Ch.53: The Monster Revealed

The knife buries itself in meat.

Not the heart. Petrova twists at the last second, and the blade sinks into her forearm.

She screams—a high, thin sound like tearing silk. The pearl-handled pistol goes off, *BANG*, blowing a hole in the ceiling plaster. Dust rains down on the pink carpet.

Petrova stumbles back, tripping over a pile of stuffed animals.

I am on her instantly.

I am not a surgeon. I am not a wife. I am a creature of pure, violent instinct.

My hands find her throat. I squeeze. I want to feel the cartilage snap. I want to feel the pulse stop under my thumbs.

"Don't touch her," I snarl, spitting blood into her face. "Don't you ever touch her."

Petrova gags. Her face turns purple beneath the layers of expensive foundation. Her manicured nails claw at me, digging into the raw, exposed muscle of my cheeks.

The pain is blinding. It feels like she is raking fire across my skull.

I don't let go. I squeeze harder.

Then, a force like a battering ram hits my side.

*CRACK.*

A boot.

I am lifted into the air. A hand grips the back of my hospital gown and hurls me across the room.

I crash into the dresser. The wood splinters. Perfume bottles shatter, filling the air with the scent of lavender and rubbing alcohol.

I slide to the floor, gasping. My ribs are on fire. My vision swims.

I look up.

The second guard. The one with the MP5. He followed her.

He raises the weapon. The black bore stares me down.

"No!" Petrova wheezes. She scrambles backward, clutching her bleeding arm. "Don't shoot! You'll hit the spare!"

She points at Lily.

Lily is frozen in the center of the room, trapped between the violence and the door.

The guard hesitates. He shifts his aim, targeting my head.

"Get the girl," Petrova orders, her voice a wet rasp. "We leave. Now. The house is compromised."

The guard nods. He steps toward Lily.

"No," I croak.

I try to stand. My legs fail me.

I crawl.

I drag myself across the blood-slicked carpet, my fingernails digging into the fibers.

"Lily, run," I whisper.

The guard reaches out. His hand, gloved in black tactical leather, closes around Lily's upper arm.

She screams.

It isn't a cry for help. It is a war cry.

She sinks her teeth into his wrist. Hard.

"Fuck!" The guard recoils, shaking his hand. He drops his aim.

Lily breaks free.

She doesn't run to the door. She doesn't run to the window.

She runs to me.

She throws herself between the gun and my broken body. She spreads her small arms wide, a tiny human shield against a paramilitary killer.

"Leave her alone!" she shrieks.

"Lily, move!" I try to push her away with my bloody hands. "Run, baby, please run!"

She turns around.

She faces me.

Thunder cracks directly overhead, shaking the house. A jagged fork of lightning illuminates the room in stark, blue-white relief.

It lights up my face.

I freeze.

I can't hide it. There are no bandages. No shadows.

She sees me.

She sees the red, wet skull. She sees the teeth exposed by the missing lips. She sees the one lidless eye staring frantically from a socket of raw muscle.

I am a monster. I am the thing that lives under the bed.

I wait for the scream. I wait for the look of revulsion that will break whatever is left of my heart.

But she doesn't scream.

Her eyes widen, reflecting the lightning. They search the ruin of my face. They scan the wreckage, looking for landmarks.

She sees the shape of my brow. The color of my remaining iris. The way my hands, even skinless, curl protectively around her.

The guard racks the slide of his weapon. "Step aside, kid. Last warning."

Lily ignores him. She ignores Petrova bleeding on the floor.

She reaches out.

Her small hand trembles, but she doesn't pull back. She touches my cheek.

Her fingers are cool against the burning heat of my raw nerves.

She doesn't flinch at the texture of the meat. She doesn't recoil from the blood.

She leans in. Her forehead touches my forehead.

"Mommy?" she whispered to the red skull.