wing, so visibility was vague at best. My footsteps were soft against the wood flooring, but they seemed to fill the hall with such loudness. I was moving along, when suddenly, I felt my foot strike something.
Kneeling down, I tried to see what was before me. It seemed curled up and compressed, though I could not be certain. Could it be a bundled rug? Or maybe some piece of furniture? I simply did not know, although I dreaded what I dared not utter at that moment. I was shaking with fear, a fear which stated the only possible answer to the question of the item’s existence on the floor. God, how nervous I was that I would feel my Lexi there, her body upon on the cold surface. I tried to cancel out that thought, but it overwhelmed me. Reaching out to touch it, I slowly laid my hand upon the mass.
I felt fur, a coat of fur, and it was moist to the touch. Running my hand over the body, I found it to be that of Maxwell, who only recently ran past me when I was in the master suite. How alive he was then; now, he had upon him the dark shroud of death. How greatly I missed my light, but at this singular moment of exploration, I was delighted not to have vision, as I know I was certainly investigating open wounds with exposed innards. The substance I felt was no doubt blood, and a pool of it surrounded the body. My hands were stained again.
I vainly felt for a pulse on the animal, but the heart, which must has expended itself in pumping the last vestiges of blood through the open wound, was now silent and still. As I was in the process of pulling back from the dog, I heard footsteps coming from behind me! Each step was slowly placed on the wooden floor, a rhythmic beat which would summon the demons if the right incantations were read. I froze.
Step after step, I heard so clearly the only sound to resonate throughout the house. Like an old funeral dirge, the gentle thuds crept slowly in the deathly-still house. In a moment of panic or frenzy, one questions what the mind perceives against what is an actuality. In this case, there was little doubt. I heard steps just as I previously heard the door, and I recognized them for what they were: the advancement of someone who did not care to remain disclosed any longer.
I was isolated in a dark hall with the deep shades of black hanging around me like heavy drapes. My heart pounded at the sound. Sweat droplets fell and mingled with the blood on the floor. The sound, that pulsating, throbbing sound of steps, kept coming nearer; and my body, both reacting to and against the beat, could do nothing save shiver at the unrestrained echo.
The darkness encircled me, but its thickness could not muffle the sound of the approaching person. From the floor, the walls seemed to rise above me to cavernous heights. I clutched my stick tightly, gripping it with enough force to press any life out of my hands. Someone was coming, and the cadence of the person was too slow and too deliberate to be one in a panic, or one attempting to escape.
I was in the process of slowly turning around when the sound stopped. I stared down the hall, trying to capture any ray of light coming in from the outside. There was a hard rumbling in the sky above, then a flash ripped open the darkness and shot its rays through the house. The momentary flash illuminated the hall, and then, in that moment, I could see her! HERE
I lost my breath. My hands shook. Sweat rolled into my eyes. There, before me, was her dim outline cast against the bleak darkness of the night. Several more strikes gave sufficient light to see the woman, her silhouette standing in the hall entrance. Locks of raven hair fell disheveled around her shoulders. Splatters of blood were on her garments and face, a countenance which bore upon it the most vicious of smiles. In her hand, her left hand, I could see my destiny: she held an ax.
The flashings subsided, and the darkness quickly retook its place. Silence filled the gulf between us, with only my breathing breaking the strained cords of stillness. She spoke not; she moved not; but the item she carried in her hand foretold all of her intentions. I feared for Lexi, and it was that fear, turning and churning in me, that became the fuel to force me to my feet.
My mind could not fathom any sentence to shout across the barrier. My heart cried for Lexi, but the presence of Alexandretta in the hall silenced me entirely. The instrument in her hand swung lazily by her leg, as if its oscillations controlled the movement of time.
Suspended by the weight of her arrival and the sharpness in her approach, I could barely steady myself against the wall. I felt trapped, but not in the hall; no, I felt trapped in a vortex, a swirling abyss which allowed for no escape. All of the air, all of the movement, of the atmosphere seemed to pull in her direction, as if she absorbed the energy into her being. Brief ideas fluttered before me, but they, too, were sucked into the abysmal fountain and pried from my mind. I was entirely at her mercy, and for what purpose I dared not imagine.
