Nyssa steps out of the blanket of darkness looking unlike I have ever seen her. Accusation lives in her expression, her face lacking its usual warmth.

I blink in the rain and vaguely wonder if I'm hallucinating.

"Nyssa… how did you…?"

"You… killed Samson?" she says slowly, her eyes widening.

Shit. Shit!

I shake my rumpled wet hair away from my brow, aware how crazed I must look soaked through with a shovel in my hand so late at night, in the middle of nowhere. "It's a very long story. But allow me to explain."

"So it's true," she says. "It was you."

"What's me? You think I… that I'm…? Nyssa!"

But as I stagger toward her, she retreats back into the wooded shadows. Bright light falls directly on me as three police cars emerge from the other end. They've turned off road into the forest as if given the exact coordinates to look for. Their high beams burn my retinas and I have no choice but to lift up my arm to block the light.

The police cars roll to a stop over the rocks and dirt. A stern voice issues a command over a megaphone .

"Stay where you are."

My stomach bottoms out as the gravity of the moment weighs on me.

This is bad. Very bad. The worst possible thing that could happen…

The police car doors spring open and out step four officers starting toward me.

I glance over at the trees Nyssa had been standing between.

She's gone, having vanished into the darkness.