What Men Want - Chapter 27

Blood.

Blood was everywhere. It was thick and sticky, with that sweet smell and metallic taste as it poured into his mouth.

It went everywhere: in his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose...Until all he could see, taste, smell, and touch was blood.

Until all he could hear was blood pooling all around him, inside him, bubbling, slithering...

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get out. But out of where? He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know whohe was...All he knew was blood. And death. And pain. And fear.

A fear so debilitating, it locked his muscles in place, so he couldn’t move. So he had to stay in that vast, endless pool of blood. Tasting it, smelling it...

He needed to get out. He needed to get to her. He needed her. She would know what to do; she would help; she would bring light into this barren, dark world he lived in, wash the blood away.

With an almost inhuman effort, he made his muscles work, swimming through blood to the surface—or what he hoped was the surface; he had no idea in which direction to go, but he could feel her pull.

Yes! Finally!

At last, he emerged from the pool of blood, breaking its surface, only to find nothing but darkness. Silent, whorling darkness all around him, roiling and boiling, oppressing his lungs.

Suddenly, there was no more blood. He could no longer smell or taste it; his body was no longer covered in it, although he knew he’d never be clean again. He’d always feel the blood coating his skin, no matter what he did.

His sense of direction once again lost in the writhing darkness, he started walking. He could no longer feel her, but he knew he had to move. Sooner or later, she’d come to him. She knew he needed her.

She was the only one who could make it all go away. Just seeing her smile made the world a little brighter, his heart a little lighter, the memories of what he’s done and what he’s seen a little more distant.

He felt like a different person when he was with her. Someone worthy of life, someone normal, someone deserving.

In the distance, in the darkness, he saw a door. A door into the other world, a door leading to her.

He started running, yet he couldn’t come close to the door; he couldn’t reach it. No, he had to reach it. She was there; she would make it all go away.

Suddenly, the door was in front of him; he had to scramble to stop before he slammed into it. His mouth curving in a little smile, he offered his thanks to whatever higher being had listened to his prayers.

He twisted the knob, and bright sunshine assaulted his eyes. Sunshine streaming through an open window, flimsy white curtains billowing in the wind.

He knew the room. It was hers. At last, he’s reached his destination.

Then his heart sank.

The room was empty and barren. Except for the curtain on the window, there was nothing in it. She wasn’t in it.

He stepped in and stopped when he heard something crunch under his feet. Looking down, he saw that he stood on a photo frame. He picked it up, looked at the photo, and his heart cracked like the frame underneath his feet.

It was their photo. The one where he had his arm slung around her shoulders as they laughed. He remembered that day clearly. He remembered the feeling of happiness, of contentment, of freedom clearly.

But as quickly as the memory blinked into his mind, it was gone, taking with it the feelings of happiness.

The protective glass was broken, with the deepest crack right over her face, making it unrecognizable. But he would know her face everywhere. He would recognize her in pitch-black darkness.

Wouldn’t he? Couldn’t he?

The light was suddenly gone, and he was once again steeped in darkness. He felt the frame slip from his fingers, and then he could no longer remember what he’d been holding. What he’s been thinking about.

His world was one of darkness and death. Of blood. He knew nothing else; he knew no other. And he could no longer live in it. He couldn’t stand the oppressive silence, the sight of blood slowly seeping along the edges of his vision.

He could no longer stand the voices crowded inside his head, screaming, crying, begging, cursing him...

Killer. Murderer. Beast. Why do you still live when we don’t? What right do you have to live? You took that right from us. You need to repay us. You need to join us. Join us. Join us! Join us!!!

The voices reverberated in his head, echoing around him until he had to put his hands on his ears. But it wouldn’t block the voices or the remorse. Only one thing could do that.

Yes! Thousands of voices cried in unison. That is the only way to make amends, to redeem yourself, to clean the blood off your hands. Join us! Do it!

He felt a familiar weight in his hand. He looked down, and there it was, his trusted Python tucked firmly into his grip, the feel of it like coming home.

His eyes dead and empty, the man known as Saeba Ryo lifted the gun to his head...

Kaori snapped awake. She’d come into her room after her last confrontation with Ryo, dropped onto the bed, and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

Could anyone blame her? Years and years of torment, coupled with the head injury and the curse it had brought with it, last night’s heartbreak, and today’s final decision to cut a clean break, followed by the confrontation that had left her drained, no wonder she’d been dead tired.

She certainly wasn’t tired now, not anymore. Not after the latest vision. Not after seeing Ryo lift his gun—

He wouldn’t do it, would he? It was just a vision, a dream. Right?

But it had felt so real. His desperation to get out of the darkness only to fall back into it after seeing the broken frame containing their photo. She had no time or inclination to speculate just what she was doing in Ryo’s dream—albeit in the form of a photo—because she was assailed by a sense of urgency demanding she go look for him.

“Oh, God.”

She jumped to her feet and ran out of her room.