I tried taking a walk along the beach, anxious for one of my fantasies to come and save me from the monotony of my raging reality, but there was no such reprieve. Even though he had not yet died, my revenge was beginning to feel hollow because what was I to do once this chapter of my life was truly closed? If I got away with everything, what would be the next logical step in this type of situation? Settle down with Mercy and Sunshine and hope they tolerate each other forever. Pretend that we had not tortured and killed people in our basement. What new reality was going to emerge from the ashes of my old one? I poured the gasoline and lit the match, and yet, taking into account how much damage I had done, I began to wonder if it had all been worth it.
Unable to fall asleep that night, I grabbed the rabid rat along with a steel bucket and made my way through the dark house with nothing but a torch to illuminate my way. I did not want to wake up my companions; I did not want my crime to bear on their souls. I had a deep and personal relationship with Claire, who ultimately gave up her life for me. It was only right that I be the one to be forever haunted by his ghost; it was cross to bear.
The basement door creaked open, and Mathew sprang to life, as much as he could given that he was restrained. I set the bucket down on the floor and the rat by his head and had the pleasure of watching his terrified eyes take in his ultimate demise. Watching him lie there, big yet helpless, felt empty. All the struggles we had in our lives, all our achievements, washed away at the hour of our death. Our ego, ignorant and assuming, makes each death shocking despite knowing it's inevitable.
I may have mentioned that her last words to me were a confession of love, but did I also mention how they replayed in my head for years, and each time I woke, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding wildly because her love confession turned into a threat. A reminder that I failed to protect the one person who deserved my protection. There is no way out for you; you won't even get to see tomorrow's dawn, but take comfort in the fact that most people don't see their death coming, and in most cases, it is usually unfair. Your death is justified and earned. When my time comes and I meet a violent end, I will make peace with it because that's how I lived.
I picked up the bucket and laced it on his stomach. He tried to move, but the restraints kept him in place. I used a pair of industrial gloves to handle the animal, and with growing horror, Mathew watched as I placed the rat inside the bucket, trapping it against his bare flesh. He started bucking probably from the rat, which I could feel throwing itself against the bucket looking for a way out. His now impossibly wide eyes took in the lighter in my hand. I put it aside, securing the bucket with a chain first. I then poured a small amount of lighter fluid at the top before setting it ablaze on top of the bucket. Mathew stayed deathly still, afraid of setting himself on fire, but that wasn't my intention.
He tried his best to remain still even as the heated container started searing his flesh, but gave up all hope as soon as the started down its job. Although the fire was out, the bucket was still very hot and would remain so for a few more minutes. I watched his growing horror as whatever color was left on his face drained as he finally realized what my intentions were.
"You are crazy!" he screamed out.
"You talk a lot for a soon-to-be dead man. You should say your prayers and ask for forgiveness, you are about to meet your maker. You should settle in, the rat has been starving for days, but they are tiny creatures, let's see just how much tissue they can chew, especially with the threat of its impending doom hanging over its head."
Once the screaming started, I lost track of how long it took for him to lower it an octave. He thrashed violently around, trying to stop the frenzied rat, who seemed to react with even greater force, given how his screams grew in intensity. I sat there for I can't say how long, minutes, hours, listening to him alternately screaming in agony and begging for his life. I offered no conversational reprieve, letting him remain alone in his final moments.
"You know the rat will drown before doing any more significant damage." Sunshine signed as soon as my eyes landed on her.
She had gotten too close to me without me noticing. there was understanding in her eyes of what I was uncertain about, given that I barely understood myself. She walked over to the still thrashing Mathew, who barely noticed her, locked in a prison of pain, his entire being fighting for survival, and yet there was a new sloppiness that I hadn't noticed. Like a motorcycle on its last leg running on nothing but fumes, a breakdown was imminent. When she pulled away the bucket, a pool of blood poured from his abdomen, covering the floor in seconds. The blood-soaked rat had difficulty scurrying away on the slippery floor, and Sunshine quickly caught her and caged her, undeterred by the liters of blood pooling around her.
It must have nicked a major vessel. He is going to bleed out in a few minutes, longer if he doesn't stop the rest of his blood struggling. With the rat finally off him, Matthew got a moment of reprieve. Given the start of his now mangled stomach, I doubt the few minutes he had left would be enjoyable. He stopped screaming, stopped begging, staring past us into the abyss that he was soon going to. I felt no empathy for him as I watched the life drain out of his eyes. In those remaining minutes, as blood flowed out from his stomach, I committed this image to mind. it was gruesome and bloody, but it was overdue vengeance, and finally Claire's soul could rest I peace knowing the people who wronged her had paid for their crime.
I remained rooted on the spot long after his eyes drifted shut and his body stilled, locked in death. I stood still even as Sunshine signed at me with bloody hands, painting gestures that my mind refused to interpret. I felt my feet lift off the ground. I closed them for a moment and found myself getting lowered into a hot bath. The water gently scalded my skin, a familiar fiery embrace that I gladly sank into, allowing the rose-scented bubble soap to soothe my skin. I don't remember much after the bath; I only remember waking up the next day at around noon.
The sun was shining brightly in the sky, its sticky warmth drifting into my bedroom through the open windows. I turned on the fan with the remote on the nightstand and fell back into bed, basking in an unfamiliar yet foreign feeling. I did not want to get out of bed, and yet my mind stayed present. It did not travel to the future or wander in the past; it merely observed the present, a concept so foreign yet so freeing it felt like a crime.
Mercy burst through the door like a tiny force of nature. She had at some point straightened her kinky hair, and now it reached slightly past her shoulders and whipped around with her every movement. She was wearing a bloody apron and bloody gloves, and a mask, like a maid from a horror movie, and I felt a stirring in the pits of my stomach; I did not care to explore.
Get up, Sleeping Beauty, our body in the basement is starting to reek, we need to get rid of it before it starts attacking flies and god knows what else. She dragged me from bed, not caring about her bloody gloves, and despite the nauseating stench, the remainder of Mathew's device erased any disgust, and I allowed Mercy to drag me to the basement.
The body had been placed in a long steel box that had somehow dragged me into the basement. The entire setup had Sunshine written over it, and by now, I knew not to question the things she managed to achieve. As soon as she saw me, she started stripping and motioned for Mercy to do the same. After a few short minutes, all their clothes, including the ones I wore last night, were in the incinerator alongside Mathew's limp, bloody body. Sunshine poured a whole gallon of gasoline before locking the box and ushering us out. We made our way to the kitchen, neither one of us attempting to cover our bodies. We sat down around the laptop in the living room, and Sunshine handed me a button.
"It ignites a spark in the box, and there is also an oxygen feeding tube to keep the fire fed; it will burn until there is nothing but ash, and then burn some more."
I pressed the button without hesitation and sat back and watched as heat signatures streamed from the locked box and basked in the fictional warmth of his funeral pyre. At one point, the box glowed, hinting at the contained furnace, but the material held. We gave it a day before going to empty the ashes into the ocean; we had burned every single article he had come into our house with, including his phone. We scrubbed our house top to bottom, we left nothing to chance, if police did come here, there wouldn't be a shred of evidence for them to find.
That night, we had a picnic under the midnight sky, Mercy's roaring laughter cocooned us with warmth, and Sunshine's smile rivaled the brilliance of the moon. Claire's absence hung like an open wound in my soul, but I pushed the painful feelings, choosing to remember Mathew's agony. It would never truly be well, but even hell could be made tolerable.