I stared at her, while she stared back. I was terrified, but something began to grow within. I felt it swell and explode, filling me much like a hot beverage does on a cold day. I should like to call it bravery, but it was anger, intense hatred even, at the thought of my daughter falling at her hands. I may have been consumed by terror at Alexandretta’s approach, but that terror became a fuel for me, and I was prepared to use it for the life of my child.
Boldly, I shouted across the hall, “Where is Lexi?!” A shift of Alexandretta’s head was the only sign she received my words. I tightened my grip on the stick and thought how best to use it against her. It was battle, indeed, and strategy would be key.
“Lexi?” she asked. Her voice, soft and subtle, yet strikingly in contrast with her demeanor and appearance, wafted through the black lacy darkness and landed softly upon my ears.
Panicked, I screamed, “Where is she!?” There was another pause, a silence I could not endure. I shouted again, demanding she tell me. Then, lastly, I shouted Lexi’s name, commanding her to get out of the house.
“Always so frail, Love…” she said to me. “Can you not master that which haunts you? Can you not master that which you hate?”
“What have you done with Lexi?” Unbeknownst to me, I took a threatening step forward.
“My love, you seem to think me a well spring of answers. I heard you the first time. I am not half so deaf as you are blind.”
“Then what have you done with her?” I thundered, my anger and hate growing by the moment. My last syllables echoed through the hall and danced with the stillness that had momentarily been pushed to the walls by my screaming.
“Why are you shouting, Love? Surely the house is quiet enough for us to hear one another.”
“Don’t play games with me, Alexandretta. What happened to Lexi? Tell me now, or else…”
“Or else what?” and she laughed softly in a mocking manner. “Oh, my darling, you always loved her more than me,” she said dryly. “You always catered to her fancies, divulging your adoration in the many gifts and expressions of affection. Did I die when she was born? Did I fall to the way-side like the scattered seed? Why, my love, why did I not receive your attention? Why did I not feel your passion? Was it too much to ask to be the recipient of your most intimate feelings? Was it wrong of me to yearn for you? Why?”
I was silent. I learned early to take what she said lightly and easily, like handling a knife by the blade. Her words, delicate and flower-like as they appeared, were soaked in a poison fermented in the loneliest section of hell. They were stated with intent and purpose, and if I did not watch myself, I would succumb to her trap.
“I am not here to argue this, Alexandretta. I am here for Lexi! Now, tell me what you have done with her!”
“You always hide from the issue; always have, always will. If you had just focused on me for one moment, focused on me for even a second of your miserable life, I would have been a happy girl and none of this would have ever occurred. But no, your life was for others and not for me! You dreamed of happiness with one, dreamed of success with another, and all while leaving me to sit home in utter isolation, dreaming my wild fantasies with unbridled rage!”
> “Where is my daughter!” I shouted.
“Where is your daughter?” she returned, then threw her head back and burst into the most shrieking laugh any creature has ever dared to send forth. “Our daughter, Love, is not here. Can’t you see that?!” Then, with a sudden swiftness, she lunged forward, the ax swinging more wildly than before.
I sprang back, nearly tripping over the dog. I quickly looked down to place my footing more carefully, and when I returned my gaze to the hall, she was an arm’s reach away.
A full moon cast its beams through the parted clouds into the hall, illuminating us both in its ethereal glow. She stared at me with a wild, mesmeric stare, her eyes piercing through me to the angry world beyond. A smile, both sinister and soft, formed on her red lips. There was beauty in her face, but a beauty tainted with hate and mental degradation.
Tilting her head to the side, she whispered, “Hello, Love.” As those words fell, that smile increased. Droplets of blood painted her face and blouse, and she seemed not to care.
“Where is she? Tell me, or I am calling the police.”
“You mean you didn’t call them on your way here? Not very clever of you, now is it?”
“Well, Alexandretta, it’s not everyday one receives a frantic